ethics

What is “Ethical Porn,” Anyway?

Kate Sloan

People have been debating the concepts of “ethical porn,” “feminist porn,” and “authentic porn” the entire time I’ve been in this industry. It’s a constant push-and-pull within the queer, sex-positive, and feminist communities. Is porn an oppressive force, or an avenue for change and exploration? (Depends.) Is “male-gaze” porn hot, or problematic? (Depends.) Is what happens on porn sets always fully consensual? (Sadly, no.)

The concept of “ethical porn” is somewhat elastic and subjective, but it’s always interesting to see how individual people and companies choose to define this term for themselves. Sex toy brand Bellesa recently launched Bellesa Plus, their new porn subscription service which they’re calling “the Netflix of porn.” It features not only sexy videos but also interactive sex education and 600+ written erotica stories. Since ethics is a major focus of the work they’re doing, I thought it would be cool to expand on this concept a bit, and ponder the morality of smut.

 

Here are some basic benchmarks for what I would consider ethical porn:

• Performers are treated well. I mean, of course! They should be provided with snacks and water on set, able to take breaks when they need to, and valued and respected by everyone involved in the production. To me, this also includes implementing health and safety measures that help keep performers safe, like STI screening requirements (which Bellesa Plus, like most porn studios I’ve heard of, enforces), and having lots of lube available on set.

• Performers are paid well. As a feminist, I believe in pay equity, pay transparency, and fair payment for services rendered. Porn performers work incredibly hard and deserve compensation that reflects that, for each and every scene they do.

• Performers have agency. When I’ve performed in porn for indie companies, I’ve always been encouraged to choose scene partners who I genuinely like, trust, and want to have sex with on camera – which made the experience much more comfortable for me. Bellesa Plus is doing the same thing: their performers all choose who they want to work with, so the chemistry you see on-screen is based in real desire. Their performers also have veto power vis-a-vis what kinds of storylines they will or won’t perform in, and what kinds of sex they will have, and they can call an immediate end to the scene whenever they want, should something go awry.

• Everything depicted is consensual, and anything that appears non-consensual is properly contextualized. Unfortunately, some porn producers and performers are unscrupulous, and various forms of sexual assault do sometimes happen on porn sets. Truly ethical pornographers would immediately fire and blacklist anyone known to do shit like this, and would encourage (or require) a pre-scene negotiation between performers to establish ground rules for the scene. Bellesa assures me that 100% of the sex you’ll see on Bellesa Plus is consensual, and was filmed consensually. That said, many, many people have fantasies that involve some degree of non-consent – “rape” fantasies and other kinky power-exchange scenarios remain very popular in polls about such things – and those people should be able to access that type of material if they want to, although I think it should always be paired with some indication that the performers are actually consenting to what they’re doing. I’ve mostly seen that done via pre-scene and post-scene interviews with the performers about their fantasies, expectations, and limits.

• Content warnings are provided for each scene. We have them for mainstream movies in the form of MPAA rating descriptors; why not have them for porn, too? As a porn viewer who has certain triggers and squicks (which almost everyone does, to some extent), I often get frustrated when I put on what I think is going to be a hot scene, only to find that it contains some of the things I can’t handle or just don’t want to watch. A brief list of content warnings would help enormously, especially if timecodes were provided so I could skip past the stuff I didn’t want to see.

• Diversity of performers and filmmakers is prioritized. There is, frankly, more than enough porn made by straight cis able-bodied white guys out there already. They can and will keep doing their thing, but I’m much more interested in porn made by people from marginalized groups: people of color, queer people, trans people, disabled people, neurodivergent people, etc. etc. etc. Much of the porn on Bellesa Plus is directed by Jacky St. James, a legendary female pornographer, whose gaze and approach differ substantially from those of typical mainstream porn.

 

Bellesa Plus is doing some other things I think are awesome, too:

• They offer sliding-scale pricing, so that people who want to watch porn can access it for as little as $1/month. Paying more gets you cool perks like free sex toys, but if you just want cheap smut, they’ve got you covered. This is terrific news for people who care about supporting pornographers financially but don’t have much spare cash with which to do so.

