This is ninth of ten essays contained within the second issue of the Adult Analysis Anthology, an experimental collection of longform writing that seeks to expand the breadth of critical discourse around adult games and adult game culture. I will be re-publishing the web versions of all essays from the first two issues of the anthology to this blog over the course of the next few months, but if you’d like to support the creation of more high-quality writing about adult games the full anthology is available for purchase on Itch! Anthology logo by Pillow!

Written By: Laney Norman

Growing up with unfettered access to the internet in the early 2000’s gave me an early introduction to the wide world of adult media, especially games. They’re engaging, creative, and sometimes taboo with how they depict sex and intimacy. The best part is that they’re interactive, giving the stories an extra level of immersion. Porn games aren’t often seen as therapeutic, but in my adult life they ended up being a strategy to repair my personal relationship with sexuality.

Following an experience of sexual trauma, I wasn’t really focused on my own physical and mental safety when I pursued intimate relationships. This is a common coping response in those who have experienced sexual assault or other types of sexual trauma. According to the 2019 study “Navigating Sex and Sexuality after Sexual Assault”, victims of sexual assault often experience changes in sexuality in response to their assault. “Changes in sexuality included loss of interest in sex, increase or change in sexual partners, engaging in sex work, and increased sexual behavior.” (O’Callaghan) There’s no one way of coping with sexual trauma, so there are many ways this can present in survivors.

I would go on “Tinder binges” where I’d be on my phone for hours, swiping and chatting with almost anyone who spoke to me, looking for any sense of connection. Every time I’d get a notification, I’d feel a little thrill of potential and throw caution to the wind to pursue these kernels of intimacy. Dating apps are becoming more and more game-ified. In “The Brain and Swiping for Love”, Samantha Beck describes gamification of dating apps as “the idea of applying game elements to non-gaming situations—like dating. This unhealthy environment of unlimited swipes convinces users that there are always new people to meet and potential matches to be made, even if that is not necessarily the truth.” (Beck, p 111)

Disregarding my safety completely, I would go out, putting myself in risky and dangerous situations in an attempt to feel some sort of connection. Most of these encounters left me with more baggage to unpack rather than anything that felt like a fulfilling way to be intimate. I was hurting in many ways and how I was engaging with any form of intimacy or sexuality was harming me rather than helping me.

When I took a break from dating, I needed something to fill the void of the dopamine slot machine that I was so deeply involved in on dating apps. I’ve been a long term fan of romance and erotica in the written form, and I visit regular porn sites from time to time. These are more passive in terms of media consumption. These weren’t keeping me occupied enough to replace the dating app obsession I was struggling with. I needed something more active, something to occupy my brain in a similar way that dating apps had done. Taking that same level of thrill from the tangible to the virtual offered a reprieve from putting my health and life on the line. Instead of a game-ified dating app, why not just play an actual game?

I turned to dating sims and erotic games, especially mobile otome games. The types of otome games that you can find floating around on the app stores have to adhere to stricter censorship of sexual content, so you won’t find anything too explicit. So, I made sure my antivirus software was up to date and perused sketchier websites to find games that would go further than just a fade-to-black, closed door romance. Many of these are focused on cisgender, heterosexual encounters, which didn’t reflect my identity and interest. I had to branch out to find more explicitly queer stories that also overlapped with genres I liked. My saviors in finding niche adult games came in the form of indie game developers.

Among my favorites is Ladykiller in a Bind, a 2016 erotic visual novel about a masc lesbian seducing her way through a popularity contest. The way they handle sex and kink in this game was more compelling than others I had seen. They dealt with the power dynamics, the rope bondage scenes, and consent in a refreshing way. It was nice to be able to delve into a visual novel as a form of escapism, having choices to make, immersing in the story as a player. The conversations about consent were especially helpful to me in the game, building a sense of safety while dipping my toes back into the waters of erotic scenes.

I should note, by the time I played this game, a highly controversial scene between the main character and the “President” character had been rewritten. I was unaware at the time that there was any sort of divide in player’s experiences of this game. The developer, Christine Love, decided to remove and rewrite a scene where the lesbian main character is humiliated by the President after overwhelmingly negative feedback from the audience. Many were confused by this dark scene with heavy themes of dubious consent, since the rest of the game navigates consent more deftly. By the time I played this game a few years later, I was blissfully unaware of anything that could be considered triggering.

It’s not an easy decision as a creator to change a story because of negative feedback, but it is heartening that Love saw how this scene affected the audience and worked to change it. Taking into account content warnings and potential triggers, her decision to rewrite made the game much safer for me, a player coming in years after its release. The kink community in general promotes the idea of “safe, sane, and consensual” or “risk aware consensual kink” and Love is adept at approaching this with the kink scenes in this game. A creator making the choice to change parts of her work to build up that sense of safety in an erotic context was a great way to respect that foundation of kink.

With my own experience of sexual trauma, I dealt with a lot of setbacks while forming intimate connections. I was stifled, desperately seeking out more and more in the way of sensation while disregarding my own physical and emotional wellbeing. When I approached kink during this upheaval, I ignored my own triggers with impact and power play, “pushing through” my own boundaries until I had to lock myself in a partner’s bathroom while having a visceral flashback. I didn’t feel empowered, I felt overwhelmed by the fact I couldn’t control my triggers by forcing my way through them. I couldn’t just ignore the way my brain wanted to respond to this kind of sexual expression. It’s hard to bypass a solid foundation of trust and safety when you have unaddressed trauma working against you.

Playing games like Ladykiller in a Bind gave me fictionalized examples of these kinds of conversations necessary for a healthier approach to BDSM. I was able to see situations where consent and safety were established in these kinds of sexual situations without breaking the immersion of a fictional video game. It was nice as a player to have agency in the choices of dialogue and gave me a better vocabulary for what was possible in sex and intimacy. It didn’t feel too clinical like some sexual education material can come across, it felt like a story I had a role in. Ladykiller in a Bind gave me an anchor point to build upon for my own wants and needs.

Having a complicated relationship to sex while also wanting to reconnect to my own sexuality means that I had to learn how to identify and navigate my own triggers. Making choices in a game space felt more real and closer to being an active participant in how the story is shaped instead of a more passive consumer role. I was able to create my own sense of safety while in a vulnerable headspace and approach my own issues with intimacy in a way that helped mitigate the feeling of reliving my trauma. A game like Ladykiller in a Bind was an avenue to approach sex, kink, and BDSM in a compelling story without tossing the risk awareness out the window for the plot. This level of sensitivity is encouraging to see in games that have been a tool for healing and engaging with sexuality from a survivor’s viewpoint.

References

O’Callaghan, Erin et al. “Navigating Sex and Sexuality After Sexual Assault: A Qualitative Study of Survivors and Informal Support Providers.” Journal of sex research vol. 56,8 (2019): 1045-1057.
doi:10.1080/00224499.2018.1506731

Beck, Samantha (2021) “The Brain and Swiping for Love,” Scientific Kenyon: The Neuroscience Edition: Vol. 5, Article 18.
Available at: https://digital.kenyon.edu/skneuro/vol5/iss1/18

Laney Norman is a graduate student in the Masters of Arts in Liberal Arts and Sciences program at SDSU where she studies all things romance, erotica, and internet culture through the lens of comparative media studies. Chronically online in fandom spaces for the majority of her life, she loves all things paranormal romance, K-pop, and the Regency era. You can find her floating around social media under the user handle @draculaney on most platforms.

Subscribe to the RSS feed!