Feature image of Akira Raine and Chocolate Chip in the
Crash Pad Series. All of the photographs on NSFW Sundays are taken from various tumblrs and do not belong to us. All are linked and credited to the best of our abilities in hopes of attracting more traffic to the tumblrs and photographers who have blessed us with this imagery. The inclusion of a photograph here should not be interpreted as an assertion of the model’s gender identity or sexual orientation. If there is a photo included here that belongs to you and you want it removed, please email bren [at] autostraddle dot com and it will be removed promptly, no questions asked.
Welcome to NSFW Sunday!
+ Add porn to the list of things to worry about after January 20, since the definition of “obscenity” is more or less in the eye of the beholder, and the beholder is a huge asshole:
“Fast-forward to August 2016, when Trump signed a pledge drafted by the anti-porn organization Enough Is Enough to ‘aggressively enforce’ federal obscenity laws. He also said he’d likely appoint an attorney general who would make “the prosecution of such laws a top priority.” Now that conservative senator Jeff Sessions has been offered the job, members of the porn industry are starting to wonder what happens if Washington makes good on that promise. […]
Porn legend Nina Hartley referred to the election results as a ‘disaster’ during her interview with the publication.
There’s also a growing fear that Trump’s threats to go after marginalized groups will hinder the development of queer porn, a fast-growing porn genre. Venus Lux told the Daily Beast, ‘As a sex worker, as a woman of color, as a transgender, I don’t have as many options as another person.’ She added, ‘There’s so much misogyny already when it comes to women but it’s double for trans women. Can I survive as a transgender woman of color who is also a sex worker, and how much harder is it going to be now?’”
+ Rethink that STI joke. There are lots of other ways to talk about STIs that prioritize awareness instead:
“Changing the perception that STIs are something someone deserves to either have or to be mocked for is vital, as is challenging the notion that these infections are something that only affect a small percentage of the population—statistics clearly dispute that. The steady increase of STIs as a viable realistic plot point rather than as a mere punch line (although, again, the bad punch lines can still give room for awareness and education—because those in the know can shut it down) has given rise to a reality that benefits everyone, one that prioritizes awareness.
+ Have millennials ruined romance? At Guts, Zoé Samudzi examines the idea of relationships through the lens of capitalism:
“The fact that I and other millennials can secure a dinner date or a one-night stand using never before available technologies has not led and is not leading to the destruction of romance. Romance—as dictated by dominant ideas and driven by the desires to peddle consumer goods like household appliances on carefully constructed family units—is an impossible-to-redeem mode of understanding love and intimacy and human interaction taught to us by capitalism.
We generally want to feel lovable, desirable, worthy, and seen, and we are taught that our ability to be any of these things comes, most importantly, from romantic partners. So why wouldn’t young people, in a period of increasingly relentless demands made by late capitalism, use the resources they have at their disposal to feel these intimacies and desirabilities as frequently as possible?”
+ “Nin’s recently discovered Auletris is third-rail erotica for our time, raising charged issues about women’s sexuality both on and off the page,” writes Laura Frost at the Los Angeles Review of Books.
+ Movie lesbian sex scenes still mostly suck and turn queer women’s lives into spectacle.
+ Not sure how to start sexting? Here are some suggestions.
+ In Los Angeles on December 4th? The Pleasure Chest is hosting a Dyke Day fundraiser that will include snacks and spanking, 5–8 pm.
+ From Behrouz Gets Lucky, by Avery Cassell:
“Sometimes I craved you when I came home, tired from a day of advising patrons, giving restroom directions, problem-solving minor computer issues, and searching for copies of the latest bestselling romance. Sometimes I craved that moment of perfect domesticity when I’d open my door to the oregano- and tomato-scented smells of minestrone soup wafting from the kitchen, and you in the rust velvet armchair in the living room. I’d fall to my knees on the rough wool of our Tabrizi carpet, start to crawl across the red and gold fibers, imag- ining that moment when I could unbutton your fly and fill myself with your cock as an appetizer. Your pipe would be smoldering in the ashtray, filling the air with the sultry sweet aroma of tobacco and cherry. You’d lean back and spread your denim-clad legs, rubbing your cunt as I approached on my knees, the workday rolling off me the closer I got. Reaching your cunt, I’d rest for a minute, my lips caressing the bulge in your crotch, as grateful for your hand on the back of my neck and your packed jeans as I was for salt. I’d growl softly, nipping at the thick blue fabric, damp from my spit and slightly threadbare from past administrations. You would unbutton your fly slowly, each button releasing a soft pop. I’d cover your cock with my mouth until it reached my throat, then ease up and lick the shaft, lost in your smell and your palm firmly pushing my head into your cunt. Your cock would shove the outside world aside, erasing demanding supervisors, aching joints, and crowded MUNI buses until all that was left was your cock in my throat.”