• Director Jacky St. James has a “no fake orgasms” policy. I actually think fake orgasms can sometimes be hot, in the same way that I’m not mad when Meryl Streep cries in a movie despite not really being sad because she’s so damn good that it’s affecting regardless – but the prevalence of fake female orgasms in mainstream porn does contribute to culture-wide misinformation about sex and pleasure, so it’s cool to see some companies deviating from that norm.

• Their porn focuses on storyline and chemistry, rather than being all about closeups of tits and pussy and cock and ass. Don’t get me wrong, I love a good genitalia shot, but I also hear from readers/followers of mine pretty regularly that they wish porn had more of a story arc, relationship development, real chemistry, and so on. As a demisexual person, I totally get that for some people, it can be hotter to watch sex that’s been put in context emotionally, rather than just depicting a detached fuck in an unexplained location.

 

What about you? How would you define “ethical porn”? How do your tastes in porn relate to your values and ethics, if at all?

 

This post was graciously sponsored by the folks at Bellesa Plus. As always, all writing and opinions are my own.

Sex With an Ex: Good Idea, or Worst Idea?

Kate Sloan

I’ve never had sex with an ex. This experience seems to be common, and being as sentimental and stubborn as I am, it seems like something I would do – but I never really have. Apart from one ill-advised encounter with an ex-FWB in a sweaty closet at a Pride party, I’ve never gone back to once again fuck someone I had previously decided I wasn’t going to fuck anymore.

Oh, I’ve certainly thought about it. Whenever someone dumps me, I walk around in a haze of regret for at least a few weeks, daydreaming about running into my ex in public while looking absolutely scintillating, and earning an invitation back to their place for comfortingly familiar sex that will inevitably lead us back into a comfortingly familiar relationship. But this never happens, and in the long run, I never really want it to.

Having sex with your ex is playing with fire. If you broke up, there was always a reason – and if you feel the desire to find ’em and fuck ’em again, it’s worth pondering: what was the reason you broke up, and is that reason still relevant?

It may not be. For example, I’ve broken up with people because I was in love with someone else and it was messing up my relationship, or because they were dating someone who decided they didn’t want to be polyamorous. Both of these are circumstantial roadblocks: they posed a problem at the time but may well have melted away in the intervening months or years. These are people with whom I might be tempted to rekindle things if I ever bumped into them on the subway or at a party, because – why not? If the attraction and compatibility are still there but the problems aren’t, what’s stopping us from giving it another go?

But that’s not why most breakups happen. Most breakups happen because you came up against some kind of fundamental incompatibility, or there was a big betrayal, or you just weren’t feelin’ it anymore. In those situations, it’d be tougher to justify a redo. Sure, your ex’s body and mind might still thrill you, or inspire a nostalgic frisson, but pursuing that half-extinguished spark is often more trouble than it’s worth.

Of my 30 lifetime sexual partners, 28 are people I’m no longer sleeping with. Of those 28, 10 are people I would happily fuck again if the opportunity presented itself – but that’s unlikely to happen. 5 are people I would consider fucking again, but we would have to have some heavy discussions and one or both of us would need to make some serious amends before I would feel comfortable jumping back into things with them. The remaining 13 are people I just don’t have any desire to be intimate with ever again – either because they hurt me too badly, or I’ve lost all attraction I once felt for them, or we just aren’t sexually compatible, or all of the above. I’d be curious to know what your ratio is, if you feel like sharing!

So, is sex with an ex a good idea? I think it’s a situation where you’d have to have a lot more pros than cons to justify even attempting it. Sex with someone who knows your body, who you feel comfortable around, and who you don’t have to explain yourself to is very tempting – but I think, in most cases, it’s not worth the complications and tricky feelings it could bring up. Whether I dumped them or they dumped me, I’d be verrrry hesitant to get back in bed with an ex. That’s not to say you should never do it, but be careful with your heart, okay?

 

This post was sponsored. As always, all writing and opinions are my own.

