The Price of Pleasure: Pornography, Sexuality, and Relationships (2008) is a documentary with a message. Although it can’t quite decide what that message is. The many-tentacled porn industry is fucking with our minds and our sexuality? Men who watch porn are more likely to be misogynist racists and sexual predators? All women are victims of porn, both in its production and its consumption? One way or another, pornography — we gather from the film — is bad. The Price of Pleasure tells the following story: In the hands of unscrupulous corporations run by men, the “porn industry” exploits female performers and relentlessly pushes a commercialized version of (heterosexual) sex that is, in turn, consumed by (heterosexual) men. The sexuality of male consumers is shaped by the narratives of “porn” — narratives which are sexist, racist, and violent, in short about different types of domination and control. Then these men turn around and bring pornography’s poisonous narratives into their own (heterosexual) sex lives. Individuals in the world of Pleasure – both porn-watching men and the women these men are in relationship with — are figured as populations almost totally lacking in self-determination and agency. And the documentary clearly wants us to get upset about this state of affairs — and I would, if I thought it were true! What the film’s audience might do to resist the porn industry’s grip on human sexuality is much less clear.

How did The Price of Pleasure make its argument for pornography as harmful to our sexuality? In part through interviews. Women interviewed in Pleasure describe feeling subjected to watching porn with their male partners (or sometimes abusers), or feeling pressure to conform to the hypersexualized imagery of womanhood peddled in consumer culture. Men describe sexual behavior that is shame-ridden, secretive, obsessive. The men and women interviewed about their consumption of pornography were all young Those in the porn industry, interviewed largely at an industry expo in Las Vegas, come across as product pushers, while the anti-pornography talking heads (interviewed against a black backdrop, in professional dress) come across as measured, authoritative experts. The talking heads are, for anyone who follows the discussion of pornography and culture, a cast of usual suspects: Gail Dines, Robert Jensen, Pamela Paul, Ariel Levy. While I’ve read some of these authors’ work, and find much to admire there, I also depart from their final analysis about what porn is and how it works as a cultural medium. So I definitely felt cranky, while watching the film, about how these authors were positioned relative to those in the porn industry — about the lack of any dissenting voices who were similarly situated as credentialed researchers. I might disagree that an individual with a doctorate and a long list of publications is a more authoritative source than the owner of a porn production company — but there’s no way that the industry insider is going to carry the same weight of someone positioned as an objective researcher.

I found myself noticing the visual choices being made in the film, and how these visual choices worked to support the documentary’s main porn-is-a-threat argument. The visuals we got of both the porn itself and of porn producers were rapid out of context clips. As a viewer, I felt visually assaulted by the rapid change of images that lacked any explanation, other than the understanding that these were typical images in porn. The scary voice man hired to narrate the film (if you’ve wondered what he does between election cycles, now you know) describes what you’re seeing — i.e. a female porn actress sucking off a group of men before the ejaculate on her face. But documentary context is very different from pornographic film context. “Porn” in The Price of Pleasure is synonymous with exploitative working conditions that, in turn, produce visual images and narratives that encourage men (and always men) to replicate those exploitative scenes in their own lives. We’re shown what does, much of the time, look like a violent, non-consensual sexual assault or torture scene. And as viewers we’re not given the information needed to evaluate the particular example of pornography in any meaningful way.

For example: Was everyone on the set consenting, in a meaningful, non-coerced way, to being there and engaging in the activities depicted? Were the activities specifically negotiated prior to shooting the scene by everyone, and were the activities and conditions agreed to in that negotiation adhered to? Were all of the individuals hired for the production paid a working wage? Were health and safety concerns addressed and ensured throughout production? In terms of the depiction of sex the film conveys, is it clear to the viewer of the film that these activities are consented to and negotiated, that adequate safety measures are being taken? These things matter. Does the woman (or subordinate partner) in the scene enjoy being bound and gagged, in the context of a role-playing scenario, or not? Power play doesn’t have to be exploitative as long as it’s play, and clearly demarcated as such. But The Price of Pleasure never acknowledges these distinctions, instead choosing to use shocking, non-contextualized imagery in support of its argument about how pornography is, in and of itself, an assault on our sexual selves.

