Feminist Porn: Sex, Consent, and Getting Off byKaeLyn Feminism has a love/hate relationship with sex.

The Feminist Sex Wars rage on and not just between second and third-wavers. I once spent an evening at a hole-in-the-wall strip club with a 20-something friend fiercely debating her anti-pornography/anti-prostitution position. We spent half an hour of that night talking with a dancer, a young single mom and the only woman-of-color on the floor. She said it was better than working at a grocery store; she made more money and didn t have to pay for day care. How could I blame her? It was naive and classist for us to engage her in this conversation, but I was in college and didn t know how stupid I was being. This also happened to be the night I bought my first vibrator, with that same friend, at a sleazy adult store in Syracuse, NY. Long story short is that I became passionate about the rights of sex workers and people that work in the sex/adult industry and began a more intelligent and articulate study of why I felt so compelled to defend pornography, prostitution, women s sexual pleasure, and my own sexual desires. In the 60 s and 70 s, Andrea Dworkin led a brilliant fight to expose and illuminate rape culture and end violence against women. Her analysis of the gender binary, pornography, and theories of penetrative sex as a patriarchal act is at the titillating center of a lively and necessary conversation in the feminist community. I also believe the work of Dworkin and her peers has contributed to the division of lesbian and heterosexual feminists, persecution and demoralization of sex work and sex workers, exclusion of transfolk from feminist spaces, and a whole lot of personal feminist guilt. But I gotta give kudos to Dworkin for putting rape culture on the map and, there are many awesome, inspiring, fabulous feminist leaders I admire who also happen to be card-carrying members of the anti-prostitution camp including Gloria Steinem and Robin Morgan. All that said, a reproductive justice framework, in my mind, calls for the full rights of sex workers and a liberation of sexuality that goes beyond mainstream pornography and sex work. Don t women, and all people, have the right to control their bodies, access their sexual desires, and to enjoy safe and consensual sexual pleasure? And while the porn and sex/adult industry is currently geared towards men and definitely objectifies women, forgets women s pleasure, and supports an oppressive rape culture, I see a bigger solution than attempting to censor or criminalize sex. Like abortion, homosexuality, and other social issues that have been labeled deviant and make people uncomfortable, sex work and the sex trade will always go on, even if pushed underground. And legalization and support of sex work can open the door to helping the sex/adult industry become safer and healthier for sex workers and a more welcoming and affirming place for feminists and all people. I, and others in the pro-sex camp like Pat Califia and Betty Dodson, believe in a society that truly values gender justice, where women can make free and safe choices about sex and sexuality, be free from abuse and assault, and have available to them the same frank and authentic access to their sexual selves that Western culture affords men from the day they pop out of the womb. Of course, it is more complicated then just embracing porn. I, obviously, do not condone human trafficking or sexual slavery. I do believe that legalizing sex work will help regulate and prosecute human trafficking and sexual slavery and will create human rights for sex workers. I do not believe that all pornography should be legal. Porn or sex work that involves minors, animals, killing of people or animals, and rape should be criminalized to the fullest extent of the law. I do think that pornography that include consensual sex between adults, including rape fantasy, incest taboo, BDSM, and other kinky sex should be legal and can be deconstructed and even embraced by feminist pedagogy. So theories and pontificating aside, let s add reality to the mix. The reality of what women, even feminists, find pleasurable is not always politically correct. Sexuality is not neat and clean. I have talked to many feminist women who struggle to balance what really happens behind closed doors and what they feel the bedroom politics of a good feminist should be.