Do I Want Kids? Part 3: The World & The Future

Kate Sloan

I have to admit: this instalment of my “Do I Want Kids?” series has been the hardest one to write, and the one I’ve been putting off the longest. Why? Well, it’s not exactly fun to talk about the demise of the planet.

I’ve had a number of conversations over the past few years with friends and partners about whether I think parenthood is in the cards for me, and one consideration that always comes up is: is it even ethical to create more people at a time like this in human history?

Overpopulation is rampant. There are countless kids around the globe waiting to be adopted already; why bring more into the world when that’s the case? I’ve been thinking about adoption a lot more lately since reading Elsie Larson’s blog with her husband Jeremy, TheLarsonHouse.com, about their experiences adopting two little girls with albinism from China. Obviously this is no less legitimate than biological parentage; no DNA test can disprove that they are these girls’ parents, emotionally, logistically, legally. As much as the ideas of pregnancy, giving birth, and passing on my genes and the genes of a partner all tug at my heartstrings, to me it seems apparent that adoption is the more ethical route, from a utilitarian philosophy perspective, if you have a choice between the two. (Not all of us do. Adoption is ridiculously expensive, and sometimes pregnancy strikes unexpectedly.)

But beyond that: what kind of a world is this to raise a child in? I’m terrified of climate change, the current political landscape, and what could happen over the next few decades. It’s a critical moment for humanity, one that’ll either be written up in history books or will just vanish, as we do, into the baked-in history of this crumbling planet. Having a kid at this particular moment sort of feels like renovating a house you know is about to be hit by a meteor. Why even try? All good parents want to spare their children from pain, and what worse pain could there be than trying to survive on a dying planet descending into fascist chaos?

That said, I’m admittedly not as much of a pessimist as this is making me sound. Time is tight, but awareness is growing, and it seems there’s a small chance we could save our planet and ourselves. Environmentally conscious leaders like Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez and Elizabeth May are mocked by right-wingers, but they have the right idea, and there will be more like them in the coming years. My inner state-smashing socialist wants us to overthrow capitalism and overhaul global energy systems in one fell swoop, but my inner realist knows democratic process and slow change are the likelier routes to real shifts in how we do things. I see some glimmers of hope on the horizon in that regard; it’s just a question whether there are enough of those glimmers and if they can summon change fast enough to save us.

There’s a quote from Angels in America I think about all the time in relation to climate change and global collapse: “Before life on Earth becomes finally merely impossible,” prophesies the titular angel, “it will, for a long time before, have become completely unbearable.” Would my children blame me for birthing them into a world where they have to live under staggeringly awful conditions? Or would they merely fight for change, and do their best, and make the most of the cards they were dealt?

All I know is that I don’t know. Maybe that’s enough for now.

 

Thanks so much to TestMeDNA.com for sponsoring this series. Check them out for all your legal paternity test needs!

Is It Ever Okay to Fake Your Orgasms?

Kate Sloan

When I first got into feminism, sometime around age 14, I had loud, rigid opinions on everything.

“Women shouldn’t have to shave their legs!”

“Cunnilingus should be standard in all hetero sex!”

“No self-respecting woman would ever fake her orgasms!”

However, when I was 16, I started having sex, and the second time my new partner interacted with my genitals in any way, I… faked an orgasm.

I had my reasons (mostly nervousness and just wanting the awkward encounter to be over already), but I felt incredibly conflicted about the whole thing. Until a sex-positive, feminist friend of mine told me she faked a lot. And she liked it. That conversation blew my mind wide open and got me thinking about “the ethics of faking.”

Here are some of my thoughts on “good” and “bad” reasons to fake your orgasms. I’d love to hear whether you agree or disagree, and if you have other reasons to contribute to the list!

Bad reasons to fake:

• You don’t think you deserve real pleasure. (You do, love.)

• You don’t think you deserve to have a partner put in the time and effort required to give you real pleasure. (You do, love. Seriously.)

• You think you should be able to get off a certain way (e.g. from penetration alone), and that it would be embarrassing or unreasonable if you were to instruct your partner in what really gets you off. (Any partner worth their salt would love to learn how to make you happy. And if it happens to involve a kink they’re not into, well, it’s better to know that, so you can decide whether your incompatibility is a dealbreaker for either of you.)

