Susanna Breslin, the writer of porn industry blog Reverse Cowgirl, has published an essay, “They Shoot Porn Stars Don’t They,” about the porn industry, its realities, and its fantasies. Its ultimate focus is how the recession and new media are affecting porn, perhaps inordinately, but along the way it takes several fascinating, and disturbing, detours to explore some of the unseen corners of the porn world.

In my last post about porn, I wrote mostly about the new wave of pornographers, specifically the new female porn stars who are more involved in the business side of the business. Women like Joanna Angel and Jilly Kelly run their own porn studios, and I’m sure they, along with like-minded male porn producers, treat their stars with respect, don’t bully them into doing things they’re not ready for, don’t traumatize them into a fugue prior to shooting scenes; that said, some of the stories told in Breslin’s essay are hard to swallow. It’s hard to imagine defending an industry that supports such outright emotional abuse and exploitation, even if only in the edge cases, even if only when things go too far. I recommend you read the whole thing. It’s not a hit job on the porn industry, but it shines a light on it, letting you see some parts you might want to forget about.

Wow. I didn’t know I had it in me. I had no idea I felt so strongly about the character development deficiencies in erotic novels.¹

For the past few weeks, I’ve been taking part in the grand experiment that is Infinite Summer. But reading Infinite Jest, even in 75 pages per week chunks, can be draining. So recently, to kill some time avoiding reading Infinite Jest, I decided to read another book: Secretary’s Punishment.

A little back story is needed here. A few months ago I bought a few adult erotica books because I wondered how good the books were. If they weren’t well written I was thinking about writing my own, cashing in on my unremarkable writing capabilities. Now that I’ve read one of them, I thought I’d write up my thoughts.

The book centres on a young woman named Emily Robinson. She’s just moved to a new city, away from her abusive fiance, and just started a new job that she needs to keep or she won’t be able to stay in the new city away from her troubled past. The only problem is that her new job is as an administrative assistant (though he abhors the term and prefers the anachronistic ‘secretary’) to a demanding man named Edward Caudry, who has yet to find a secretary up to snuff.

That’s the basic premise. And while it’s a diaphanous one it’s enough to establish the early structure of the story. In a format both delightfully and disappointingly like the silver screen Secretary, whenever Emily makes a typo in the documents she writes up, Mr Caudry (as he is known exclusively for the first half of the novel) brings her into his office, has her bend down onto his desk, face pressed to the red-ink circled typos, and gives her an increasing number of spanks to her ass.

Obviously, it doesn’t start as that; it begins as an alternative to being summarily fired, which she accepts somewhat credulously due to her financial dire straits. Her arousal over the entire scenario forces her to masturbate in the bathroom of her office, until he begins to exert more and more control over her; he begins demanding that she not wear pantyhose, that she wear ‘approved’ panties (which he examines every morning), that she not orgasm when not in his presence (a simple demand given how readily she seems to orgasm from his spanks).

So there’s three aspects to this: is the story credulous? Is the writing arousing? And is the writing any good? Well, the story is, for the most part, believable. Though, the progression from a hostile work environment (the first day) to walking around the office without any panties, giving the boss a regular morning blowjob, taking of her skirt while seated at her desk, and some light-to-medium bondage (all by the end of the second week) is the most hastened aspect of the story. Each new day at the office was a new level to the dominance and submission, which to a degree works, but it is the most unbelievable and at times troubling part of the progression. Spreading it out over the course of even a month would’ve made it seem more realistic.

And, yeah, the writing is arousing. Well, for me anyways. The descriptions are very good, and the author tends not to use the annoying euphemisms — trouser-snake is one that comes to mind — that make most erotic writing tiring². Of course, generally speaking it’s not hard to arouse the male mind, even with simple prose. Mention a vagina, perhaps a clitoris, include reference to an orgasm rising within the woman’s loins and that’s really all it takes: rinse and repeat.

