Here’s a new fashion spread called “70s Porn.” I think they’re using porn in the disaster porn sense, with an emphasis on the first word, as opposed to in the anal porn sense, which would place the emphasis on the second word. But here’s the twist: there are boobs.
Because we haven’t been consuming smut at our fullest potential, enter a new porn discovery site to up the efficiency of our palm-callousing, finger-wrinkling habits.
Porn School Was a Disaster
How much money do you spend on porn? Unless you really, really like masturbating, it’s likely that the answer will be nothing. Free video sites have forced those in the business to get more inventive in their quest to keep turning sex into money. Steve Steele, porn director and the creator of Porn Weekender, is one such person.
Porn Weekender is an interactive model of porn consumption that offers customers the chance to come down to the set to watch, direct, and perform in the action themselves. Some of the people who show up are aspiring porn-industry professionals; others are simply people for whom the experience of sitting at home watching porn is too lonely, remote, or unfulfilling.
The weekends are usually held in Prague, where $1600 will get you a place on set and accommodation for the weekend. But given that around 80 percent of Steve’s clientele are flying out from the UK, he thought he may as well set up in his home country and decrease both the journey and the price tag (which drops to $240 for a single Saturday afternoon). A few weeks ago, I went along to the inaugural UK edition of the Porn Weekender to see what watching porn IRL with a bunch of other human beings is like.
What Does It Mean to Be a Pervert?
You may have recently seen the soft-spoken Jesse Bering on Conan recalling the strangest of sexual fetishes. Be it arousal from falling down the stairs (Climacophilia) or feeling steamy from rolling around in stones and gravel (Lithophilia), nothing surprises the Western New York author and psychologist. That’s why Dr. Bering just wrote Perv: The Sexual Deviant in All of Us, which unloads the morality of all things sexually weird.
Being a pervert is more than just what initially springs to mind. Armed with an academic backbone, the former psych professor adds a dash of humor to his research, many of which are learned from written reports. Bering has studied them extensively, and said he developed immunity to shock, in the process. His writing style is not an undergrad snorefest, so his book is getting a lot of much-deserved hype. Sex research is a touchy topic. Jesse believes cracking someone’s desires helps understand them fully. He spoke with us about the depths human erotic imagination, “objectum sexuals,” and how he views homophobes as types of pervs.
VICE: What is a perv in your eyes?
Jesse: If I could rewrite the definition for the word “pervert” based on my own criteria, it would be a person who intentionally causes sexual harm to another. Note that this definition applies not only to the obvious examples—rapists, child molesters, those who abuse animals, and so on—but also to those whose bigotry causes harm to sexual minorities. A homophobe is a perv in my book, for instance, by dint of his or her invasive, voyeuristic preoccupation with the private sexual lives of an innocuous minority.
What kind of weird things did you find in your research?
Well, when you set out to read everything that’s ever been written about the subject of sexual deviance, you quickly develop a sort of immunity to shock. But some of the more memorable case studies included a morbidly obese Australian teenager who’d developed ulcers on his body after he failing to bathe properly; he came to, essentially, fall in love with these bubbling cankers, masturbating to the image of a beautiful woman who was sucking on his fingers while he inserted [them] into his festering wounds. Disturbing, yes, but also a testament to the power of the human erotic imagination. Then there was the Indian man with an insect paraphilia (“formicophilia”) who could only get off by placing slugs and beetles around his testicles and anus; and the young actor from London who thought his hay fever as a boy led to his sexual attraction to sneezing men.
Are there more male than female pervs or is it about the same?
In terms of people with certifiable paraphilias and fetishes—and by that, I mean in the clinical sense of either requiring or being largely dependent on something outside of the norm for their sexual gratification—it’s an overwhelmingly male phenomenon. Most sexologists believe that there are 99 paraphilic men to every one paraphilic woman.
Kids Have It Way Too Easy When It Comes to Porn
In seventh grade, my friend Brian found his dad’s porn stash.
It was in the underwear drawer, a classic hiding spot for suburban fathers to keep their dog-eared fantasies. We breathlessly flipped through his dad’s three or four issues ofPlayboy—not knowing exactly what to “do” with the porn we had unearthed, we just looked at it, marveled and had to rearrange ourselves on account of our tiny boners. Then we heard a car door slam. Brian’s dad had come home early from work.
My friend hustled up the stairs to his parents’ bedroom, with me right behind carrying the precious contraband magazine we’d been poring over. (I remember Jenny McCarthy was on the cover.) As I bounded up the steps, I felt something seize my ankle—Brian’s dog had been spooked by our sudden frantic movements and lunged at what his stupid dog mind thought was a new intruder. As I fell back down the stairs, I frisbee’d the magazine to Brian, who avoided the fluttering pages and caught it by the spine. He placed the stash back in its proper place and stacked the underwear on top, just moments before his dad walked in. “What are you guys up to?” he asked.
“Nothing!” was the only appropriate reply.
I was in a mall bookstore’s magazine section, trying to be casual. This meant picking up an issue of Spin and flipping through it absentmindedly to give anyone watching the impression I was just another music-obsessed kid. In reality, my eyes were scanning the rack in front of me in search of a rare phenomenon. While most “adult” magazines were wrapped in cellophane—and are therefore impossible to secretly unwrap—every now and then some brave soul “stuck it to the Man” by ripping one open. That’s what I was after.
