friend of mine is setting up a Web site with some of her friends
for feminist (mostly queer) porn. I’m straight, and she asked
me if I wanted to be in it, with or without my boyfriend of
two years. After clarifying that I wouldn’t be making porn
with people I didn’t want to do it with, and that I like it
a lot rougher than would be traditionally considered “feminist,”
she said that anything I wanted to do was fine.
I discussed this with my boyfriend and he is more than willing
to do it—but he said that it is my decision. I’ve taken a
lot of naked/ sexual/whatever pictures of myself for him,
and I’m not particularly self-conscious about being photographed
naked or even in sexual situations. I certainly enjoy my fair
share of porn, and I’m not averse to giving back to the genre.
I also think that the risk that someone would stumble across
a predominantly lesbian porn site and associate me in everyday
life with some girl with a nipple ring getting face fucked
is slim to none.
Despite all this rationalization, I still feel uneasy. I am
20 years old and have no intention of running for public office,
so if there is any time to do something like being in porn
it is now. However, I still feel like something as permanent
as pictures taken by other people for other people will end
up where I don’t want them to be. I don’t feel like my friend
and boyfriend are pressuring me to be on the site, but I do
feel that since they have no issues with making porn for public
consumption there is some repression that is holding me back.
Or maybe they are the ones being ridiculous and I am being
sensible. What do you think?
Over Revealing Nudity
think you should shut the fuck up, that’s what I think. Blah
blah fuckin’ blah! By the time you finish talking about whether
or not you’re gonna splash your tits all over your friend’s
feminist/mostly-queer porn site you’re going to be so old
that no one is going to want to see your tits. It’s abundantly
clear that you’re not comfortable with the idea of doing porn,
PORN, and your reasons are rock solid. Pictures are
permanent; lesbian-action fans, most of them straight men,
will find their way to your friend’s porn site; your
pictures will end up on dozens or hundreds of other
Web sites. So don’t do porn! Save those naked photos for your
boyfriend, drop the whole tortured undergrad routine, and
go back to being one of the tens of millions of anonymous
porn consumers out there.
And finally, kiddo, consuming porn doesn’t obligate a person
to “give back” to the genre—and thank God for that. If everyone
who consumed porn “gave back” we would have to wade through
mountains of porn featuring pudgy, middle-aged guys before
we found anything even remotely hot. Eesh.
I broke up with this woman recently because I could not
stand to kiss her. I couldn’t stand for her to stick her tongue
in my mouth because her saliva had a bad taste. Saliva is
supposed to be tasteless and odorless. I know why this woman’s
saliva had a bad taste. She had bacteria in her mouth, a lot
of it, due to bad oral hygiene. I will not date, kiss, or
make love to a woman who does not take care of her mouth!
Call me anal, but I brush at least twice a day, I floss at
least once a day, and I use a mouthwash at least twice a day.
Kissing somebody is more intimate than fucking, and it’s not
pleasant if your partner has smelly spit. I brought this up
to her as delicately as I could, but she got pissy and defensive
about it, so I broke up with her. I don’t want some woman’s
smelly, bacteria-laden tongue in my mouth. Yuck. Right or
Rinsers Allowed, Ladies
I suppose. You aren’t required to kiss anyone whose oral hygiene
doesn’t entirely meet with your high standards, ORAL, and
if a woman’s failure to brush twice a day, floss at least
once a day, and use mouthwash is a deal breaker for you, then
it’s a deal breaker for you. I don’t see how my opinion matters
much. I would, however, challenge you on one thing: Saliva
is not tasteless and odorless. People, like soda pop, come
in all sorts of flavors. If you’re holding out for a woman
whose saliva tastes like bottled water, ORAL, you’re going
to be one lonely dude.
As someone working in the mental-health field, I can’t
tell you how impressed I was with your response to “Wrapped
Up.” You will recall the obviously troubled young woman who
weighs 103 pounds and who is “repulsed” by the sight of her
own body. I was impressed not so much by your sensitivity
to the boyfriend’s want of an entirely naked love object,
as much as I was astounded by your cruelty to this woman.
You called her a “nut case,” remember? A mere glance at a
body mass index chart will tell you that she quite probably
suffers from anorexia nervosa, and her extremely negative
perception of her own body possibly qualifies as body dysmorphic
disorder. Just so you know, these are two very complicated
and potentially life-threatening mental illnesses. I have
no idea why this person sought you out for the help she needs.
After all, you’re a homosexual. Until 1973 homosexuals were
considered “nut cases” according to the Diagnostic and Statistical
Manual of Mental Disorders. Prior to 1973, sex columnists
such as yourself—not bound, apparently, by any code of ethics
whatsoever—could have referred to you as a “nut case” simply
for being gay. Technically you are no longer a “nut case,”
but I can call you a “dipshit.” There now. How did that feel?
I’ve been called worse.
But let’s not dwell on our disagreements, PSW, let’s focus
on our shared professional assessment of Wrapped Up: That
nut case has problems, we both agree, which is why I advised
her to “get her ass to a shrink already.” I did not simply
call her a nut case and leave it at that. This nut case needs
help and I told her to go get help. And, yes, I called her
a nut case, PSW, but sometimes a nut case needs to be told
they’re nuts before they’ll go and get help. Some nut cases
need a kick in the ass, PSW, and not some mewling pussy—excuse
me, “someone working in the mental-health field”—drooling
empathy all over their laps.
I am glad you wrote in, however, as your letter gives me an
opportunity to remind the handful of empathetic sissies among
my readers of something important: The people who send me
letters read my column. Ka-duh. They know that my advice doesn’t
come premasticated. If I were swiping Carolyn Hax’s mail,
or Amy Dickenson’s, and beating the shit out of people who
weren’t seeking my advice, well, then you’d have a beef. But
people who write me? They know what I’m like, dumbfucks.
As for the qualifications issue, this is an advice
column. When you look up advice in the dictionary it says
“opinion about what could or should be done.” The only qualification
you need to give advice is having been asked for it. If WU
wanted to ask some useless, prissy clenchbutt for his opinion,
then she could have asked someone working in the mental-health
field what he thought. She didn’t, though. She asked me.