In his book, Watching Sex, researcher David Loftus reveals the results of his interviews with about a hundred and fifty men as to why they watch porn. If you are someone who watches a lot of porn, you don't really need to read Watching Sex. It's mostly about trying to show the world that people who enjoy pornography aren't depraved child -- but you probably already know this.

The interesting thing about Watching Sex is the picture it gives you of what all the other folks out there watching porn are thinking. Ever get tired of certain camera angles or body types and wonder why your favorite body type is under-represented or why your favorite activities are seldom shown? In the chapter "I Know What Boys Like," you find that other guys out there are wondering the same things. There seemed to be some agreement among the men as to what they didn't like. Most said they wanted to be able to relate to the porn characters -- to be able to put themselves in a character's place. So they generally didn't care for wildly implausible situations. Nor did they like women who writhed in orgasm with bored looks on their faces. As to what they did like, Loftus sums up in his conclusion that "it was all over the map." For the person with underrepresented tastes, this part was comforting.

True, there's a certain law of averages that makes mainstream porn the predictable animal it is. Loftus begins "What Boys Like" by saying: "What do men like to see in pornography? People presume you can tell by looking at the market: Whatever is selling must be what men want." But his interviewees were far from homogeneous in their tastes. And in terms of mainstream porn, "almost no one was entirely satisfied." As the men in Watching Sex discuss what they like to see or how and when they use porn, all the wonderful variations in sexual taste come into view -- everyone's taste is outside "the norm" in some way -- and you realize what a rich tapestry is human sexuality.

For example, some married guys reported finding porn a relief when they're having a rough spot in their marriage. Other's reported they couldn't enjoy porn when they were having trouble in their marriage.

One of the tedious aspects of Loftus's book (which in spite of its good points sounds suspiciously like a Sociology thesis de-academified for the pop market), is his constant need to answer back to early feminist complaints (70s and 80s) about pornography, targeting critics like Andria Dworkin, Catharine MacKinnon, Susan Cole and Sheila Jeffreys. He does this even after acknowledging that these are outdated critics who have been replaced by theorists like Annie Sprinkle and Pat Califia who praise (and even make their own) porn. To avoid the worst of this tedium, skip the chapter called "Public Debate."

Loftus' valid complaint, however, is that in all this feminist discussion of porn, men have been denied the chance to speak for themselves. Where are the male voices in this discussion? he asks -- an important question for which his book is only the tiniest beginning of an answer.

The feminist view he's addressing is the one that says 1) the world of porn is about men trying to control, abuse or humiliate women, and 2) the old slippery slope argument: watch a little nasty porn and you're going to go out and perpetrate these calisthenics (or abuses) on real women. And since these are the views he seeks to refute, he spends a lot of time saying, "See, these guys don't want to control women, they want to enjoy them." Most of us are over this issue. Still, we have to admit that there is a goodly chunk of mainstream society that may, at least partially, believe the worst about porn, and so in this respect Loftus's proofs, if not revelations, are at least encouraging and affirming.

On the point of control, there probably is an element to porn of wanting to control, not women, necessarily, but one's sexuality. That is, porn lets a guy (or woman for that matter) call the shots as to when and where the goodies become available, those goodies that make one's biology come to a boil. Porn is there on demand -- no wooing, worrying, or measuring up needed. That does give one a sense of control, or at the very least, freedom. And in his need to present porn as happy-happy, Loftus doesn't really address these practical issues.

There are some interesting chapters. "Off the Beaten Path" talks about guys who watch specialized or fetish-oriented porn, cross-dressing, bondage, and plushies (stuffed animal fetish or furry animal erotica) to name a few. Of course, the best parts of this chapter (and in some ways the whole book) are the comments from the men themselves, often quite insightful. One man expressed his attraction to a woman "with that special dangerous look in her eyes." He goes on to give examples of female stars who have the look he's referring to (Lauren Hutton, Nastassja Kinski, Lena Olin, Julie Christie, ) and stars who "don't have a clue" (Christie Brinkley, Claudia Schiffer, Marilyn Monroe, Jessica Lange). And this chapter epitomizes the way in which Loftus keeps his book interesting and informed -- he is wise to confine most of the writing to quotes and paraphrases from the men he interviewed, keeping his personal commentary to a minimum. For in some ways, Loftus comes across as a babe in the sexual woods.

For example, at the end of the "Off the Beaten Path" chapter, he glints a light shade of green when summing up the man who enjoyed "furry erotica": "Since Harold hadn't had a sex partner in life, I suggested perhaps he might lose interest in furry erotica once he became sexually experienced." (If Harold is lucky, he'll find a girl who will feed or share his fetish for plushies -- fetishes don't tend to just go away with regular doses of regular sex.) The book is peppered with these little quaint-isms from Loftus, and in many cases they turn out to be statements better ignored the way one ignores a handicap. Still, it's always good to hear from lots of people about things that everyone's doing and no one's talking about.