The other, most glaringly obvious, problem with The Price of Pleasure was that the film-makers never defined their terms. What did they mean by “porn”? From the examples shown in the documentary, it was clear that “porn” meant very specific types of pornography videos, usually produced with an archetypal heterosexual male consumer in mind. In the world of Pleasure only men willingly produce pornographic films, only men who desire women consume pornographic films, and any other type of producing/consuming demographic and/or genre of sexually explicit materials is rendered invisible — because (I would argue) it fails to fit within the scope of the film-maker’s argument — namely, that “the porn industry” is destroying our sexual self-determination and ability to find sexual pleasure in non-destructive, equitable ways. Their argument thus becomes somewhat circular: limiting the discussion of porn to porn which appears, as presented, grounded in narratives of sexual dominance, abuse, and inequality, then it seems self-evident that pornography equals these things. And from there, it is but a small leap of logic to argue that consuming these messages about gender, race, and sexuality inform how we approach race-, gender- and sexual relations in our real lives (though the film makes this seem like a very simple causal relationship, when in fact I would argue the dialogue between fantasy and reality is much, much more complicated!).

Where, in the narrative this film is constructing, are the many genres of gay male and m/m erotica (film, textual, photographic, and otherwise?) Where is the feminist porn, the lesbian porn, the porn created within and for the many sexual identity communities — from swinging couples to polyamorous lovers to trans-identified queer folk to asexy kink lovers? Where, in this film, is there space to talk about amateur porn, whether in the form of the home videos once circulated via mail-order catalogs or xtube porn videos made by couples of all persuasions who have fun getting it on in front of the camera? What about amateur and professional erotica writers? Textual erotica is the pornographic medium I’m the most personally familiar with, and I can tell you that the variety of flavors is pretty much endless. And while “non-con” and “dub-con” erotica exists, the volume of fiction produced in which people consensually and joyfully get it on attests to our overwhelming desire, as a readership/authorship, to construct sexual worlds in which sexual intimacy most often means a surfeit of needs being met rather than alienation or social control.

There is a very interesting documentary to be made — or even more than one! — comparing and contrasting the various pornographic mediums, porn creators, and porn consumers. There are, to my mind, endlessly fascinating questions to be asked about how erotic materials figure into our sexual lives — whether we’re talking about our individual sexual selves or those selves in sexual relationship. Instead, by depicting both pornography and the creators of pornography in a monochromatic, sinister light — and by depicting male consumers (and all women) as victims of “porn” — this film closes the door on any conversation about the productive intersection of sexually explicit, erotic materials with human sexual expression. In Pleasure, pornography is constructed in opposition to authentic human sexuality, as the producer of false sexual selves. These false selves then serve to obscure, rather than open a pathway for, our (authentic) desires and the realm of possibility for acting on those desires. I was disappointed (though not surprised) that alternate narratives of pornography as a more positive force in society were absent.

I concur with the film, and with porn’s many critics, that there is a serious and urgently important conversation to be had about the economics and politics of sex work, and the exploitation of individuals through the making of pornography. Just like with any other industry, worker exploitation should not be countenanced, and employers should be held accountable by law for ensuring workplace safety and respect for workers rights. However, I don’t believe these conversations are at all advanced by positioning all men as the aggressors, all women as the victims, and pornography as the medium through which patriarchal oppression is produced and reproduced in culture. People of all sex, gender, and sexual orientations and identities work in pornographic production, and we should be supporting those workers on a community level to articulate their needs and goals for improvement to their lives. But although The Price of Pleasure makes clear its belief that workers (women particularly) in the porn industry are, as a class, badly done to, there are no solutions put forward in the film about how to go about supporting porn actors who want to change their (individual or collective) situations.