And the writing isn’t bad, but it isn’t great either. One thing that I pondered over as I read the book was if the spelling and grammatical mistakes in the book were intentional or not. I could imagine an inventive couple taking the book and using it in their own BDSM role-playing, highlighting the mistakes, and doling out spanks. Then, again the novel might just have had a shitty editer.

The book is mostly dialogue and descriptions of sex, with the rest internal monologue, almost all of which is dispensable. Does that mean I could write an erotic novel? Well, it’s not impossible. The skills required are little, and if this book is any indication of the genre, it’s in dire need of good characterization.

The novel is split in two halves with the first being written from the perspective of Emily and the second from that of Edward. The first half is fairly well written, with Emily at constant conflict with her confusing desire to be punished, to be controlled, to be dominated. It’s not high art, but the internal dialogue allows the reader to see the character slowly shifting from her rather innocent beginnings to her “true personality” as a submissive. It gives the story a little bit of class and respectability.

And most importantly, even though the story is ostensibly that of a boss taking advantage of his position to garner sexual favours from his assistant, the internal monologue keeps the story from feeling degrading or sexist. Which brings me to the second part of the novel, titled Edward.

The second half is much much worse than the first. The first flaw is taking on the persona of the male dominant Edward. For the first half of the novel he is portrayed as a masterful Dom, able to spot that she’s orgasmed in the bathroom, capable of bringing her to mindblowing orgasms with the slightest twitch of his fingers, perfectly gauged in the way he slowly brings her submissive side out. He was exactly the type of character from whose perspective you should never narrate, so already switching voice was a mistake for that reason.

The novel quickly takes us behind his veneer of self-assuredness into his neuroses about how far he should push her, caused by his last relationship in which he didn’t push his Sub far enough fast enough, and all sorts of things that bring him down to earth so to speak. I understand why the novel tried to do this; by humanizing him, it makes the final ending, with Emily and Edward in a stable relationship, a little more appealing. But the final ending could have been just as satisfying if he remained a cipher on the surface. Even the implication of Emily’s understanding of his inner machinations would have made it clear they were on level footing. This more explicit path is harder to swallow.

But that’s not the worst flaw. Much of the second half of the novel is like Hard Sci-Fi for fetishists, discussing the nuances of the relationship between a Dom and a Sub, the levels of power the must be exerted from both partners, how trust can be re-established when a Sub begins to fear their Dom. There are numerous scenes that reiterate these points in a very lecturey way, as if the author wanted to inform the perverts reading the book about BDSM³.

But after all that opinion, there’s a strange, for more than one reason, shift in the story near the end of the novel. The following paragraph appears not long after Edward has managed to coax Emily back into his life:

She was his girlfriend at that moment and Edward had a sudden revelation. The submissiveness was more like a game, he realized. Adriana [Ed: the ex who wanted more domination than Edward could offer] had never been the woman for him because she was a true submissive, one who required a strong, firm master to guide her. Edward was more like an actor who took on a role now and then. That didn’t mean he wasn’t a true Dom when the time came. It simply meant they didn’t have to live the life 24/7.

So once all the rules and boundaries of BDSM have been delicately laid out for the reader, Edward seems to abandon them as a lifestyle, instead twisting them into a game. That in itself is not surprising; aside from the most extreme scenarios, all BDSM is relegated to a subset of your life. But this shift is not made manifest in Edward’s demeanour in the remaining pages of the book. He has the realization that their Dom-Sub is closer to role-playing than it is to the full-on Dom-Sub lifestyle. Yet, he still has her work nude with her arms bound, he still has her spend her nights naked and giving him sexual acts when demanded of her, enforcing her diet and her wardrobe at all times. If it were truly just a game to him, they’d have a normal life, perhaps with innuendo and flirtation throughout the day, leading to some BDSM role-playing at night. But that’s not the situation the novel ends on.

And finally, there’s the closing paragraph:

“Now, I feel like two halves of the same coin. You challenge me, you love me, you take care of me.” Her eyes twinkling, she added, “What more could a girl want?”

