Daniel Asa Rose, Buchkritiker des New York Observer, erzählt auf Salon von seinem ehemaligen, schweren Job als Lektor für Pornomagazine: Is “doggie style” hyphenated?

Within two days I found myself developing category preferences: No masturbation scenes – the writer’s lot was lonely enough without having to deal with someone else’s isolation. Also, no orgies – they were the equivalent of sweatshop labor. I had to draw diagrams to keep the positions straight (Peg’s on the left, Roger’s on his knees, but where’d Yvonne go? Quick, call 911! How’d we lose Yvonne?). Fetish Frenzy was good: expanded my thinking. Handicap Parking was lovely: nice to see that amputees got love, too. I was given the magazine’s style sheet to refer to and a copy of Canada’s guidelines to memorize. Since American issues were exported to Canada, the entire industry had to oblige Canada her narrow views. No pain of any sort, no handcuffs, not even a harmless little enema here and there. Anal play in particular was verboten. Didn’t matter how much you may have thought Dudley Do-Right was in need of a grape juice enema, he wasn’t going to get one in the pages of Joystick.

(…) Tackling a new letter, I’d first hit the find and replace key and change every “cum” to “come” (an average of 19 changes per letter). As per my style sheet, I’d make sure every “doggie-style” was hyphenated, every “bunghole” was not, every “blowjob” was one word, every “daisy chain” was two. Picture, if you will, all of this being dispatched with a 10-month-old baby draped over my lap. In our cozy, kinky domesticity I enlisted my wife to proofread, which she’d do during commercials of 20/20. “Honey,” I’d call out from my study, “is ‘dream cock’ hyphenated?” Nor would the picture be complete if I didn’t confide that I was performing this editorial duty at a time when my wife and I weren’t getting any, due to a combination of pregnancy and other perils of middle-aged matrimony. Two of the most celibate people on the East Coast were doing some of the dirtiest editing in history, then going to their separate bedrooms to sleep. To my thinking, this gave the venture a poetic justice it otherwise might have lacked.