In Defense of Sluts, Kinks, and Kindness
A shortened version of my moral and ethical perspective (written using AI as help)

—Or, Why My Sluts Are Actually Kind People
I don’t think art needs to have a deep message to be valid. Sometimes, a big-ass big titty naked woman posed seductively is just that: a celebration of the human form. I like to entertain. I like absurdity. And I like erotica.

The original long version of this story. What you read here is condensed with help from AI
But if you’ve spent time with my work—whether it’s the world of Imperial Norway, Tucker-James and the Kurebakken sisters, or the tragedy of Terri Moreno—there’s more going on under the surface. Yes, my stories play into kink and sexual fantasy. But there’s also a moral backbone to them. Not moral in a finger-wagging way. Moral in the sense that I care about fairness, kindness, and the power dynamics we take for granted.
I’m not here to preach. Like the creators of South Park or The Simpsons, I believe good satire lets people draw their own conclusions. Often, the most interesting interpretations of my stories are the ones I never intended. That’s the magic of layered fiction: it can be dumb and juvenile on the surface, while quietly poking at deeper truths.
Caricature and Contrast
Take South Park’s “Cripple Fight.” At first glance, it’s toilet humor and crude jokes. But beneath that, it tells you something about prejudice. The flamboyant gay scout leader, Big Gay Al, is not the predator—he’s the good guy. The threat comes from the straight-laced, hyper-masculine Mr. Grazier. A conservative archetype of discipline and strength—who turns out to be the pedophile. South Park skewers the way society misjudges people based on appearances.
That’s the kind of layered satire I’m drawn to. The absurd, the exaggerated, and the morally gray. In my own work, I use the same approach. The Kurebakken sisters are outrageous. Their sex addiction is turned up to eleven. But beneath the boobs and giggles is a story about love, misunderstanding, and clashing cultural values.
Tucker-James, the conservative American Christian boy, isn’t a villain. He’s not a mouthpiece for a worldview I disagree with. He’s kind, respectful, and tries to do what’s right, even if he’s out of his depth. And the sisters—while they behave in ways many would call degenerate—are deeply affectionate and empathetic people. That contrast is what makes the story tick.
Slut Is a Fantasy Word
Let’s get this out of the way: I don’t like the word “slut” in a moral sense. I’m sex-positive. But in sexual fantasy, “slut” is part of the fun. It’s taboo, exaggerated, and charged. And my work often leans into that kind of cartoonish, exaggerated sexuality.
But my sluts aren’t villains. They’re not broken. In fact, they often act more ethically—more lovingly—than the so-called “decent” characters around them.
Terri Moreno, for example, is a young Mexican-American woman in the fictional Deep South. Her life is derailed by systemic racism, institutional misogyny, and being sexualized by older men who hold power over her. When she’s turned into a lactating hucow at a prison farm, Three Pines, people laugh at her. They call her a caramel cow. A slut. A failure.
But what did she actually do wrong? She tried to survive in a system that offered her nothing but shame. Her crime? Having a curvy body and saying no to the wrong man. My goal with Terri is to show how society turns women into punchlines, then blames them for playing along.
The Cardamom Law and the Norwegian Ethos
Here’s where I need to shift gears. Most of you reading this are probably from the U.S. That’s the audience I’m most familiar with outside my home country of Norway. And I’ve learned that the cultural gap between our two societies is huge—even though we look the same on the outside.
Let me introduce you to something you’ve probably never heard of: The Cardamom Law. It comes from a beloved Norwegian children’s book universe—think of it like our version of Mr. Rogers or Winnie the Pooh, only with a bit more socialism baked in. The law goes like this:
- One shall not bother others.
- One shall be nice and kind.
- Otherwise, one may do as one pleases.
It sounds simple, almost silly. But it reflects something deep in the Norwegian mindset. We don’t need rules for how to behave sexually or what lifestyle is correct. We care far more about how you treat others. Are you respectful? Are you kind? Are you causing harm?
This is the moral lens I bring into my writing. I don’t care if the Kurebakken sisters are topless or touchy or addicted to orgasm. I care that they try to understand Tucker-James’s boundaries. That they treat him with love, even when they don’t understand him. In contrast, his own devout family back home might look virtuous—but they’re cold, emotionally distant, and judgmental.
A Culture Shaped by Togetherness
Norway is a collectivist society. In the U.S., freedom and individual choice are sacred values. Here, we prioritize solidarity and dugnad—a uniquely Norwegian concept that means working together for the common good. It’s so ingrained that we don’t even think about it. You don’t hire someone to fix a trim hedges, paint fences etc in public areas; you and your neighbors just do it. Rich or poor, you pitch in.
This isn’t some utopia. But it means we tend to see people not as moral individuals, but as products of their environment. If someone behaves badly, we don’t just ask, “What did he do wrong?” We ask, “What part of the system failed him?”
This is why, in my stories, I don’t frame “bad choices” as purely personal failings. Terri becomes a stripper not because she’s weak or sinful, but because society gave her no better options. Meanwhile, Rick Harlan—the man who violated her at the prison farm—did have options. He had power, a good job, and privilege. And when he saw Terri crying and attached to a milking machine, he looked the other way. That’s where he failed. Not in his desire, but in his lack of empathy.
And that’s the key. For me, the greatest moral failure isn’t lust. It’s selfishness. That’s how I judge my characters—not by what they desire, but by how they treat others.
Rick Harlan as a Structural Critique
To some readers, Rick is just a weak man who gave into temptation. But that’s not how I wrote him. Rick is a caricature of the “Nice Guy™”—the type who hides entitlement behind manners, who believes he’s owed affection or sex because he’s polite. It’s a kind of misogyny that’s especially insidious because it looks harmless on the surface.
This is why women tend to understand Rick’s character better than men. Many have lived that experience. My critique is not just of one man’s failure, but of a culture that enables him. A culture that treats politeness as a moral shield.
Sex, Satire, and Absurdity
Not everything I write has a moral message. Sometimes it’s just hot. Sometimes it’s funny. Like when I write that Idun’s giant breasts improve productivity at Vieregg Industries. It’s a joke about workplace sexism. But it’s also kind of hot. That’s the point—I’m playing with contradictions.
Same with Zane and Colton, the cartoon racists who stalk Terri. Their behavior is so over-the-top it becomes comedy. But it’s also a reflection of real stereotypes—twisted into something grotesque so we can laugh and cringe at once.
This is how I use absurdity: to entertain, to provoke, and sometimes to hold up a mirror.
Final Thoughts
If you’ve ever wondered what I “really mean” in my stories, this is it:
- I’m a feminist.
- I’m a democratic socialist.
- I grew up in a culture that values kindness over purity.
- I believe that flawed people in flawed systems deserve empathy.
- And yes, I think sluts can be good people.
My hope is that my work entertains you. Maybe even arouses you. But I also hope it makes you think. Or at least question some assumptions. And if it doesn’t, that’s okay too. Sometimes a big pair of bouncing tits is just a bouncing pair of tits.
But if you do find deeper meaning—well, then we’re in it together.