Tagged: porn

Porn Director: I Was Totally Against Mandatory Condom Use in Sex Flicks, Until Now

Porn Director: I Was Totally Against Mandatory Condom Use in Sex Flicks, Until Now

honestly I feel like this post belongs on xojane and like, madam, how can you possibly be unaware that there are alternatives to latex and a bunch of other things but anyway, posting this bc some of it’s worth reading.

Here’s why this director changed her mind.

Continued from previous page

So, when the Measure B “condom law” was passed in November 2012, I loudly objected, along with thousands of other adult industry producers. Measure B was both dangerous and absurd, we argued. First of all, our testing system works, we reasoned, because we had successfully kept HIV out of the talent pool since 2004. Secondly, the condom law would simply force pornographers “underground,” where they could no longer be monitored or held accountable for violations in safety protocol (as if everyone in porn was already held accountable for any number of random, unethical behaviors). Our hard-won testing standards would erode as performers opted not to share their STD test results, or even to test at all. And not only that, what if the condom were to break and you didn’t know your scene partner’s HIV status? What if you were (like me) allergic to condoms and the condom law would end your career as a performer?

I made these arguments more than once, and I believed them, but on a deeper, quieter level, I felt conflicted. What I knew was that, despite the validity of these “what if?” scenarios, and despite the fact that our testing system had been successful at keeping HIV out of the porn talent pool for nearly a decade, it had been far less successful in keeping out other STDs. I knew that condoms would help prevent the spread of diseases like chlamydia and gonorrhea, both of which are so common in the adult industry that a performer who learns he or she is infected doesn’t even bother to alert recent scene partners to their possible exposure. And while porn’s most commonly transmitted STDs are admittedly “curable” with a course of antibiotics, they can still have some fairly serious complications (e.g., infertility and increased vulnerability to the HIV virus.)

I also couldn’t help noticing that while some performers seemed all but immune to porn’s most common STDs, others seemed to struggle with “dirty tests” constantly. I knew this because sometimes I’d try to book a certain performer only to be told by her agent that she wasn’t available until she could “take her medicine and re-test.” Even if I’d been told the same thing about the same performer multiple times within the span of a few months, I wouldn’t miss a beat. “Tell me when she’s up and running again,” I’d say, and simply ask if one of my alternate choices was available instead. While I was vigilant about keeping my set staph-and-sexual-harassment-free, apparently chronic cases of chlamydia and gonorrhea — some of which might have very well been transmitted on my set — didn’t faze me.

But after a few heavily publicized HIV scares in the past few years, including four within the past few weeks (none of which turned out to have been contracted on set, nor transmitted to other adult film performers in the course of shooting a scene), it has become harder for many of us to avoid the question of whether condoms might not be such a bad idea. In terms of sales they’re risky, but when considering performer safety, is there really a solid argument against a testing/condom combination? Yes, some producers might continue to shoot condom-free porn anyway, but is that any excuse for the rest of us to avoid taking steps to protect our performers?

Now, as the president of my own production company (which partners with the online broadcasting network  AEBN.net), I’ve been given an opportunity to follow my own conscience and to control my own career and financial future. Should I refuse to bow to “the Man” and go underground like many of my peers have already started to do? Shoot without legal film permits and operate in the shadows? Or do I search my soul for truths that don’t stem from a need to rebel against authority or protect my own bottom line?

It’s like live porn! With a lapdance!

I’m currently on hold with the Department of Revenue, slowly being driven mad by their hold music, and also trying to polish the 20 minute presentation I’m doing tomorrow on the creation of female identity on the seventeenth-century stage.  Given the circumstances, the only rational thing to do, I think, is blog.

A few weeks ago I had the kind of night that basically promises the next few will be bad or at least mediocre.  I’d walk out of the lap dance room and someone else would grab me and pull me back in.  It wasn’t even midnight and after this last couple I’d decided I would use my money wisely and pay to leave early[1], because going to sleep before 3am seems real appealing these days.  Hardly ever happens.

I got my couple into the dance area and sat them down. Without my glasses they looked a lot like Carrie and Fred, doing some kind of Portlandia skit, and I’d been stressed out until I got close enough to them to see it wasn’t. What happened next was like the kind of bad sketch comedy you’d get if you used my club for material. Innocent bystanders shocked by live lewd lesbian sex[2].

One of the club regulars likes to choose two or three girls and then take them back for a private show. The girls do, you know, a two-girl show if it’s the two of them, switching off, and if there’re three, one of them sits in his lap and watches, and they rotate like that.  Depending on the girls it can get pretty noisy, and this was a rowdy group.  I had a hard time focusing on my couple, and definitely getting them to pay attention to me.  There was shrieking and laughing, vibrators getting waved around, spanking—compared to which I felt my entertainment value shriveling. I sighed. When life gives you lemons… throw them at pedestrians.

