When I met the woman who became my wife, my porn collection consisted of a milk crate full of magazines. Mostly over-the-counter stuff: some Playboys, Players, Hustlers and other magazines that had articles to read when you got tired of pursuing their primary purpose. The crate also contained an assortment of hardcore magazines showing couples exploring fantasies the art directors thought would keep men like me buying their product. I was a libertine and didn't try to keep the stash a secret from my future wif . The porn was part of my sexual software, and sharing it with my real-life partner was designed to help us be on the same page. After all, I only bought images that turned me on, so it was a good way for her to get to know what I liked.

Shortly after we hooked up, Jasmin perused my collection, seemingly unimpressed. She had been raised in a family far more libertine than I was and she was no stranger to photos of people having sex. Her lack of interest in the magazines didn't bother me. I could enjoy them without her. I had also shown the magazines to previous girlfriends and, in my experience, women didn't get excited about porn. I never shared my collection with male friends (I didn't want to use a magazine after another man had touched it), but it was clear from conversations that I wasn't the only brother with a stash.

Jasmin and I made a commitment to each other and started down intimacy road, removing one mask after another as we went. Soon enough, she disclosed that she had been sexually molested as a child. Not long after that, she indicted my porn collection as a contributor to the sexual exploitation of women and girls that resulted in her own sexual abuse. Because she had been photographed as part of her abuse, her sensitivity to porn was especially high. I was blindsided by the idea that these legally purchased photos could be a factor in the immoral, criminal cruelty endured by her and other abuse victims. I wasn't, however, in a good position to argue with her feelings about being sexually molested.

So, for the first time, I chose to address the ethical issues of porn. I imagined the models' life stories beyond the art directors' fantasies. I wondered how many of them had been sexually victimized as children and questioned what the real-life women thought about the scenes they acted out. I came to the conclusion that most economically secure, self-respecting women would choose another career, and that by using porn I was playing into the subjugation of an underclass. This assessment led me to toss my collection with little remorse. Jasmin was pleased by my decision, but didn't make a big deal about it as she probably would have if I had stubbornly held on to my right to keep it. Discarding the collection was, no doubt, one small piece of the long, intense, and largely successful healing of her sexual abuse trauma.

Since making that heroic decision to upgrade my sexual software, I have dabbled with porn from time to time. When Jasmin and I met, I was in a Luddite phase and didn't own a TV, much less a VCR, so my porn viewing was limited to magazines. After each addition of TV, VCR, 56K, and finally high-speed Internet to our media repertoire, I explored the new delivery system to see if my feelings about porn had changed. The main improvement was no embarrassing trips to the magazine or video store. The content was as I remembered it.

My wife was patient with my occasional explorations. Because we are fond of sex and because the porn industry has staked a claim, erroneously as it turns out, as a purveyor of liberated sexuality, Jasmin may have subconsciously thought she should enjoy the images more than she did. Neither of us is a prude. But, try as we might, the backstories of the performers bothered us and it became increasingly difficult to justify porn's use in our happy marriage. And it wasn't just how porn affects the women in the photos and films. As I continued to pursue my spiritual evolution, viewing pornography became a practice that was increasingly at odds with my own sense of integrity.

About a year ago Voice Male published an article by one of its frequent contributors, journalism professor and anti-porn activist Robert Jensen. He argued that both performers and viewers of pornography are degraded by their involvement. Personally, I know using porn never left me feeling particularly proud. It was more likely to bring up feelings of shame after the fact--seldom a good sign. My reflections sparked by the Jensen article inspired a revelation: Jasmin and I strive for intimacy in our relationship. Using porn hinders that. Whether alone or with my wife, viewing porn takes time and energy away from our union and squanders it on a pseudo-relationship. Even using porn as a stimulus for marital sex is problematic because porn rarely reflects healthy modes of connection. Porn is wham, bam, thank you, ma'am--at best--and not reflective of the kind of sex I really want in my own life. No surprise, I find it easier to achieve sexual pleasure and intimacy with my wife when images of models paid to perform male fantasies are not playing in my head.

There have been many critiques of porn from a feminist point of view. Although they have validity, I am not playing that drum. Those of us engaged in a struggle to redefine manhood for the new millennium must address the ubiquitousness of porn and decide whether using it for sexual stimulation is leading us toward enlightened masculinity or contributing to our being used as pawns of a corporate vision devoid of integrity. I've talked to many women besides my wife who are quietly disgusted by their male partners' use of porn, but just accept it as a fact of life. Porn is like sexual crack--a quick high that feels good as long as you don't think about it too much. Its long-term negative consequences greatly outweigh any initial rush.

I am not suggesting that porn be outlawed. I am advocating that men examine our relationship with porn more seriously. I stopped using porn because I'm committed to being the best lover I can, and porn doesn't support that. There is better sexual software in my own imagination, as well as in enlightened approaches to sex found in Tantra, Taoism, and every male heart. It's ironic: throwing away that milk crate full of magazines ended up being a giant step toward my true sexual liberation.

Haji Shearer is a social activist who enjoys sex and who regularly writes for Voice Male. He lives with his wife and teenage son and daughter outside of Boston. Click here to read the article by Robert Jensen mentioned above.