A long time ago in the context of a discussion about porn, I advanced a theory about the historical antipathy between wives and sex workers. This theory seemed so uncontroversial to me that I didn’t think it needed expanding, explaining, or defending; rather, it was the rock-solid background against which I set my argument about porn. Here’s what I said in 2003:

Some women object to porn the way wives object to the idea of prostitutes, and for the same reason: it means they have to use actual sex, rather than their erstwhile monopoly over the possibility of access to sexual stimulus, in order to maintain and enjoy the sexual attention of their men. Women who want to have that attention without having the actual sex for which most men will cheerfully trade it are teases, in all the negative and none of the positive senses of the word.

Encoded in that paragraph is my proposition that nobody is entitled to demand the benefits of sexual exclusivity if they aren’t willing to satisfy the sexual desires of their partner. Since 2003 I’ve learned that this isn’t a gendered proposition, but I’ve also learned that the pathology of demanding an unsatisfying exclusivity is even more common than I had thought. Incompatible levels of sexual desire are common, and there are many non-monogamy (or monogamish) relationship models couples can use to cope with them. But it is both wicked and unjust for a partner to insist upon sexual exclusivity without also taking responsibility for actually having enough sex to make the relationship mutually satisfying. And this sort of wickedness and injustice? It’s dirt-common.

I was reminded of all of this by an essay in Vice by sex worker April Adams. She writes:

Dear wife,

I don’t know you, but I know that it’s possible that your husband will cheat on you with a sex worker. I say that because I am one, and I am not short on clients.

But not your husband, you say, not him! Other husbands, sure, but your relationship, your sex life, is different. You had a threesome with your college roommate ten years ago. You get a sitter and head to Vegas every August. You have that special thing with Law and Order marathons. You have a great marriage!

Let me ask you: When was the last time you had sex three times in a week? When was the last time he complained about that? Don’t you think that maybe it’s possible that he’s instead taken the problem out of your hands, which is to say into mine?

After a lengthy articulation of the reasons such a state of affairs might not actually be all that maritally-threatening, Adams concludes:

I’m not saying it’s your job to keep him happy. I am saying maybe you don’t want to sleep with him that often. You’re busy, or stressed out, or he doesn’t do it for you anymore. I get it; he almost certainly doesn’t do it for me.

That’s the point. I am the secret ingredient in a lot of healthy marriages, because when he’s seeing me, both of you are getting the amount of sex you want. As long as you leave his cellphone alone, you might make it to your 50th anniversary. You’re welcome.

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