This is perhaps the final problem with The Price of Pleasure: that they fail to offer any sense of direction for change. If the problem, as the documentary film-makers see it, is the strangle-hold of “the porn industry” on our means of sexual expression, as a viewer I would have appreciated more explicit suggestions offered as to what the solution to this problem might be. As it is, The Price of Pleasure leaves us with an ominous sense of pervasive subjection, of helplessness, and no explicit pathways to liberating ourselves. I have my own suggestions, of course, for alternatives to non-consensual, unsafe, and exploitative sexual narratives — but I suspect the makers of Pleasure would not appreciate them. Thus, this film, in the end, simply reinforces the very sense of victimization the film purports to document.

Cross-posted at the feminist librarian.

My 16-year-old son has disappeared into the bathroom several times with a laptop for extended periods of time. I know he has been looking at pornographic websites and, when asked, he freely admits it, putting it down to “a young man’s needs”. I know, and we discussed, lots of the arguments around the damaging pornification of society v the recognition/legalisation of the sex industry. However, on a personal level I feel that porn does harm to people who consume it and I want to discourage him. Am I being old-fashioned and heavy-handed, or, if not, how can I gently dissuade him, apart from saying that sex with real people is much more fun/rewarding?

So I’m going to start out my response to this with a few disclaimers. I’m not a sex educator or therapist, don’t work in any field related to the sex industry, and while I’ve been a teenager myself (haven’t we all) and worked with young adults on a volunteer basis, I’ve never actually parented a teenager.

That all having been said, my initial responses to this woman’s question were along the lines of: “Where do you get off thinking that you can involve yourself this deeply in your son’s sexual life uninvited?” and “Doesn’t your son deserve some privacy in which to explore his sexuality, provided his activities are consensual and legal?”

I realize that feelings around use of sexually-explicit material run high. Many people feel that sexually explicit material has compromised their intimate relationships and/or their own experience of sexuality. It’s a fraught issue on a cultural and personal level, one which many adults seem to have difficulty discussing in any sort of nuanced way — let alone parents trying to communicate with their adolescent children!  So let’s start with what I think this anonymous mother has done right (at least based on the minimal amount of self-reporting contained in her question to The Guardian.

1. She started a conversation. Despite the fact that children and teenagers (as I will argue below) deserve a zone of privacy in which to explore their sexuality alone, I don’t think it’s poor form for parents to communicate openly with their children — even their sixteen-year-olds — about sex. Sexual ethics shouldn’t be unspeakable topics of conversation between family members. Ideally, parents can provide their children with a sounding-board for working out their own sexual ethics. Hopefully, parents can offer counsel based on their own experience, having lived in the world longer than their teenage children. So kudos to the mom in this situation for daring to speak to her child about human sexuality.

2. She differentiates between personal opinion and other valid arguments. “We discussed,” she writes, “lots of the arguments around the damaging pornification of society v the recognition/legalisation of the sex industry. However, on a personal level I feel that porn does harm to people who consume it and I want to discourage him.” I think this is a really good indication that this particular mother is willing to talk with her son about ethical/moral nuances surrounding the use of erotic materials — rather than just laying down a parental edict forbidding him to consume pornography or flat-out declaring that all use of sexually explicit materials is immoral and makes him a bad person. It’s unclear from the original question whether the mother genuinely listened to her son’s point of view or shifted her own position at all as a result. But at least she seems open to conversation. It also seems really important that she uses “I” statements. As in, “on a personal level I feel that porn…” rather than saying, “Porn is evil!!!” Her position is clearly one she has come to after considerable thought, rather than knee-jerk reaction.

So off to a reasonably good start!

Since the letter doesn’t offer us any clues to how the son responded to his mother’s concern (beyond indicating that he ultimately disagreed with her) we don’t have a sense of how communication in this family works … do they regularly talk about sexual ethics or other personal values? Are the children’s opinions valued by the parents in the context of these discussions, or are they routinely dismissed? Is her son retreating to the bathroom in order to evade a hovering parent, or is he being given space and time to explore his sexuality without constant monitoring by his worried mother? Hard to tell. But let’s assume that this initial interaction went okay: A parent expressed concern over a child’s use of sexually-explicit material, they had a discussion about various ethical implications, the parent made their own personal beliefs on the matter clear, and the child came to a decision about their own values and acted accordingly.