Enjoying BDSM, strap-on sex and sex toys, genderplay, rape and incest taboo, mainstream pornography, and other deviant sexual taboos with a consensual partner does not make a person a bad feminist or a hypocrite. To the contrary, feminism is what gave me permission to love sex, with myself and with others, to embrace my sexual orientation, and find out what turns me on. Pro-sex feminism argues that recognizing the role of fantasy in sexual arousal and coming out of shame about sexual desires opens the door to a more frank and honest discussion about women s bodies, consent, and safer s And that leads to ex. better, safer sexthat encourages communication and complete, enthusiastic consent to sex that is fulfilling and healthy. How is that not feminist? Feminist porn is out there. In my opinion, feminist porn represents a diverse cross-section of people and is woman-friendly, queer-friendly, open to many interpretations of beauty, and is, at best, political and woman-owned. I ve listed some sites that I really admire to stimulate thought and discussion. Please do not visit the sites listed under Feminist Porn if you are under the age of 18 and be aware that any of the links may contain adult content. Note that I did NOT include Suicide Girls, as I do not personally feel that Suicide Girls is a feminist porn site and, apparently, neither does Lauren (Rock on, Feministe!). I realize that I may be opening a huge can of worms by addressing feminist pornography, so while I am really interested in hearing others thoughts about this topic, I ask that everyone keep their comments respectful and intelligent. Here s my top picks! This is a blog entry extracted from the website Feministe. The original link is: http://www.feministe.us/blog/archives/2008/07/23/feminist-porn-sex-consent-and-gettingoff/ (including a list of feminist porn resources at the bottom of the post)

Asexuality is Queer (http://skepticsplay.blogspot.com/2010/09/asexuality-is-queer.html) This has nothing to do with skepticism, but for some time I've wanted to write about the relationship between asexuals and the queer community. This topic is close to my heart, because I live in that intersection. I openly identify as gay and asexual (or more precisely, between the two). Clearly, it's in my interest that these groups get along and be allies to each other. But I also think that these groups should be together because they advance each others' causes. The queer ideal is to be radically inclusive of all gender and sexual minorities. This does not just mean gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender. This means pansexual, intersex, polyamory, fetishism, questioning, fluidity, asexual, and the intersection of all these minorities with gender, ethnicity, disability, social class, and anything else you can imagine. The queer ideal is to destroy all the false binaries and societal norms that unduly disadvantage these minorities. That's the impossible dream. Asexuals belong in that dream, but not just because asexuals are a sexual minority. Nor is it because asexuals physically overlap with those other minorities, though there is indeed a large overlap. Asexuality belongs in the impossible dream because it challenges many of our deeply held assumptions about sexuality and relationships. It challenges the assumption that sex and romance always go together. We all sort of knew that already, in the back of our minds, but there is no clearer demonstration than the existence of people who experience romantic feelings, but not sexual desire. And clearly nonsexual relationships are not any more "pure"; this is just how people are, and it has nothing to do with virtue. Asexuality challenges us to seriously talk about fluidity. People often assume that asexuals are just "late bloomers" or they haven't met the "right person". These people have a very

naive view of fluidity, as if everyone is constantly changing, but changing in specific directions conforming to specific norms. Many asexuals don't change, but a few do. And that's okay, because people can identify as something without having to commit permanently with absolute certainty. The best we can do is provide a space where people are allowed to question themselves, and where new self-discoveries are accepted, even celebrated. Fluidity is not betrayal, after all. Asexuality challenges the assumption that romantic and sexual relationships are the ultimate form of interpersonal relationship and success. If that's the case, why do people get on just fine without them? Sexual relationships are seen as the best and only source of intimacy in our lives, but in fact there are other sources. We have our friends, and our communities, and we can make new relationships which are uncategorizable as either friends or romantic partners. The same way gay people opened up new possibilities for sexual relationships, asexuals have the power to open up new possibilities for nonsexual relationships. Sadly, the impossible dream is not here, and asexuals know it. The asexual community is split between the people who want to be part of queer, and the people who don't (clearly I am radically in favor of the former). When you ask people in the latter group why, they give three reasons. The first reason is that they are not gay, and thus do not belong in the gay community. I think this is sad, because it indicates that the queer community is doing so poorly at its goal of radical inclusiveness, that people don't even recognize it as anything more than a group for gay people. The second reason is that they feel that we need separate spaces. This objection is just based on a simple misunderstanding. I am not advocating that we dissolve our separate communities and merge into an amorphous whole. I am advocating that we all be allies and friends, that we fight for each other's causes, and we make our respective spaces safe for each other. The third reason people give is that they tried to join a queer group, but it didn't turn out well. Many asexuals, when they first discover the concept, initially assume that the place to go is the queer community. And then when they get there, they find that some queer groups are no more accepting than anyone else. Sometimes they are sex-positive in the most naive way. Often they're just ignorant about it, occasionally willfully ignorant. A more difficult problem is the focus of such groups. They focus a lot on sex. And that's great until it comes at the exclusion of everything else. When that's all there is, I feel there's a lack of imagination. And in case this all seems hopeless, let me just say: I am typing this from a queer space right this moment. I am sitting in an LGBT themed house, where I often get food and internet. I like it here a lot. I recognize that the reason I can be happy in queer spaces is due to a fortunate series of circumstances. But some of these circumstances are no accident! It's an accident that I am privileged enough to be able to go to university, but it's not an accident that university queer groups are so successful at being radically inclusive. This is the result of an intentional and sustained effort. Let's keep it up!

