I told my boyfriend he can’t watch porn. Am I too controlling?

Kai Cheng Thom responds to an online sex worker struggling to set relationship boundaries

Ask Kai: Advice for the Apocalypse” is a column by Kai Cheng Thom to help you survive and thrive in a challenging world. Have a question for Kai? Email askkai@xtramagazine.com.

Hi Kai!

I’m a pansexual non-binary femme in a monogamous relationship with a cis straight man. I dabble in sex work and my partner is mostly okay with it, though my interactions are online and actually never in exchange for full nudes. (I don’t think he’d be okay with me engaging more deeply in sex work.) He did make a comment that I “didn’t need the money,” which felt uncalled for because he has side jobs that he “doesn’t need” to supplement his income. 

Anyhow, I’ve recently felt guilty for a boundary I set at the beginning of our relationship (years ago): I feel that watching porn is cheating in a monogamous relationship. My partner didn’t have any qualms with this or seem upset. But I can’t help but feel like this boundary I’ve set is too controlling. It just feels weird to be doing any form of sex work while requesting that we refrain from seeking out porn for pleasure. But I also think it would cross my boundaries to have him seeking out that pleasure outside of our current relationship. Is this healthy?

Sincerely,

Puzzled Pansexual Provider of Pleasure

Dear Puzzled, 

What a wonderfully rich, complex set of questions you’ve brought to this week’s column, Puzzled! While at the surface your query is practical (should you or should you not ask your partner to refrain from using porn), your sincere reflections on the other aspects of your relationship bring out profound inquiries. To what extent are we entitled to put restrictions on our partners’ sexual freedom? Does watching porn count as cheating in a monogamous relationship? And is sex work—which is, by definition, something we do for money—morally equal to sexual activities we do we for pleasure? 

This is all big stuff, and exactly the kind of murky ethical exploration I live for! These kinds of questions are largely about our personal values, which are subjective, and therefore not easily answered. What tends to be most important is the way in which we come to our conclusions: By identifying the issues clearly, by treating ourselves and others with kindness, by staying open to feedback and personal growth. I can see from your letter that you are already on this path, Puzzled, which is wonderful. Let’s see what I can add to your journey. 

 

As I see it, the main problem is a conflict between your own values: On the one hand, it’s important you and your partner are loyal to one another, which includes not watching porn. As you’ve stated, your partner actually hasn’t brought up any complaints or issues with this, so it would seem that he is fine with these conditions. 

Yet your sex work practice is also important to you, and sex work involves sharing intimacy (albeit very limited forms in your case) with other people. So a moral tension naturally arises: How can you uphold your own standard of relationship loyalty while also continuing to do the work that’s important to you? You might even be asking yourself if this is hypocritical. Should you be asking your partner to not look at porn—which is kind of sexual intimacy—while providing that same kind of intimacy to your clients? Why should the rules of your relationship say one thing for him but something different for you? 

This type of internal struggle is sometimes called cognitive dissonance, which is the feeling we get when we are not sure if our beliefs and actions are consistent with one another. Consistency is how we get to know ourselves as moral creatures and whether our actions are good or bad; it’s how we understand ourselves in relation to the rest of the world. Everybody feels cognitive dissonance from time to time because we live in a confusing, imperfect world, and it’s human nature to be inconsistent as we try to navigate it. 

If I’m understanding correctly, Puzzled, one way you’ve tried to resolve your cognitive dissonance is by drawing a mental line between doing sex work for money and watching porn for pleasure. According to this perspective, it’s morally okay for you to do sex work despite being monogamous because you make money from it, but not okay for your partner to hypothetically look at porn because it would be “just” for pleasure. 

I’m going to present a gentle challenge to you here, Puzzled, because based on your letter, I’m not sure that you actually believe in this distinction. Why is engaging in sexual intimacy with your clients for money valid, while your partner looking at porn (again, hypothetically) is not okay? Is work automatically morally superior to pleasure? (I personally don’t believe it is, but that’s me inserting my own values there.) And even if it is, don’t you imply that you don’t exactly “need the money” in your letter? Wouldn’t that mean there is another aspect—pleasure, personal exploration, a feeling of empowerment or some other quality—that you get from sex work that isn’t directly related to financial survival? 