The question is how to proceed from this point forward … and it’s at this point that I start to feel that putting on the communication breaks might be a good idea. Your kid knows how you feel about porn and (more importantly, in my opinion), your reasons for feeling that way about it. For now, he’s choosing to explore his sexuality that way. Provided, as I said above, he’s not doing anything illegal or harmful to others — i.e. consuming pornography made without consent or with coercion — I really think it’s time to let your son decide for himself how to explore his sexuality. Put this in perspective: he’s certainly not at risk of contracting STIs or getting someone pregnant this way! And speaking as someone who was sexually active through fantasy and masturbation years before consummating a flesh-and-blood relationship, I really don’t think it’s the worst way to become familiar with your own body.

Rather than thinking about how to “discourage” your son from exploring his sexuality through pornography, a better approach might be to re-frame the question. That is, how, given that your son is exploring sexuality through pornography, might you encourage him to think about what it means to be a sexual being? be a sexual partner? to flourish in and nurture a real-life sexual partnership? Imagine, for a moment, that there might be types of sexually-explicit material out there that are both arousing and compatible with real-life relationships. What would such material look like? Where/how might your son be exposed to it? Porn = harm is a very simplistic equation, and one that I feel bears re-examination.

Now seems like a good juncture in this mother-son relationship to step back from arguments over pornography per se and instead focus your energy on positive ways you can encourage your son to think about healthy, loving relationships and sexual ethics … in the context of pornography and with real-life partners as well.

Unknown woman poses topless in front of a mirror. Image posted the Vintage Pulchritude blog (link below)

Reader Skada requested on the recent thread about pornography that we put together some links to “women-empowering porn.” This post grew out of that request.

First, some disclaimers and few words about where I come from vis a vis sexually-explicit materials, feminism, and how the two fit together.

Disclaimers: To the extent that I am a consumer of sexually-explicit materials, my taste tends toward text (short stories, fanfic, novels, nonfiction essays, blog posts) and photographs (particularly pictures of actual naked people and vintage erotica; see below). In addition, I’m a fan of explicit sex in the context of novels, short stories, and films that are not actually being marketed as porn or erotica as such. Reading nonfiction about sex is something I find has erotic aspects to it, even though I read it not only for arousal purposes but for a whole constellation of other reasons as well … though I’d actually say the same for most of the categories above. I find erotica works best for me when it’s integrated into the rest of my life, rather than something that’s cordoned off into a secret other-space labeled “sex.”

What I’m trying to say here is this: I have exactly zero experience with the porn industry as an industry. Particularly live-action films — that is, what most people first think of when they hear the word “porn.” I’m going to include some suggestions in this list for where to find feminist-minded, independent-minded videos but I can’t personally recommend film-makers or titles. If anyone reading this post can, by all means recommend in comments.

A Few Words: I want to be clear up-front about a couple of things when it comes to sexually-explicit materials that are aimed at arousing people and elaborating on sexual fantasies. I believe non-coerced sex work should be legal for adults. I don’t believe pornography or any other form of commercially-produced erotic materials are inherently anti-feminist. I think that it is possible (and appropriate) to critique the narratives that sexually-explicit materials tell us about sex, sexual identity, human sexual expression gender, and relationships. At the same time, I think that a lot of our current conversations about pornography and other forms of sex talk and sexual expression are reductive and shaming. I don’t think the feminist community or sex-positive activists have been very good at thinking creatively and imaginatively about how to critique the impoverished narratives of mainstream erotica while avoiding shaming folks for whom some of those narratives are a source of sexual pleasure. See this thoughtful post by Charlie Glickman for more.

