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So 'Ecosexuals' Having Sex with Trees is a Thing

SourceEcosexuality is a term with wide-ranging definitions, which vary depending on who you ask.

Amanda Morgan, a faculty member at the UNLV School of Community Health Sciences who is involved in the ecosexual movement, says that ecosexuality could be measured in a sense not unlike the Kinsey Scale: On one end, it encompasses people who try to use sustainable sex products, or who enjoy skinny dipping and naked hiking. On the other are “people who roll around in the dirt having an orgasm covered in potting soil,” she said. “There are people who fuck trees, or masturbate under a waterfall.”

The movement’s growing prominence owes much to the efforts of Bay Area performance artists, activists, and couple Annie Sprinkle and Elizabeth Stephens, who have made ecosexuality a personal crusade. They have published an “ecosex manifesto” on their website SexEcology and produced several films on the theme, including a documentary, Goodbye Gauley Mountain: An Ecosexual Love Story, which depicts the “pollen-amorous” relationship between them and the Appalachian Mountains. And while touring a theater piece across the country, Dirty Sexecology: 25 Ways to Make Love to the Earth, they’ve officiated wedding ceremonies where they and fellow ecosexuals marry the earth, the moon, and other natural entities.


Sprinkle and Stephens talk openly about ecosexuality as a new form of sexual identity. At last year’s San Francisco Pride Parade, they led a contingent of over a hundred ecosexuals in a ribbon-cutting ceremony to “officially” add an E to the LGBTQI acronym; Stephens told Outside that they believe there are now at least 100,000 people around the world who openly identify as ecosexuals.

Look, I’ve never tried to pass myself off as Captain Planet. But I try to do my part. At the risk of sounding like I’m signalling my virtue, I do take the time to put the plastics, bottles, cans and cardboard in the proper bin at the town dump. Even when the weather is shitty and I’d rather throw them all in the kitchen trash and be done with it. When I throw out the plastic rings from a six pack I cut them up so as not to kill the fishies and duckies. Again, I’m not a zealot, but I legitimately try to make the effort not to trash the only world we’ve got. And I feel pretty good about myself when I do.

At least I felt good until now. Fuck me and my good intentions because I can’t compete with this. I mean, I’m ready to give myself a Nobel for taking my Poland Springs bottle home from the gym to put it in the proper container. But I realize now I’m not really doing my share until I’m going on naked hikes, rubbing one out in the nutrient-rich soil, jagging off under a waterfall or having a consensual, pollen-amorous boning sesh with this guy:

I’ve lost the right to my own self-satisfaction until I’m willing to start a committed relationship with some celestial body or have ecosex with a good reach around with this erotic hunk of nature:

Hell, the rest of us might as well be clear-cutting the rainforests to power our luxury yachts compared to these hot, tree-horny Ecosexual warriors:


That’s ecosexuality, alright. And I want in. Count me among the 100,000 dirt loving, tree-humping, bark-lickers out there and sign me up for Amanda Morgan’s classes, immediately. This whole thing is giving me wood. (Sorry. But not sorry.)