What I’m saying here is: To argue that sex work is okay in a monogamous relationship while porn-watching is not requires the belief that sex work is only valid for its economic value. That means that one should only do sex work because of its relationship to capitalism—because it makes money—rather than because we want to, because it is a worthwhile occupation on its own, because we like it or because it brings other people joy. Well, I don’t think that’s true—and I’m not sure you do either, Puzzled. 

So what does this mean? If we follow a strict moral logic, it could mean that you ought to stop doing sex work, if you can’t resolve it into your moral framework. Or it might mean that you ought to be open to your partner watching porn. Far more importantly, though, is that you give yourself space to consider why the idea of your partner watching porn for pleasure makes you feel uncomfortable—even if that isn’t technically “fair” or “politically correct.” 

Human beings are morally inconsistent creatures, driven by emotion rather than logic; need rather than ethics. We move instinctively toward the things that make us feel safe and fulfilled and away from the things that make us feel afraid or insecure. Puzzled, you mention that the idea of your partner watching porn feels like it might “cross your boundaries.” It’s important to remember that our boundaries can exist without always being logical (in fact, emotional boundaries are often arbitrary), which doesn’t make them invalid—it just means that you have a need that is demanding to be considered. Could it be that the idea of your partner watching porn brings up some personal fears and anxieties for you? Perhaps it makes you feel like the relationship wouldn’t be safe and reliable in the way that you need it to be? Can you allow that idea to exist outside of prescriptive morality—outside of what you “should” feel or what he “should” do? 

What’s fascinating to me, Puzzled, is that (going off your letter) your partner hasn’t actually brought up any desire to watch porn. It’s something that came up spontaneously for you, on your own—a deeply insightful reflection on your needs and your relationship. I want to suggest here that successful, healthy monogamous relationships aren’t actually about universal moral rules or what is “fair”—they are about meeting both people’s needs in a way that is dynamic, consensual, honest and loving. 

From this perspective, I think we can directly address your question about whether you are being controlling of your partner. If you told him that he can never watch porn for fun because that would be absolutely wrong but that your doing sex work is morally completely different, then I might have some questions about that. If you were to say that the situation is morally blurry but what you do know is that you feel afraid that his watching porn might create instability in your relationship, then that seems quite different to me. The key is to own your needs and fears, which I see you have already begun to do. 

On a practical level, coming at it from a place of emotional needs rather than moral right-and-wrong can create more space for everyone’s needs to get met. Your partner might, for example, simply decide that he won’t watch porn—not necessarily for an ethical reason, but because he cares about you and wants you to feel safe in the relationship. This seems sort of likely to me, since he has already apparently accepted that he won’t watch porn and is also (relatively) okay with your sex work. The wonderful thing about this kind of dynamic is that the two of you get to do things for each other because you decide to—not because you have to. You get to create your relationship out of deep communication, rather than static rules. 

Of course, leaning into our ambiguity and fluidity like this can be scary, Puzzled. It means going deeper into trust, taking emotional risks and getting to know the most tender parts of ourselves. It’s like learning a whole new relationship language—and when we learn a new language, we are bound to stumble, make mistakes and miscommunicate. But in doing so, we open up a whole new spectrum of what it means to love our partners and also ourselves. When we go deep, we grow deeper. Isn’t that the best way to love? 

Kai Cheng Thom is no longer a registered or practicing mental health professional. The opinions expressed in this column are not intended or implied to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis or treatment. All content in this column, including, but not limited to, all text, graphics, videos and images, is for general information purposes only. This column, its author, Xtra (including its parent and affiliated companies, as well as their directors, officers, employees, successors and assigns) and any guest authors are not responsible for the accuracy of the information contained in this column or the outcome of following any information provided directly or indirectly from it.

Kai Cheng Thom is a writer, performer, and social worker who divides her heart between Montreal and Toronto, unceded Indigenous territories. She is the author of the Lambda Award-nominated novel Fierce Femmes and Notorious Liars: A Dangerous Trans Girl's Confabulous Memoir (Metonymy Press), as well as the poetry collection a place called No Homeland (Arsenal Pulp Press). Her latest book, Falling Back in Love with Being Human, a collection of letters and poetry, is out now from Penguin Random House Canada.