This is fifteenth of fifteen essays contained within the fourth issue of the Adult Analysis Anthology, a collection of longform writing that seeks to expand the breadth of critical discourse around adult games and adult game culture. 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: Gwyndolyn Marchant

My girlfriend Juniper lives in Seattle, and I live in Toronto. Despite over three-thousand (3000) kilometers of land between us, we have a very active, healthy, and supportive relationship. We are, in the parlance of my mother, both “techie” people: we use computers and smart devices thoroughly in our lives, and are almost always online in one way or another. We are both computer scientists academically; professionally I am a pixel artist and she is a streamer. We have a weekly date, we often stream together, and we have a couple social clubs we both attend remotely. We say good morning every day with chat roleplay about physical intimacy, and we admire and tease each other for our fursonas’ – our emotive-identity avatars. We have sex once or twice every couple weeks, which is mostly metered by logistical overhead.

How exactly we “have sex” varies, but it generally involves calling over Discord and playing porn games together. This isn’t exactly a novel concept; partners have been enjoying voyeuristic sexual escapades for about as long as orgies have been a concept, which if other primates are to be believed probably predates history. [1] Watching two hot people have sex, and getting horny enough that you engage with your partner sexually as well, seems to be a normal concept among many species; even dolphins get in on the fun. [2] I can’t imagine I’d surprise anybody by describing our own behavior.

I don’t remember which of us was the first to remark upon it, but I remember a particular conversation I had between Juniper, another of her girlfriends, Zoe; and I. Our corner of our polycule has long been interested in both erotica and video games as serious art forms. We were discussing Corruption of Champions 2: a large collaborative fiction with many different authors’ writing blending together. [3][4] They observed that when making decisions, they consistently spoke in the inclusive “we” or “us”: “What should we do”, “what will happen to us next”, “isn’t it hot that this is happening to us.” I thought about it and realized quite immediately that this was how I often talked when playing games with my partners. Not just during Juniper and I’s remote play sessions, but even beyond erotica. When my wife and I play a game like Pentiment, the narrative pulls us in and we enter that same grammatical space. “We” becomes the protagonist Andreas. [5] But once we finished the game, once it was over, he became “Andreas”, and “we” became my wife and I. Something specific happens when we enter the play space. Some theorists would call this the Magic Circle.

The Magic Circle

The Magic Circle is a game design principle which many people have strong opinions on. Popularized by Eric Zimmerman and Katie Salen in their book Rules of Play, it is loosely based on the seminal Homo Ludens, [6, ch. 9, p. 2] which predates even the invention of the computer. Zimmerman has himself attempted to clarify the term in the years since he and Salen’s textbook, providing the following “broad strokes” definition: “The magic circle is the idea that a boundary exists between a game and the world outside the game.” [7] My more narrow definition would be: The Magic Circle is a metaphysical space that allows us to suspend our usual roles, identities, and rules of life to partake in a bespoke activity. In the concept of video games, we can thus say that the Magic Circle extends to include the game, the person controlling the game, and whoever is invested in the game.

So as my wife and I play Pentiment, you can draw a circle around me, my wife, and the game, and say we are all inside that Magic Circle. We say “us” to mean: the participants in The Magic Circle, and its goetia summoned via playing – namely Andreas. When Juniper played Corruption of Champions 2 with Zoe (and Zoe’s partner), a circle formed around the three of them and that game, and they all became members of the circle: Things happened *to* them, “we did that”, etc. When Juniper and I play games together, even though we are separated by over three thousands (3000) kilometers of physical space, we still enter the same *metaphysical* space together. Though physically dislocated, we are emotionally and intellectually co- located. And through that principle, with the magic of voyeurism and fantasy, intimately located. For my purposes, I will be referring to this shared intimate space as “the Erotic Circle.”