Queers Re-fashion Flagging Codes (http://www.thescavenger.net/glb/queers-refashionflagging-codes-27856.html)

The conventions of a gay male medium are being remade by young queers to offer a way of thinking and talking about sex and power that is easily accessible, writes Jo Latham. Flagging refers to the wearing of a colour-coded handkerchief, bandana, scarf or as is becoming increasingly seen in femme circles ribbon to indicate sexual interest/s.

Traditionally, flagging referred to a bandana code utilised by gay men to identify each other and pinpoint compatible sexual interests. But young queers, especially queer women and trans men, are getting together to rewrite flagging language to reflect (and construct) their ideas about sex and sexuality. The brief of the queer hanky guide flagging opinicus rampant spells this out: It s better not to assume the sex-gender of who s flagging or who that flagger is seeking [ ] It s important that female flagging complements and extends traditional gay male flagging, without becoming incompatible, so you can accurately decode any hanky on any body. I d like hanky code to be a complete language for how you want to fuck that overrides what might be assumed from how your body is gendered. As hanky coding originates from gay male culture, the traditional system assumes all parties have male bodies. Many colours have standard meanings which are easily translatable regardless of the bodies involved, such as black for sadomasochism or aqua for sex in water. The location of a flag is also indicative: worn on the left side means top or right, bottom. However these terms are loaded and complex; debate abounds about which position in various sex acts is topping or bottoming and how male and female bodily differences can be accounted for. Of course there are also many sex acts between women and people with female bodies that present gaps in the traditional code which are now being written in. Thus, flagging offers a way of thinking and talking about sex and power which is easily accessible, and in heteronormative sex-saturated and sexist cultures, desperately needed. Once you know the basics about flagging it s generally easy to decipher the code; as in maroon signifies blood play and puce indicates bruising. But there are some wild cards for experienced players, like dark purple for piercing or rope for suspension. The point of flagging is to invite questions, to initiate conversations about the specifics of sex and of desire and to acknowledge the complexities involved in sexual interaction. Flagging does not tell you everything (indeed even a good double or triple flag can only tell you so much), and clubs are dark: maybe what you thought was red was actually dark pink. Flagging, then, demands an explicit and specific understanding (and practice) of consent. Without it, flagging makes no sense. A flag is an indication, a reference to interest in certain activities and a way of non-verbal initiation. In this way, flagging provides a radical resistance to the kind of hands on harassment and abuse many of us endure. As it says at flagging opinicus rampant: We take on board the feminist call that the personal is political and we re into politically astute fucking. Flagging also resists mononormativity (the ways societies work to render monogamy as normal and polygamy, polyamory, swinging or singleness as deviant ). A part of mononormativity can be seen in the ways that people are punished or rewarded according to their adhesion to social expectations of sexuality: married and heterosexual de facto couples receive legal and cultural privileges such as tax concessions and parenting rights while the rest of us must negotiate often tricky bureaucratic barriers to the same end. To women especially, sexuality is regulated institutionally and socially: women continue to be paid lower wages for the same work as men, and this acts as a financial incentive for women to be heterosexually attached. Socially, women are punished for having any sexuality outside marriage through insults like slut a word which has been reclaimed in protest to such gender policing. Women s and female flagging promotes slut pride and references non-monogamy, as flagging indicates availability without assuming relationship status. The queerness of contemporary flagging culture is less about homosexuality and more about drawing attention to the ambiguities of desire, of gender and of bodies. Flagging in this way takes into account the realities of transexuality, transvestism, bisexuality, heterosexuality, and indeed female bodies, in ways that the traditional system failed to do so. Thus, flagging resists conventional (and sexist) assumptions about who wants what and how, as well as emphasising that talking about the specifics of sex is a necessary part of practising safer sex (that is, sexually interacting with anyone). Jo Latham is an associate editor at The Scavenger and currently flagging argyle.