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The Economics of Regulation

The adult entertainment industry has a clear interest in keeping explicit content accessible only to adults. Children don’t pay for pornography, and pirated material already costs legitimate creators thousands of dollars every month. I personally spend hundreds more removing stolen videos from illegal websites. If all explicit material were truly locked behind a paywall, legitimate creators would generate more revenue — just as adult entertainment did during the “Golden Age” of magazines, VHS tapes, and theaters.

OnlyFans’ success demonstrates this principle. It thrived because it presented itself as a mainstream social platform, while explicit content remained available only to paying subscribers. This balance between visibility and controlled access created a sustainable ecosystem for adult creators.

The Real Purpose Behind Age Verification

Current governmental efforts to enforce strict age-verification for adult content seem less concerned with protecting minors and more aligned with advancing digital identity systems. These measures accelerate the normalization of online surveillance and the erosion of anonymity — all under the pretext of child safety.

In practice, these systems don’t work. Teenagers today are digitally literate and easily bypass verification using VPNs, proxy servers, or offshore websites. Only companies in the U.S., U.K., and E.U. are likely to comply with these laws, while unregulated platforms abroad will continue to ignore them. As a result, children curious about sexuality will gravitate toward illegal and unmoderated sources, where consent and legality are not guaranteed.

The unintended consequence is paradoxical: the harder you make it to access legitimate adult material, the more traffic flows to unregulated and potentially exploitative platforms. No government can realistically track or ban every illegal site, and VPNs make such restrictions meaningless. The only effective solution is education and parental supervision, not blanket prohibition.

California stands out as an exception. Its recent law requires device-level age verification — meaning verification happens on the user’s device rather than through ID uploads or facial recognition databases. This approach could actually reduce exposure while preserving privacy — a rarity among recent policy attempts.

Cultural Contradictions and Early Sexual Narratives

A deeper cultural contradiction underlies the debate about age verification: societies differ sharply in what kinds of sexual information they deem acceptable for children. In many contexts, children are exposed early to religious or moral teachings about purity, virginity, or sexual sin — often before learning basic anatomy or concepts like consent.

I was seven years old when I first learned about “virginity” at catechism classes. At that age, I knew nothing about menstruation, reproduction, or anatomy. The taboo around discussing sex in scientific or healthy ways coexists with an uncritical acceptance of moral or religious indoctrination.

“Purity culture” is a striking example. Events like “purity balls,” where girls pledge their virginity to their fathers, are publicly celebrated as moral education. Meanwhile, comprehensive sex education — which focuses on consent, emotional literacy, and health — is often denounced as corrupting. Even religious texts contain graphic sexual narratives, yet these are freely accessible to children without restriction. The real issue, then, isn’t sexual content itself, but who controls its interpretation and dissemination.

The Legal and Moral Paradox of Adolescent Sexuality

Most countries set the age of consent between 14 and 18. This means societies implicitly recognize that adolescents are capable of sexual activity and even reproduction. In some jurisdictions, minors can access reproductive healthcare; in others, abortion remains heavily restricted. Yet the same societies that tolerate teenage sexuality legally often treat the mere depiction of sexuality as morally dangerous.

This contradiction reveals that public morality is less about protecting youth and more about maintaining control over sexual knowledge. The panic around exposure to sexual imagery reflects discomfort with autonomy and modernity — not genuine concern for children’s wellbeing.

A Rational Path Forward

If we truly care about the mental and sexual health of young internet users, we must move beyond political theater and adopt evidence-based policies. That means comprehensive sex education, digital literacy training, and realistic parental tools — not ID-based surveillance systems that funnel curious young users toward darker corners of the internet.

Protecting children should never be an excuse to dismantle privacy, empower data brokers, or entrench government surveillance. We need laws that work in practice, not ones that sound good in campaign speeches. The future of a safer internet depends on rational policy, scientific understanding, and respect for human curiosity — not fear.


CONSET MAKES ME HORNY
09/02/2025 03:41pm

You’ve raised men to find consent unexciting, and now you complain about the consequences. Feminists often point fingers at men, shouting about the patriarchy, but they forget that bad ideas have no gender. Urging men to suppress themselves, after teaching them that consent isn’t sexy, leads nowhere.

A woman who takes the initiative, who says where, how, and when she wants it, is judged as too aggressive, not exciting, a “slut.” Too easy a conquest, no thrill. On the other hand, a woman who needs to be “conquered,” whose consent must be coerced or sexually corrupted, is seen as more desirable. And the wife? She has to please others before she pleases you. She must be a “good girl,” which basically means repressed. And why not brag about it to other men online: “She’s a slut, but only for me.” Not for herself, because, you know, sex and pleasure are for guys!

In 2025, so many men still suffer from the Madonna-whore complex, and part of the blame lies with the women who raised them. Stop playing the victim when you’re part of the problem. After years in my career, I still hear that what I do, out of free and consensual choice, “isn’t real sex” or “can’t really please me.” This is basically denying the existence of my female sexuality. People would rather believe I’m forced to do porn, that I do it for money, or that I’m a “slave to the patriarchy.” Anything goes, as long as they don’t have to admit a woman might enjoy fucking. Because if I don’t enjoy it, it’s more exciting for them. Or they say my husband is a loser for being with a “slut” like me.

Yet, these same people get off on stolen content, photos, or videos taken without the victim’s consent. You blame pornography because it’s an easy scapegoat: it’s all porn’s fault, not the misogyny of your mother! Yet porn is the only context where women openly enjoy and talk about their sexuality. Stop playing the victim and let’s call men who engage in revenge porn what they are: not predators or opportunists, but losers. Losers who can’t get turned on by consenting women. The best way to strip them of power is to nullify their actions, to take away the thrill of hurting us, of making us feel violated. You posted an intimate photo of me without my permission? Who cares, mine’s like everyone else’s.