Magical Intimacy

This creates a particularly interesting space when applied to erotica and long-distance relationships. Sexuality is often highly valued in relationships. As a queer polyamorous person, my thoughts here are complicated, to say the least. I simultaneously find it overrated and underrated. It’s deeply important to me, personally; and yet I also need people to acknowledge my equally deep non-sexual relationships. Sex isn’t the finish line of intimacy, but a type of intimacy. In this particular relationship, this particular form of intimacy does feel important to me, so I am interested in thinking about how it works.

I think the fundamental principle of the Erotic Circle is that it extends the form of play into eroticism. In Homo Ludens the Magic Circle is a throwaway item amongst many considered to have an alternative cognitive space: “The arena, the card-table, the magic circle, the temple, the stage, the screen, the tennis court, the court of justice, etc.” [8, p. 10] Like a backronym, I like the conceptual power of extending this list to prove a point. Other things we could include: The kink party, the sex club, the skinny dipping lake, the bedroom, the pup hood with leash and collar. The pervasiveness of “play” as a term in kink space is no accident, it is a fundamental aspect of sexual exploration. To explore there must be space, and to summon this space we draw the circle.

The power of this circle is what allows these long-distance encounters to be “sex” for us. Let me summon an example. Recently we played through the excellent Hidden Realm of the Enchantress. A pornographic dungeon crawler, this game promises exploring a “dungeon filled with lusty monster girls.” [9] In it, you play a lithe slightly-masculine knight, who fights wave after wave of monster girls as he aims to reach the titular Enchantress’s lair. Many of the monster girls, upon being bested in conquest, offer themselves up submissively for sex. [10]

At first glance it is quite clearly an instance of fairly-routine masculine sexual fantasy. The man, proven to possess prowess and skill in his profession, is rewarded with busty girls wishing to satisfy him sexually. And I think if it were a strictly linear pornographic experience, it would maybe lose some of its interest to my girlfriend and I, two women who predominantly identify as lesbians.

But the Erotic Circle provides a somewhat different experience. For one thing, ownership is induced by the act of play. This knight man is not merely some knight we’re observing on his sexual escapades, but our knight. While Juniper plays the game, the Knight is to some degree an avatar of her. We even begin to notice details we maybe identify with. He’s got thick thighs under that armor, his little pouty face is cute, is it perhaps possible that we might read him a little… feminine? And as she makes choices, it slips into her vocabulary. “I’m going to take this skill.” “I think I can handle these enemies.” “I think I’m gonna lose this run.” The act of playing is ownership, and she becomes a member.

But something interesting happens beyond that. She turns to me, and asks mechanics, the ques􀀉ons become immersive too. This character has a trait like me. That one has a trait like her. “I would make such a cute slime girl,” she says. She finishes combat and asks me “should we fuck the slime girl?” The non-royal we, as this is an action we’re all partaking in. The knight becomes ours. “We’ve got such slutty boy thighs,” said by either of us, a statement of genuinely un-recollect-able authorship to that one. The Erotic Circle provides a space to toy with the concept of identity beyond individual gender, sexuality, or escapades, but into multi-faceted personship and shared identity.

After a long trek through the dungeon, we finally encounter a massive Nephilim. The fight is barely won by the skin of our teeth, and is rewarded by our knight bedding the voluptuous fallen angel. Here we pause to enjoy the sex scene, and after a long dungeon of teasing each-other about the escapades it’s usually where one or both of us will get off. Not purely just because we’re watching a well-animated sex scene, nor engaging in phone-sex banter, or fantasizing about all the scenarios encountered on-screen… yes, these are all parts of it, but it’s not that we’re inducing orgasm through a technique of sexual overstimulation. It’s the climax of a play session. A place in the circle we’ve been dancing around until we finally are ready to get to it. There is continuity.

This continuity continues beyond the end of the scene too. When the circle is packed away and we talk about it later, that shared possessiveness lingers. I remember telling Juniper at some point, “I want to see what other big monster girls we fuck.” A literalist would halt me to point out that neither I nor her do any fucking. But that’s not really the point is it? Because “sex” is an expression of the Erotic Circle. A synonym for it.