To that end, this post doesn’t seek to offer “women-empowering porn” exactly. Because every reader/viewer is going to have a different definition of what “empowering” porn or erotica would look like. And I don’t want to get into the business of defining what that means for everyone. Instead, what I’ve compiled here is a list of suggestions for where and how to go about seeking out erotica in places where you’re more likely to encounter feminist-minded, queer-minded creators and consumers of erotic material. Some of what I offer below is unabashedly “stuff I like” that happens to have erotic elements. Some of it is clearly all about erotic content. Either way, I hope it’s a useful starting place for those of you seeking to broaden your sexual horizons.

Resource Guides & Gateways:

• Since 2006 the Good For Her sex shop in Toronto has been hosting the annual Feminist Porn Awards. The website lists winners in categories ranging from “Best Bi Movie” to “Smutty Schoolteacher Award for Sex Education.” The emphasis is on films, so if you’re into visual erotica, this might be a good place to start
• It’s a few years old now, but blogger Kaelyn @ Feministe put together a post called Feminist Porn: Sex, Consent and Getting Off that reflects on the intersection of feminism and sexually-explicit material and also contains a whole list of links to feminist-friendly resources.

Books (Anthologies and Otherwise):

• Erotic writing doesn’t always have to be “plot? what plot?” fiction. Since 2005 erotica author Rachel Kramer Bussel has been editing the Best Sex Writing series, an annual anthology of nonfiction writing about sex.
• Cleis Press offers a wide range of erotica and sex writing, with a particular emphasis on women and the queer community, including
• the annual Best Lesbian Erotica series, which was edited for fourteen years by Tristan Taormino (Hanna says those were the golden years – she remembers 2000 and 2003 as associated with particularly good memories)
• Likewise, I’ve had good luck with The Mammoth Book of Lesbian Erotica series by Running Press (I haven’t been able to find a series website, but there do seem to be regular volumes being released).
• Lambda Literary (a great clearinghouse for queer-themed book reviews of all kinds) offers regular reviews of erotica.

Plus, you already know I read fan fiction … more on that in the weeks to come.

Where to Find Pictures of Naked People:

One of the earliest (and best!) ways I learned to think about being sexual was by looking at happy pictures of naked people. I’m serious! One of my favorite books as a child was Edward Steichen’s Family of Man and I also loved the natural childbirth books my mother had, since most of them contained many photographs of naked and gloriously pregnant women. Thankfully, the web offers us plenty of chances to admire naked photographs … and not just airbrushed models at that. Here are a handful of sites (for example) that offer naked and/or erotic pictures. Some professionally produced, some not.

It should go without saying: All of these links are decidedly not safe for work.

Fuck Yeah Tattoos

Art or Porn (You Decide)

Queering

Vintage Pulchritude

I also happen to enjoy going on Flickr.com every so often and just searching for “naked” or “nude” … sometimes the straightforward works best!

Sex Bloggers & Sex Educators:

One of the best ways I’ve found of seeking out erotica is through reading the blogs and websites of people who regularly write, consume, and review erotica, sex toys, and other sexually-explicit material … often for a living! I have a whole section of my Google Reader set aside for folks who blog about sexuality. Here are some of my favorite writers, reviewers, educators (in alphabetical order)

Always-Aroused Girl (aag)

Ask Garnet … Anything

Bound, Not Gagged (sex work activism)

Clarisse Thorn

Essin’ Em (Sexuality Happens)

Greta Christina

Heather Corinna

Susie Bright

Violet Blue :: open source sex

And I think I’ll leave it at that for now. Please, please, please throw your own recommendations in comments! The more diverse the suggestions, the better.

There’s no doubt that some kids, and even some schools, remain far more sheltered than others. But the average age of first exposure to Internet pornography is widely cited as 11. “It’s pretty much intensely available,” one 13-year-old told me, before adding that he’s actually not as into online porn now as he used to be.

A 13-year-old, not as into porn as he used to be. I realize this is not a scientific survey, and I would like to know more about these kids, but I bet their experiences are familiar to kids around the country (and beyond).

