Porn

In the lobby of the Holiday Inn Chantilly, there’s a leak in the ceiling. Next to the pail collecting the drips sits Stormy Daniels, her client and a haunted doll called Susan. This is a normal — and paranormal — afternoon for the world’s most notorious porn star. In the time since her hush-money imbroglio with President Trump, Daniels has dedicated her time to directing porn, making some for her OnlyFans, reality TV show appearances… and the supernatural. Her latest venture sees her reading tarot for clients who book with her online. This is what has brought Cockburn to the fringes of the Exxxotica DC convention. “I usually do these up in the room,” Stormy explains, festively dressed in a red-and-black checked shirt and a snowflake necklace.

Northern Virginia is a wasteland. Twenty or so miles due west of Washington, DC you'll find a series of nondescript neighborhoods, with no distinct identity, no true town centers, a barely broken chain of outlet stores and closed restaurants. The stretch of highway leading from Arlington to Dulles Airport is the urban equivalent of an ellipsis: a “loading” screen of locales. There could be no more suitable place to host the most conventional of conventions. And conventions can be frightfully dull. Cockburn would know: his lengthy tenure with The Spectator has seen him grace the stalls of CPAC, AIPAC, the RNC. He is far too familiar with the jangle of elevator musak, the freebie fridge magnets, the plastic press passes. When it comes to corporate America, he has seen everything.

It was a suspenseful business, arranging to meet Dan Savage, America’s most famous giver of sex advice, LGBT rights advocate, porn-festival organizer and all-round cult figure. He was by turns stern, snappy and apologetic in his emails; he was brisk in his replies and then months would pass with no word. And so I breathe a sigh of relief when Savage approaches the outside table of the café I suggested in the Capitol Hill area of Seattle. He is wearing jeans, bright orange hightop sneakers and layered flannel shirts. He walks softly, with the supple watchfulness of a teenage boy. He also talks softly — a contrast with his more forceful podcast voice — apologizing for being five minutes late.

Sex is everywhere in America, except in the bedroom — or anywhere else you’d like to have it. This has been going on so long that it’s got a name: in a 2017 article for the Atlantic, Kate Julian called it the “sex recession.” The research she cites found that “American adults had sex about nine fewer times per year in the early 2010s compared to the late 1990s.” Nine times fewer a year might not seem so bad, but every other marker of sexual activity was also down. A 2018 study in the Journal of the American Medical Association found that sexual activity had dropped among men between eighteen and thirty-five and women between twenty-four and thirty-five. Young people were having fewer sexual interactions and also fewer partners.