Erotica As Shared Experience

The reason all this matters so much to me is not just the academic ramblings of an autist who thinks too much about embodiment, the mind, and social contracts. As somebody who cares deeply for the erotic arts, I wish to highlight how these artworks can be a healthy component of a relationship.

I found very few people talking about erotic games as much beyond individual titillation. Browsing recent reviews of Tower and Sword of Succubus, none of the recent reviews at my time of writing referred in any way to playing the game with other people. [12] Two of them explicitly referenced gooning, [13][14] a practice of individual sexual arousal meant to avoid climax. [15] (Back in my day, we called it “edging”.) [16]

The truth is I play far more erotica with my partners than I ever do on my own. And usually I am not in the driver’s seat, but the observer-participant. I am not even a particularly sexually passive partner when it comes to physical spaces, but I am a deeply imaginative person. Exploring these circles is a type of fun of its own.

And neither is this a last-ditch replacement for sex due to distance. When we take trips and spend time with each other, we often find ourselves at some point or another playing an erotic game together – now in person. And nothing about it changes. We are still together, we are still the characters, we are still playing together. And it was this comparison that first piqued my interest. It’s the same, whether we are next to each other in bed with a laptop nestled between us, or three thousand (3000) kilometers apart co-locating via Discord call. Because both ways, the act is physical, and the act is emotional, but more than either it is metaphysical: We have sex by entering the Erotic Circle.

Gwyndolyn Marchant may or may not be either a real devil or an actual hyena, but whichever way she continues to create web media art, blog, and be a cussing nuisance on her obscure corner of the web. You can find everything she’s up to on her website, https://shadenexus.ca, including her socials and larger art projects.

Bibliography

M. F. Small, “Casual Sex Play Common Among Bonobos“, *Discover Magazine*, May 31, 1992, accessed Apr 23, 2026.

C. Thomas, “Researchers Stumble Upon Gay Dolphin Orgy Off Australian Coast“, *Out*, Aug 02, 2017, accessed Apr 23, 2026.

Salamander Studios, “Corruption of Champions 2” [Game]. Digital: Salamander Studios, Aug 14, 2020.

“Artists and Writers“, Smutosaur.us, Feb 07, 2026. accessed Apr 09, 2026.

Obsidian Entertainment, “Pentiment” [Game]. Digital: Xbox Game Studios, Nov 15, 2022.

K. Salen, E. Zimmerman, “Rules of Play: Game Design Fundamentals“. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2003.

E. Zimmerman, “Jerked Around by the Magic Circle – Clearing the Air Ten Years Later“, *Gamasutra*, Feb 07, 2012. http://www.gamasutra.com/view/feature/135063/jerked_around_by_the_magic_circle_.php Archive: May 08, 2012, accessed Apr 09, 2026.

J. Huizinga, “Homo ludens: a study of the play-element in culture”. Boston: Beacon Press, 1955.

“Hidden Realm of the Enchantress”, Steam, Mar 03, 2025, accessed Apr 09, 2026.

T.F.A.N.C.S., Hidden Realm of the Enchantress [Game]. Digital: T.F.A.N.C.S., Feb 17, 2025.

Libra Heart, Sword of Succubus [Game]. Digital: Critical Bliss, Oct 30, 2020.

“Tower and Sword of Succubus“, Steam, Apr 09, 2026, accessed Apr 09, 2026.

Kuronezumi, “Review for Tower and Sword of Succubus“, Steam Community, Oct 22, 2025, accessed Apr 09, 2026.

trogsothoth, “Review for Tower and Sword of Succubus“, Steam Community, Feb 01, 2026, accessed Apr 09, 2026.

Q. López, “What Does Gooning Mean — And Is Anyone Actually Doing It?“, *them*, Jul 21, 2025, accessed Apr 09, 2026.

B. London, “‘Edging’ is the masturbation technique that can help you sleep and boost your mood“, *GLAMOUR*, Oct 20, 2021, accessed Apr 09, 2026.

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