Again, this isn’t visibly sexist. But, “a girl” might want many more things. Many girls might want independence, financial stability, someone to converse with, someone who “challenges” them in a form other than in their pain threshold. In fact the novel starts off with Emily leaving her abusive husband to fend for herself and it ends with her being completely controlled by another domineering man. But this time, we’re told, it’s a good thing. Maybe that’s what she wants. But it’s certainly not what “a girl” wants, it’s what “that girl” wants. A minor quibble, but as an ending to the story it sticks in my craw more than the less general alternative.

All this points to one inevitable conclusion: I need to write an erotic novel while ensuring the characters aren’t diminished or degraded for the sake of the sex and that the story concludes pleasantly and logically. Either that, or I need to write something of value, like one of the dozens of half-completed short-stories I have sitting around⁴. Either/or, really.

So where does that leave us? Well, I’m still a week and a half behind on the Infinite Summer schedule, and now I’m sexually and artistically frustrated. This was a great idea.

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Footnotes

1. For the record, this post, which is a far too serious about itself critique of an erotic novel, is written tongue firmly placed in cheek — though I won’t say which one. [↩]
2. Or at least subject to ridicule on television sitcoms [↩]
3. Or it’s the author’s attempt to legitimize some of the, in my opinion, sexist conclusions to the story [↩]
4. As an aside, I did write a story on Ficly not long ago, though the word limit (1024 characters) left me with a very ambiguous tale, one that even I have trouble grasping wholly [↩]

Note: I don’t claim to be a porn historian (more of an archivist, really) but I don’t think porn attained any level of mainstream notoreity before Deep Throat and its ilk. If I’m mistaken about the history of porn, I would love any and all corrections.

Porn will never be a truly mainstream form, but it will never be a completely ostracized form again. Pandora’s Box, as it were, has been opened. When porn first lept from the dirty underbelly of America and made its way into mainstream cinema in the late 60′s and 70′s, a part of it was that porn stars were struggling actors who showed up for auditions and found themselves wondering whether or not they should shave their pubes. And so there was a generation of porn stars hoping to make the leap to mainstream cinema. Deep Throat wasn’t made with any particular mainstream success in mind, at least not from what I’ve read, but the tongue-in-cheek plot, the satirical writing, and the general sexual freedom being examined by the public at large at the time made it a mainstream sensation.

For a brief period, porn and regular film even intermingled with cult hits like Deep Throat and big epics like Caligula. But ultimately the stars of Deep Throat accomplished nothing of note in non-pornographic film, and mainstream cinema slowly moved away from the explicitness of the X-rating. Porn would continue on with the cheesy plots and soft focus camera work of the 70′s for many subsequent years, but ultimately the conservatives won: Porno Chic was dead.

But now, in the past four years or so, the porn industry has introduced many a pervert to a new breed of porn star. Women like Sasha Grey, Bobbi Starr, Joanna Angel, and many more. These women don’t have the aspirations of the old-school porn stars. Just a little over a decade ago, with stars like Jenna Jameson, porn was merely a means to and end, which often meant mainstream success. But these women have no such desires.

There has always been a sort of underground fetish for extreme acts in porn, but it has always remained lingering in relative obscurity. But now, this new generation of porn star revels in expressing themselves through the sexual boundaries of both them and their sex partner. Much of their work has gone towards revolutionizing the sterilized sex scenes of the past — moving beyond the decades-old blowjob, missionary, doggie-style, facial pattern seen in most porn of the past — but their dislike for the pointless “Please fix my car, Mr. Mechanic. I’ll do anything” stories of yore is also quite well known. Sasha Grey recently worked on James Gunn’s PG Porn, which satirizes ridiculous porn plots, and her distaste for these old cliches was noted in her interviews regarding the project.

