First off, Blue admits that a lot of porn is just really bad, as in: too lame, too campy or too cheesy. She says:

For me, the real problem with most porn is its hokeyness — the ridiculous costumes, the awful cinematography, the ludicrous story lines, the terrible acting (not to mention how scary the close-ups sometimes look, how fake the boobs are, how some starlets really sound like injured animals...).

Though, for some people, those things aren't a turn-off, for plenty of people, they probably are.

Blue also says that some people compare themselves unfavorably to the porn stars on-screen.

And yet in my research and experience, the biggest roadblock for women (and men) to enjoying explicit imagery is the fear that they don't "stack up" to the bodies and abilities of the people onscreen. Erotic models and actresses bring up a whole range of adequacy issues, from breast size to weight, from what you look like "down there" to the adult acne we all periodically fight.

Many of us recognize that seeing images of thin models and actresses can make us more insecure about our own bodies. But with pornography, which involves explicit, sexual nudity of women often surgically enhanced to fulfill some unattainable ideal of female attractiveness - and participating in the portrayal of an act that many women have issues with already - personal discomfort can be taken to a whole other level. Pornography plays into the false idea that to be sexually attractive to men, or good in bed, there are certain things women have to do, be, look like, act like or enjoy, whether or not we actually can, are, look like, act like or enjoy those things.

Blue also takes note (although not by name) of Canadian scientist Meredith Chivers' research showing that women exhibit physical arousal by sexual imagery even when they consciously report not feeling it. From this research, Blue draws a relatively logical conclusion.

But that's the hitch: Even when our bodies respond to what we're seeing, not every woman feels empowered to enjoy the show. For years we've been told that we won't — or shouldn't — be turned on by porn, end of story, sleep tight.

The message has come from all sides — from conservative Christian organizations ("Traditionally, women are far more likely to engage in wistful, romantic fantasies than crude scenes of people engaging in sexual acts," Kathy Gallagher, cofounder of Pure Life Ministries, has written) to the radical feminist Catharine MacKinnon (who says porn exploits and discriminates against women, and encourages rape).

When everyone tells you that what you might be curious about, or even secretly like, is wrong, bad, sleazy, and shameful, you don't have to cast a line very far to land a set of inhibitions.

While not exactly the conclusion Chivers draws from her research (though reporting bias undoubtedly plays a role), there's little doubt that the social messages one gets about porn would influence our desire to watch it, or inhibit our ability to enjoy it.

Blue also acknowledges those feminists among us who worry about issues of objectification, sexualization and exploitation.

I've also heard, plenty of times, that porn degrades women. That argument always makes me wonder about gay male porn, which lots of women appreciate for all its hunky hotties in flagrante. If heterosexual porn degrades women, does gay porn degrade men? What about porn made by women — is that degrading, too?

I think here, actually, many anti-porn feminists would say yes, in fact, porn in general is degrading to women because the actresses allow themselves to be objectified. Speaking for myself, I have difficulty with these arguments because, as Blue implies, it denies agency to the (female) performers and judges their actions based on how other people view them. If porn performers are exhibitionists and enjoying performing sex acts for the benefit of others because they enjoy being seen, then I'm hard pressed to say they're degrading themselves. If the problem is with the way our society views women's bodies, then eliminating porn and sex work won't change that (and, frankly, with exhibitionists and voyeurs in the world, changing the kyriarchy won't eliminate the existence of pornography as much as change its structure).

Blue says that women should view porn as just another sex toy in their arsenal — a visual vibrator, so to speak.

Explicit sexual imagery is an aphrodisiac; it sends a direct current buzzing from our brains to our groins. Like a reliable vibrator, it can be a great tool. With porn, women like me get to experiment with making adult choices and trying on new fantasy ideas, just as we might try a different brand of condom for a change.

She recommends utilizing porn made specifically by or for women, in settings that respect performers' boundaries and make use of people of varying (and non-surgically-designed) body types — which certainly requires more research than surfing porn sites when you're horny normally entails.

Are More Women OK With Watching Porn? [O Magazine]

Related: Word of the Day: Kyriarchy [Feminist Philosophers]

Earlier: What Women Want? To Talk About What Women Want

Susie says it best, perhaps, when she points out the origins of feminism in the sixties and inside of the hippie free-love movement:

What I didn't expect is that feminism would ever get wrenched apart over sex. I never saw that coming. I never thought that people would think that because I was a feminist, I was a prude or a square or that I wasn't on the cutting edge of sex radicalism.

It is a little odd, isn't it, that feminists went from being bra-burning sluts to being buttoned-up humorless lesbians in the public perception — though, I'm sure that has not just a little to do with the fact that the bra-burning sluts grew up to be, you know, older women and older women are obviously not sexual beings anymore.

Susie attributes an anti-porn sentiment among women to two things: one which she identifies as a more political sentiment, grounded in a sense that there's exploitation going on, that it's for male pleasure and rooted in a continuing sense of male-domination; and another one more grounded in women's sense of self:

When I hear a woman express a vernacular anti-porn sentiment... I started to take it as code for a couple of things. One, particularly if they are afraid that they are going to be left for porn... I realize that they don't understand their incredible value as a real woman who can really have sex with their partner. And I often identify it as someone who is not enjoying orgasms, who doesn't recognize her own sexual self-interest, because if she did, she would say, "Well, whatever I think about his porn interests or his masturbatory fantasy interests, I have some myself." And she would compare them to her own. Where as a woman who's not aware of her own fantasizing, who isn't masturbating and so on, it's just "What is this?", it really is another woman [to her].

Katha, on the other hand, cautions against that strict a delineation, noting that women can enjoy porn on a visceral level and still be concerned with the labor issues — safety, exploitation, the potential for coercion, what is happening when the cameras go off, etc. On the other hand, Katha's experiences with porn have been mostly limited to the literary, as she started her career as a copy-editor for pornography, and evinces a certain discomfort with modern porn:

When I looked at visual pornography — which I haven't seen a lot of — I'm often really turned off. In all kinds of ways. The people look so sterile, and implanted and shaved. I'm always worries about the labor issues... I think it's a very complicated thing to watch other people have sex.

Like Katha, my experiences with porn started off with the literary — my high school boyfriend found a dog-eared copy of a book Katha might have copy-edited in his parents' room (and I kept it for years). If you think it's hard to masturbate while typing, well, it ain't easy while you're trying to read, either. A few guy friends in high school had some porn mags (gay and straight) that they showed me that were interesting, but it's hard to ask a dude friend to borrow one. My first experience actually watching porn was — again — with dude friends in college. Most of it was old shit on VHS, none of it was online (it was 1998, everything was pay-porn then, so sue me) and none of it was as plastic and unfeeling as the titty mag my college boyfriend and his roommates subscribed to "for the articles". The only time I ever had a problem with porn in a relationship was when my boyfriend of two years developed a secret habit that reflected sexual differences I'd thought we'd resolved in our relationship (and when it coincided with personal ads he was posting on the Internet). I do watch it myself now (thanks, Fleshbot!) when it's free, and utilize it for its intended purpose, mostly when I'm too mentally distracted by stress or depression to conjure up my own fantasies but need the release. In those moments, do I worry about the labor issues? No. Do I miss my little book of 70s erotica? Kind of. Would I be happy to see more unionization and regulation in the porn industry so that I could be more sure that the stuff that's getting me off is safe for the women (and men) who are virtually assisting me? Yes, but that's the subject for another post.

Women Watch Porn To Please Men? [Salon]
Susie & Katha Pollitt, on "Virginity or Death!" [Susie Bright's Journal]