Phenomena like revenge porn won’t end as long as people are fired, shamed, ridiculed, or stalked just for expressing their sexuality. As long as we think a woman who embraces her sexuality like a man can’t be a good mother or teacher, as long as we treat sex as a mystery to be hidden and fail to educate people about owning their desires, we’ll keep promoting rape culture: the one where consent isn’t exciting.


I’ve always separated sex from love or relationships.
I’ve never been jealous of sex. I’ve always believed that with the person I love, I can share sexual fantasies and experiences. If I love someone, I want the best for him: I want him to do everything he desires, as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone or himself or take anything away from me. Seeing him happy and sexually fulfilled makes me happy — and turns me on even more.

If my partner prefers someone else just because of sex, the relationship wouldn’t have lasted anyway. I’d rather take that risk than live with the idea of sex as something scarce, or miss out on knowing my partner’s deeper desires. Other people don’t threaten me, because I know great sex or attraction can’t replace an entire relationship.

Some people say promiscuity is for the young, and then you settle down and stop exploring. To me, that’s like never going to restaurants again and only eating what your spouse cooks. I love my husband’s cooking — he’s really good — but haute cuisine is one of my passions, and there are dishes I’ll never have in my kitchen. Just like he can’t recreate Alchemist’s tasting menu, he can’t replicate the experience of a gangbang. At the same time, no restaurant can give me the warmth I feel waking up to find my hubby has made breakfast. Love and lust are simply different experiences, and I can’t find a rational reason to pick one when I can have both.

I’d never give up love for lust, but I also wouldn’t share my life with someone who can’t tell the difference. You can’t truly know that difference without experience, and I’m not interested in someone who confuses love with ownership or jealousy. I can’t love someone who passively accepts what we were taught about love and sex or carries social sexual shame without question. I need someone who shares my values — free in mind and body (which are really the same thing).

My only concerns have always been unwanted pregnancies and STDs. People think open relationships mean chaos, but it’s the opposite. It’s about being so blunt and honest with each other that nothing feels like a threat. If I mostly make love with my husband instead of sleeping with other people, it’s because I want to — not because I’m forced into monogamy. The relationship comes first, naturally. I don’t have to choose between love and my sexual freedom.

People sometimes ask if I’m poly. I’m not. One person to love is already a lot of work. I don’t feel incomplete in my relationship — I just enjoy sexual abundance. I eat great food at home, but sometimes I like to go to restaurants. I also can’t imagine loving two people at once. In theory, I have no issue with it; in practice, it seems exhausting. And I’ve never met anyone who stimulates my mind the way my husband does. I also feel many poly people don’t separate sex from relationships, so polyamory is the only way they can explore both.

Long story short: I’ve been in an open relationship for 17 years, married for the last five.


WHY I DO PORN
07/12/2025 08:08pm

In my latest blog post, I talked mostly about the disadvantages of doing porn. And yes, they are real — stigma, judgment, misrepresentation, and more. But when I started in 2011, I already knew all of them.

So why do I do it anyway?

Antisexism

As a woman, I’m legally allowed to do anything a man does. But the moment I claim that freedom, especially with my body or sexuality, I risk being criticized, bullied, or ostracized. Doing porn is my way of affirming my freedom to live as I please. It’s an act of autonomy and defiance in a world still soaked in double standards.

Sensorial Possibilities

Porn allows me to explore fantasies — both mine and others’ — that I could never experience in real life. Last year, I got “raped” by a tree in a film and won an AVN award for it. That was never a personal fantasy, but when the director offered it, I thought: Why not? It turned out to be one of the most creatively exciting shoots I’ve done. Through porn, I get to expand my senses, play with imagination, and discover new parts of myself and others.

Creativity

I love creating content. For me, porn is not just about sexual satisfaction — it’s performance, expression, and transformation. I learned how to walk, talk, act, do my makeup, and costume myself. Living in a fantasy is a full sensory art form, and I love the creative freedom it gives me.

Safety

Porn gives me a way to explore intense fantasies in a safe, controlled environment. On set, I don’t risk untreatable STDs or dealing with someone stalking me afterward. My safety is literally in the producer’s best interest — because I’m not just a person on set, I’m their investment. That creates boundaries and protocols that dating or private sex doesn’t offer.

Calling

Not everyone could handle the judgment or social isolation that sometimes comes with doing porn. But I know myself. I have the kind of personality that can fight stigma without falling apart. This battle isn’t easy, but with strong ideas and heart, I can keep going. I was made for this.

Rationality

There’s no logical reason not to do porn — for the people it suits. It’s not for everyone, of course, just like being a doctor or fashion designer isn’t for everyone. But stigma? That’s not a good enough reason to avoid something. It would be like quitting school because a bully won’t stop picking on you. You don’t let the bully win.

Knowledge

Sex isn’t just a physical interest for me — it’s intellectual. I’ve always been fascinated by it. And yet, in universities and “serious” discourse, sex remains taboo. Ironically, we study animal sexuality more openly than our own. No book could teach me what I’ve learned from being a porn performer. It’s a form of embodied knowledge, and it matters.

Freedom

Porn lets me rethink society’s values — and choose my own. Since I’ve already been labeled a “whore” by society, I have nothing to lose and total freedom of speech. I don’t have to tiptoe around brands or employers. Many of my colleagues are like that too — clear as water, spontaneous, real. Maybe not perfect, but rarely fake.