The girls know to be wary of strangers on the Internet—but they’re also wary of how the web is affecting the boys they might actually want to date.
…
“Basically, with certain guys, they’ll see something on the Internet and then they’ll want their girlfriend to do it,” Cristal says when I ask her how the Internet influences dating among her friends—a sentiment that is largely shared by the girls in the Brooklyn pizzeria.
…
“I wouldn’t mind if they said, ‘Send me a picture of you,’ just a regular picture, with everything on,” says Samantha on that December afternoon. “But it’s like the way they ask for it? Naked?”

Tricey nods. “It affects them, the Internet. The guys expect to just chat girls up online, but when y’all see each other and y’all go out or whatever, the only thing that they want to do is get in the bed.”

Concerns about children and sex are often dismissed as Won’t Someone Think of the Children-ism in feminist communities. But I feel so much sorrow for these girls who describe a sexual gauntlet in school, on dates and online.

This is the paradoxical fear of many heterosexual 14-year-old girls: that the Internet is making boys more aggressive sexually—more accepting of graphic images or violence toward women, brasher, more demanding—but it is also making them less so, or at least less interested in the standard-issue, flesh-and-bone girls they encounter in real life who may not exactly have Penthouse proportions and porn-star inclinations. (“If you see something online, and the girls in your neighborhood are totally different, then it’s, um … different,” one 14-year-old boy tells me.) This puts young women in the sometimes uncomfortable position of trying to bridge the gap.

I don’t think there’s ever been a time in human history when pubescent boys weren’t preoccupied with sex, or when female sexuality was treated or appreciated as anything but performative. But it seems like boys are being groomed to have a predatory sexuality at a much younger age, and in turn, girls must learn how to satisfy the Male Gaze and play defense at the same time.

[W]hile it’s not surprising that adults believe today’s youth are navigating a brave new world, what is surprising is that the kids themselves—who’ve never known anything different—feel that way, too. They get that they are in a strange, uncharted place. “I think kids kind of mature more because they have computers,” Alexa tells me. “Sometimes it can be a good thing, and sometimes it can be a bad thing.” It’s a version of the idea I heard from every group—an awareness that, sexually speaking, the web may be doing them a disservice.

For a glimpse into their futures, see the second article–“He’s Just Not That Into Anyone.” So enamored of their porn, grown (straight) men lose interest in sex with women.

“I used to race home to have sex with my wife,” says Perry, a 41-year-old lawyer. “Now I leave work a half-hour early so I can get home before she does and masturbate to porn.” Throughout the course of our conversation, Perry insists that he’s still attracted to his wife of twelve years. Still, he says, she can’t quite measure up to the porn stars he views online. “Not to be mean, but they’re younger, hotter, and wilder in the sack than my wife,” he says. “Me and her, we still ‘do it’ and everything, but instead of every day, it’s maybe once a week. It’s like I’ve got this ‘other woman’ … and the ‘other woman’ is porn.”
…
“I don’t like to believe that porn is replacing anything I have with my girlfriend,” [another guy] says, “but I’ve always loved sex, and I’ve always had a lot of it, so I really had to stop and think about it when she asked me recently why she always has to be the one to initiate things. And she was right; I guess I’ve been fading from her. It’s like all that time with these porn stars was subduing any physical desire for my girlfriend. And, in some weird way, my emotional need for her, too.”

I don’t really care about these guys’ struggles, but I do care that their dysfunction is having a negative effect on their significant others and/or potential sex partners.

Sadie, 29, a real-estate agent in Boston, quotes performance artist Nicole Blackman to make her point: “ ‘There is no glory in trying to make love to men who only know how to fuck—man after man after man after man raised on porn.’ There have been times in the past,” Sadie continues, “when I would be with someone and thinking, Jesus fucking Christ, what the fuck kind of stupid porn have you been watching? Did you just smack my kitty? Dumbass!”

Other women describe trying to emulate porn stars in order to keep their men off the computers and in the moment. It doesn’t work.