I turned to my couple. “So do you get views like this in Vegas?” I asked brightly.

The man’s jaw was dropped, the girl’s eyes were round.  They’d previously described themselves as strip club aficionados, presenting as jaded connoisseurs whom little could surprise.  This was the last stop for the night on their tour of my city, and a cabbie took them here.  It wasn’t a night when the performative bi girls were both… performing, so the back room show was probably doubly unexpected.

“No,” the man said. “No, no, nope.”

“You should come back on a Friday,” I advised them.  “It’s even more wild.”

“We went to a different club, [semi-famous downtown club], and it was so boring!  This is intense!  And so fun!”

I climbed out of her lap and into his, purred in her ear. Couples dances can be a lot of work, trying to pay the right amount of attention to both of them, making sure they’re both having fun and want more.  I couldn’t decide if the scene across from us was helping or hindering. Since there was nothing I could do, I had to hope it was helping.

“This is really fun,” the girl confessed, and she stroked my hair.  “You smell nice.”

More loud spanking interrupted her. I giggled. “Skip that club next time! Hit these two instead.  You’ll really like that one.”

The loud hum of a vibrator interrupted for a moment, then got muffled.  More muffled by moans. “It’s like you got live action porn for the price of three lapdances!” I couldn’t stop myself from saying.

When our three dances were over, they tipped me extra, then asked me to send them one of the girls from the private show.  It happened to be Sparky[3], the overachiever who likes to give really good dances[4], so I knew they’d be in good hands.  I went to get her, and she asked me to talk to her regular while she danced for them.  I sighed deeply, because that interfered with my beloved plan to leave early.

But I am now off the phone with the DR–if your friend advises you that you should include student loans on your taxes as income she is wrong and this will just ruin your life, after taking about a year to really snowball, and it is easy but time-consuming to fix and involves a lot of the Department of Revenue audibly shaking their heads at you–so this is

To be continued!


[1] Speaking of fines, I’ve been thinking a little lethargically about working someplace else so I can go back to fully appreciating my club, and my friend told me the price to leave early at her club is 100$. Psh. Even if your child broke his leg and you have to go get him from elementary school or whatever.  Management so slimy.

[2] Is it really lesbian sex if they aren’t lesbians?

[3] Name changed!

[4] Who has actually really grown on me.

class to work

In class today we had a guest speaker, a curator from the local art museum. Her lecture, on Japanese block prints, was lively and interesting; I’ve gotten lucky this term with the good lecturers.
She paused at a faintly tinted print of a couple embracing under a cherry blossom tree:

…Erotica, of course, was the cash cow of the print industry. For better or worse [name of museum redacted] has almost none… I think you can trace that to the interests of our donors. This print is from early on in a folio; as in this image here they generally begin with almost genteel foreplay while later on it will move to more athletic prowess. These two: the woman, almost certainly a courtesan, acting modest and retiring, while the man entreats her–I can’t really read you the top bit on this page, but I assure you that nine or ten pages in the dialogue has for the most part dwindled to ‘ooooh’.

For no good reason it reminded me of a particularly pointless conversation with a customer a few weeks ago.

He didn’t seem like an especially good prospect, but his friend–currently in the bathroom–did. We watched the usual suspects hop up on stage and then one of them face planted in the other girls lap. Various lesbianic poses ensued, and a worthwhile amount of dollars flowed.
“Wow,” my companion said. “Yikes! You must be so horned up! And those two!”
“What?” I asked, more to get reassurance that he had in fact spoken out loud the phrase “horned up” than because I hadn’t heard him.
“It just must get you all so worked up to work here! They must be so horned up!” He stared at the two on stage again, one of them inverted on the pole while the other stood, face in the pole girl’s crotch.
It looked like work to me, strenuous and mildly uncomfortable, hanging upside down while your friend gave you head for a few minutes, then moving to the next pose, maybe tongues half way out for one of those lesbian kisses that cry out for a man to do the job right. It wasn’t hot, it was stage germs and random girl ass germs and money germs and bacteria and even more tedious: performative lesbianism for not enough money, dollar bills to be having unsafe sex amidst other peoples ass germs. killjoy I thought.
“Totally,” I assured him. “We are totally… horned up. Like all the time. We even have pillow fights back there sometimes. Naked ones. And we giggle.”
“Wow,” he said again, looking deeply satisfied.
Ooooh.