Living in close quarters with the budding genius behind clothed porn blog False Modesty, you can imagine there are lots of smutty magazines lying around the flat.
I’ve never had a comfortable relationship with pornography. Maybe it’s because of early Catholic indoctrination. Maybe it’s because I agree with the basic tenets of feminism. Or maybe it’s something altogether simpler.
Most pornography is, quite simply, pretty gross. Lots of women in porn seem sickly infantilised. I’ve never been face to face with a bald vagina, its petally bits trimmed down to an unnatural size, the nearby anus bleached to the same monotone effect of “nude” lipstick — and I hope to never have the pleasure. Continue reading