I have always liked pornography. Not in an empirical, knapsack-under-the-bed (or in the laptop), proud-of-my-treasure-trove way. I don’t collect it. I don’t watch it. I don’t study it. I rarely think about it. But I’m glad it’s there.
I have a neat day job. I work for a pornographer. Though my boss says he’s a pornographer, he isn’t, really. We don’t make the stuff. We distribute it. We are a conduit. We literally fulfill the needs of people who like to own porn. As my boss often says, “It’s shoes. Just like shoes.”
Since people always ask this question: No, we sell nothing related to child pornography. No snuff either.
Lest you think I’m a fluffer or script girl, forget it. In a real way, my very smart and entrepreneurial boss is right on with the shoe analogy. We have more in common with Zappos than not. There is a website, a very expansive and easy-to-navigate porn superstore. There is product to choose from — a ton of it. Thousands of shoes, thousands of DVDs. Zappos sells socks and Spanx; we sell Jack Rabbits and strokers. You search, you shop, you buy. We order the product, we take your money, we send you your order in a discreet package. We ship hundreds and hundreds a titles a week, to people all over the map. To the Ivy League, to trailers in the Bible Belt. Married couples, singles of both genders, platoons in Afghanistan.
I really like this job. It entails marketing and accounting and customer service and helping a business succeed. I like these things. As someone who learned the initials ACLU with my ABCs — thank you, my progressive family — I take pleasure in putting into practice some dearly held ideals. Yeah, I don’t like all the shit. FAR from it. But I believe in free will. Someone wanted to make it, someone got paid to make it, someone likes this stuff, someone has the freedom to buy it. I may not understand it. It may give me the willies for a variety of (mostly aesthetic) reasons. Is it for me to judge?