Tony, 48, a web designer in St. Paul, who separated from his wife a few years ago after twenty years of marriage, echoes the thought. “I’ve always thought it’s really hot when women in porn movies say dirty stuff,” he says. “Usually, they’re just literally narrating the shit that’s happening, giving the play-by-play: ‘You’re fucking me! Your dick’s in my ass! I’m sucking your cock right now!’ For whatever reason, that’s what does it for me. But recently a woman I was with started saying all that stuff, and it just kind of spooked me. She seemed slightly nuts.”

Just like the girls featured in the first piece, these women can’t win. It’s like their very humanity is the roadblock. I don’t particularly believe porn alone is to blame for the problems explored in these pieces, nor do I think the web is at fault. They are vehicles for patriarchy. Really fast, flashy vehicles.

Via romeotees @ Flickr.

Today in my Bed, Bitch and Beyond blog at Bitch Magazine, my pornography blame-a-thon continues. This week the topic is anal sex. (And let me just say that the Google search results involved in researching this post were…interesting).

Recent scientifc data–which we’ll get to in a minute–suggests that heterosexual women, and especially young women, are having anal sex more frequently than ever before. For our mothers’ and grandmothers’ generation, anal sex was just about the ultimate taboo, a perverse act that couples rarely did or at least, never admitted to. Not anymore.

As with any trend in women’s sexual behavior, I think it’s fair to examine what cultural influences might account for this change. People are more likely to engage in a formerly taboo sex act if depictions of it are widely available, even celebrated. And where is anal sex eroticized, and depicted as not only normal, but totally hot?

Why porn, of course.

Harpyness readers, however, DO IT RITE.

At brunch yesterday, my fellow Harpies asked if I would be writing a responsa to the 80+ comments generated by my “I Blame Porn” post at Bitch Magazine.

They know me too well. What has two thumbs and likes to have her say? THIS BITCH.

Here it is.

Thank you for all your comments, both here and in the Bitch thread. A few of them made it into this follow-up post.

HEAD/DESK

For your weekend…a link to “I Blame Porn“, my latest Bed Bitch, and Beyond post from Bitch Magazine, in which I raise the topic: is internet porn changing sex for teenagers and twentysomethings? How has the rise of mainstream, accessible porn started fucking with teenage brains, both male and female?

The comments thread–in which I’m called “prudish”, “judgemental”, “sexually ignorant” and “misogynist”–for daring to suggest that mainstream, bald-vadge, facial-cumshot-loving porn is not empowering to women is worth a read.

i didn't know anything COULD wash away testosterone. via markpayne @ flickr

In a series of new commercials released this month, and slated to blanket more than a dozen cable channels and guy-friendly print media over the next six weeks, the company goes after male anxiety about the four horsemen of aging: less energy, a fatter gut, a fouler mood and sexual incompetence. Ads show a paunchy everyman haunted by the shadow of his former self-a golf-ball-driving, all-night-dancing lothario.

And really, who wouldn’t be attracted to a promiscuous golfer?

But some people think that testosterone loss can be more effectively combatted with porn instead of pills. Rutgers University sex researcher Helen Fisher concludes that adult entertainment is the best way to deal with testosterone issues for those in what she calls “captivity situation” i.e. married with children. “Captivity situation.” Nice. I guess it’s time to let those poor zoo animals that we call “husbands” out of their cage and let them run wild in their natural habitat, by which I mean let them go wild with porn to fix a testosterone imbalance. Fisher explicitly advises that men should “go on the Internet and look at porn” to deal with lower testosterone levels.

“[Porn] drives up dopamine levels, which drives up your testosterone,” she tells NEWSWEEK, while kissing your wife or hugging your kids drives it down.

In other words, kissing your wife is emasculating but jacking off to Debbie Does Dallas or E.T.: The Extra Testicle will prove that you are a red-blooded man’s man. Right. Wake me when Big Pharma and society as a whole is actually giving a shit about women’s sexual pleasure. In the meantime, I’ll be trying to deconstruct the theory that I will never stimulate a man’s testosterone more than a skin flick can.