Dir: Nicholas Steele
In a past life I was Jacques Cousteau, traveling the globe in search of adventure. Just a short baker’s dozen years ago, I spent no less than 28 days a month abroad on skateboarding tours. I was home so infrequently that I opted to no longer rent an apartment, but rather slept in any stranger’s bed for a night or under my desk at the legendary, defunct skate mag Big Brother. At some point I met my wife, moved back to New Jersey, had two sons, and settled into a peaceful life of domesticity in the suburbs.
Yet not one day passes that I don’t crave the open air of a strange and new place, wanting to find myself in inexplicable predicaments on foreign soil and barely escaping with my life. To try and spice things up, I’ve gotten myself into three car chases in the past two years, and on several occasions have just gotten in my car and driven for hours with no destination in mind. I try my best to take the family on the road a few times a year, but those adventures are different. The adrenaline rush tends to center around if the kids are going to break something or if we can pull over fast enough to avoid one of them shitting his pants.
In the immortal words of Clark W. Griswold: “I wanna paint, I wanna sculpt something massive… I want to… God, I just have a creative urge.” One that only a road trip can quench. Lucky for me I work for Vans, the greatest skate-shoe company on earth, and they’ve been kind enough to take me on a three-week European vacation. I’m writing this on the eve of my departure, and as excited as I am to mix it up overseas, I am beginning to stress out.
This will be the longest I’ve ever been away from my sons. I’m missing my firstborn’s first day of school and his fourth birthday. Worst yet, what really has me sick to my stomach is that I won’t be getting laid for 21 days. I haven’t gone that long since I first discovered the fuzzy britches of a woman. I don’t know that I’ll be able to handle it. So, I sat my wife down and discussed my options. I told her the tour had a one-night stay scheduled in Amsterdam and that I needed closure. She understood, gave me her consent, but feared for my safety.
The story goes that 11 years ago, in the early stages of our courtship, I found myself in the red-light district of Amsterdam. Not wanting to cheat on my new lady, I instead opted to buy a bag full of oblong vegetables for a prostitute to use as sex toys while I masturbated: no touching involved, and I’d gladly pay full freight. Turns out girls over there don’t care much for veggies. Every gal scoffed at the proposition; one sex worker got so angry that she called the enormous Moroccan security guards and nearly had me beaten senseless.
Testing Seattle’s Porn-Friendly Public Libraries
Like many people on this deadly, dying sphere, pornography is often the only thing that keeps me going—I’m probably watching it as you read this. I’m also a frequent library patron, but before this week, these two interests rarely overlapped (except for that time I thumbed through The Story of the Eye in the stacks, an activity I highly recommend).
I live in Seattle, and this past January, a local mother named Julia Howe was at the Lake City library with her 10-year-old daughter when they came across a man publicly viewing hard-core porn. When Howe asked a librarian to move him to a more discreet location, the librarian refused. Howe ended up taking her complaint to local radio stations and newspapers, and started a small tempest around the issue, with pissed-off parents on one side and librarians on the other. The librarians stuck to their guns, and now any of us can walk into the computer room and view some hot, raw, constitutionally protected porno.
There are a whole host of reasons why parents don’t want their kids watching porn, and all of them are valid. However, libraries don’t censor what patrons check out off the shelves, and they don’t tell their patrons what to view on computers. They’re committed to an ethic of facilitating—not monitoring—access to information, and if you’re anything like me, you see this as an ethical win for us all.
So sure, librarians are absolutely on the front lines of the fight for the first amendment… But that’s a different article. This one is about how last week I went to the library to look at some nasty shit.
Stoya on Condoms in Porn
Harm reduction strategies are meant to reduce the harm associated with certain activities through education, illness prevention, and treatment. The adult industry’s system of regular STI testing and exposure tracking protocol is one such method of harm reduction. I would argue that the laws and rules associated with driving are also a kind of harm reduction. In the case of roads, two-ton vehicles are rocketing around at speeds faster than the most exceptional horse could ever hope to reach. Requiring drivers to follow speed limits, stick to established traffic patterns, and communicate with each other using turn signals and brake lights reduces the likelihood of one crashing into another. However, as long as human and mechanical error exist, the roads will never be completely safe.
In the case of adult films, people are engaging in exhibitionistic sex for public viewing pleasure. These sex acts are generally longer in duration and more theatrical in content than the average sex act. Recreational sex and professional sex in front of cameras both involve a certain level of risk, and those of us who engage in professional sex in front of cameras take precautions to lessen the potential for harm at work. Every time that a hole in our precautions is exposed, we look for ways to further lessen the risk. As with cars, as long as human and mechanical error exist, sex will never be completely safe.
Moscow Is a Paradise
Sasha Mademuaselle's favorite city is Moscow, which isn't all that surprising given it's where she was born and raised. Sasha says that what she particularly loves about her hometown is “the freedom the youth have,” which—considering the recent news aboutPutin viciously restricting freedoms for young people—was kind of surprising.
Still, her photos are great, so we’ll just excuse that last part as narrative license and enjoy all the naked people, dinosaurs, and creepy tattoos instead.