• You know your partner gets off on your pleasure, and you want to give them that. (Okay, that’s very sweet, but if they like your pleasure, they like your real pleasure. And they’ll be upset when they inevitably find out you’ve been faking.)

Acceptable reasons to fake:

• You actually enjoy doing it. Putting on a show of faux pleasure actually induces real pleasure for you, much like smiling makes a person happier.

• You’re deliberately and knowingly play-acting/role-playing with a partner, and it’s assumed that there will be some “dramatization of events.”

• You’re in an unbalanced, perhaps abusive relationship in which it’s easier and safer to fake. (If this is the case, I wish you strength and luck and helpful resources to get you out of there, and I completely understand your decision. You gotta do what you gotta do to stay safe, end of story.)

I’m sure there are lots of other reasons that could go on either list, but those are the ones that come to mind for me. Have you ever faked? What was/were your reason(s)? Do you have any changes or additions you’d make to my lists?

Here’s An Idea: Ethical Fetishism + Shoe Sugar Daddies

Kate Sloan

Last week I found myself madly lusting over a pair of shoes. They were gorgeous and I NEEDED them – but they were $275. And as a full-time student and part-time blogger, that ain’t a doable price for me. (I ended up buying a similar pair at a way lower price point – that’s me modeling them above!)

I spent some time complaining on Twitter about this problem, and then my mind wandered to all the fetishists who’ve left me lascivious comments on my clothes, shoes, and hosiery over the years. You might remember from my post on how to be a non-douchey fetishist that I’ve been posting outfit photos online for 8+ years and attract a lot of creeps through that venue. These people are getting off on my pictures – so shouldn’t I be getting some kind of compensation for that “service” I’m (nonconsensually) providing?

Okay, hear me out. My idea is this: an online social platform where you can sign up in one of two categories, fetishist or fashionista. (The names could use some workshopping; ideally they’d both be gender-neutral.) The fashionistas build profiles full of as much or as little personal information as they’d like to share and a gallery of photos that are as sexy or sexless as they feel comfortable being. They attach a wishlist to their profile, filled with clothes, shoes, and other cute things they have their eye on. And if a fetishist takes an interest in a particular fashion fan, he can buy her something from her wishlist. (I’m using those pronouns for clarity’s sake; obviously there are fetishists and fashion fans of all genders.)

The wishlist would hide her address, of course; no one wants to put themselves at risk for being stalked. And when the item of choice arrived, she could try it on, pose for pictures or video, and post them publicly or privately for the fetishist who supplied the money.

There could be a way for fetishists and fashionistas to negotiate the terms of the agreement in advance – e.g. “If I buy you these shoes, you’ll model them in tights, in knee-high socks, and barefoot.” There could be an eBay-esque feedback system to avoid scammers and creeps.

I know that systems like this exist already, but in my experience, they’re usually hypersexual and mostly frequented by camgirls and their patrons. While there’s obviously nothing wrong with sex workers (you go, gals and guys!), not all of us feel comfortable being super sexy online. My half-baked dream for this social network conceptualizes it as a space that is as sexy or unsexy as individual users want it to be, so that everyone feels comfortable and safe.

I just think that there are better ways to manage the relationships between fetishists and the subjects of their affection than the way that those relationships usually go right now. The subjects often (in my experience) feel victimized, grossed out, and used. I know that for myself, when I receive a message from a fetishist telling me he loves me in sheer hose or he wants me to wear heels for him, I feel squicked out but I also always send him a link to my Amazon wishlist, because dammit, if I’m going to fulfill someone’s fetish, he’s going to be the one to foot the bill for it, not me. Of course, I’ve never actually had a fetishist buy me anything, because the ones I encounter all seem to be cheapskates who expect me to be their masturbation fodder at no charge, but… I’m sure there are shoe sugar daddies out there somewhere, right?

I don’t have the know-how to build a website or get it off the ground, but if anyone ever takes this idea and runs with it, just know that I would promote the shit out of it, happily beta-test it, and send the link to every fetishist who’s ever given me “helpful suggestions” for what to wear!