Some might say that this is nothing new. The Gonzo genre of porn — wherein the camera is a character in the scene and the actors don’t act but merely fuck — has been on the rise for quite some time. But this new brood goes beyond that; they bring passion to the job. For quite some time, porn relied on large silicone-filled breasts to distract viewers from the look of complete disinterest on the faces of the stars and the middling moans of mock pleasure. The new generation is much more natural looking, and uses experimentation and enthusiasm to arouse their audience; smiling, which was once essentially verboten, has become a staple of the porn starlets repertoire.

It’s true that some of these porn stars will attain mainstream celebrity by virtue of porn’s relative integration into the mainstream, but none of these women seem to have that as a goal. Sasha Grey has discussed what her future goals are and they consist of eventually starting her own porn company and continuing to push sexual boundaries on film. Obviously, she didn’t turn down Steven Soderbergh when he cast her as the lead in his upcoming film The Girlfriend Experience, but it hasn’t changed her goals by any appreciable amount.

Bobbi Starr, another new starlet whose work is also primarily adventurous extreme scenes, has different goals. From her wikipedia page:

As of 2008, Starr is a student studying pre-med, with the aim of becoming a gynecologist. Her intent is to work within the adult entertainment industry, where she has identified a lack of female gynecologists.

Joanna Angel runs her own studio, BurningAngel, which focuses on so-called Alt-Porn films. She also contributed a chapter to the book Naked Ambition: Women Who Are Changing Pornography and like all the women who inspired this article, they are changing porn. Most of these women are not what you would expect of a porn star. They’re intelligent, highly motivated, and love their job. To me, there’s a perfect storm of change happening in the porn industry. The women who keep the industry alive are taking an active interest in the managing of the industry, and they feel no stigma; they want more than to be successful within the industry, they want to improve the industry.

And that’s ultimately the key here. President Obama said in his address to the joint session of Congress “I believe the nation that invented the automobile cannot walk away from it.” People were quick to correct him that American did not invent the automobile, but they did invent the automobile industry. Henry Ford, for all his flaws, saw an industry and wanted more than to succeed within it, he wanted to improve it.

Did I just compare Sasha Grey to Henry Ford? You’re damn right I did.

I admit that I’m going a little overboard with this hagiographical ode to porn, but at the same time, there are many feminists who still cling to the idea that porn is little more than rape and a means of sexually demeaning women. Neither is the truth, but mine’s a little closer to it. The chauvinism of the porn industry is dying if it’s not already dead. The industry is changing. The women are taking it back.

I kind of love Paris Hilton. I’m not ga-ga over her, and she’d never supplant Jenna Fischer or Natalie Portman on my celebrity crush list, but I appreciate her honesty, her simplicity, her… idiocy.

Recently, she threw down the cash to head up to space in Richard Branson’s new commercial space-faring venture Virgin Galactic. When asked about it she said:

I’m very scared to do it. What if I don’t come back? With the whole light years thing, what if I come back 10,000 years later, and everyone I know is dead? I’ll be like, ‘Great. Now I have to start all over.’

That’s just so cute I can’t even criticise it. It’s just so endearingly ignorant. Obviously, it’s not right; the time dilation from the minute amount of time she’ll spend in space is negligible. Even Russian cosmonauts who’ve spent years in space “time traveled” no more than seconds. But even still, she says it — or is represented in the media as saying it — with such sincerity that you want to just kiss her on the forehead and tousle her hair a bit.

And then there’s the infamous sex tape. Yes, I’ve seen the sex tape. It’s not the best amateur porn I’ve ever seen, but it has its charms. Specifically, and this may get slightly graphic, near the end she’s giving him a blowjob and says she wants the cum on her face. The reason? “Because you’re my boyfriend.”

I know that that’s a fairly crass moment in which to find innocence and appreciation, but that’s what it does for me. Over the years, Paris Hilton has been trashed for so many reasons, and yet I’ve never really got it. Is she famous for no reason at all? Absolutely. Luckily, I don’t care about fame. And when you take that inherent aggravation out of the equation, she’s really quite endearing. Seriously.