Best Sex Writing of the Year Vol. 1 by Jon Pressick


Best Sex Writing of the Year Vol. 1 by Jon Pressick

In Best Sex Writing of the Year, no topic is too small or too taboo for writer, radio personality, and sexual pundit Jon Pressick, who has compiled a compelling collection of nonfiction writings on sex. With a forward by pornography actress and feminist activist, Belle Knox, as well as writings from well known authors like Joan Price, Jiz Lee, Charlie Nox, and Cory Silverberg, this anthology open the doors wide to reveal the secretive and hidden side of sex. From heart-wrenching tales of sexual exploit to musings on sex toys and race relations, this book covers the sexual gamut. 

Author website: sexinwords
witter: Sex in Words
Facebook: SexinWords



This is a fascinating collection of essays, featuring some significant bloggers among the writers collected here. The anthology covers many different topics, however I felt it leant heavily towards race and LGBT issues. Not saying this was a bad thing because I enjoyed the essays, and I found they really gave me an insight into those issues. Also I think it’s rare to find an essay collection that covers those topics as heavily, so it was refreshing to have a collection which does cover the difficult stuff. The one thing that bothered me is that some of the essays were obviously written very much before publication and contained out of date information, would have been nice to have this checked and updated but it is a minor issue.

The White Kind of Body by Alok Vaid- Menon was an eye-opener in the way it looks at race and white privilege from an angle I hadn’t considered.

Crazy Trans Woman Syndrome by Morgan M. Page showed just how far we still have to go in the fight for equality, and how even in a part of society where you think you are accepted and welcomed there can be a definite separation and ‘in crowd’ type clique.

In Let’s Talk About Interracial Porn by Jarrett Neal the topic is how black men tend to be portrayed in porn. Now I have to admit I haven’t really ever watched porn so it isn’t something I have looked at but this essay was so engaging I wanted to go look and see what it was the author was talking about.

The collection also covered sex work, BDSM, and disability.  The Gates by Tina Horn was a truly insightful piece on working as a domme in a BDSM establishment. Looking at making it a safe and respectful environment for the workers and their clients. This was a fantastic essay that really made me want to know more about the work involved and the people who do it.

And possibly my favourite essay in the collection which was about love and loss, was Sharing Body Heat by Joan Price. I admit to having shed a few tears over this one. Beautifully written and moving.

Overall this was a great collection of essays and I would be very interested in reading more volumes.

You can read an excerpt and enter my giveaway to win a copy here.

Purchasing links for the anthology:
Cleis Press
Amazon US
Amazon UK
Barnes and Noble



Best Sex Writing of the Year Volume 1 – Giveaway

Yesterday I reviewed Best Sex Writing of the Year, Volume 1, edited by Jon Pressick. I now have an excerpt to share with you and thanks to Cleis Press you can have a chance to win a copy.

Excerpt from “How a Former Porn Star’s Sex Tape Helped Him Reclaim His Sex Life” by Christopher Zeischegg aka Danny Wylde

Eight years into my porn career I landed myself in the hospital after swallowing too many boner pills for work. My erection wouldn’t subside, and it had to be bled out. After I started, more established performers schooled me on the pills, herbs, and injections I could use to maintain a raging hard-on for hours on end, something that was a professional requirement. A doctor told me that if I continued to take the drugs, I’d risk losing my ability to achieve an erection altogether. I was psychologically—and probably physically—dependent on ED pharmaceuticals to do my job. The choice was to either risk my sexual health or stop working altogether.

It was one of the most devastating moments of my adult life. I quit my job overnight and lost my professional identity. For the next two weeks, I followed my doctor’s advice to avoid all sexual arousal. I refrained from touching myself because I had to. And because I was afraid I’d already gone too far—that I’d discover my inability to ever have sex again.

To make things even crazier, I was at the beginning of a new relationship. I’d gone on two dates with a girl and we were crushing hard. I didn’t reveal the extent of my fears, but she knew we’d have to wait if we were to have sex again. And we did. The girl of two dates slept next to me during my recovery. Then she helped me to rediscover my arousal in its natural state.

Shortly thereafter, the circumstances of her life changed, leaving her with a vulnerability that matched my own. Mutual uncertainty and emotional chaos allowed us to latch on to each other in the most intense way possible. If there’s something called “falling in love,” our course was speed railing through it.

I looked back on my sexual history and realized that I’d done my first porn scene when I was nineteen. Prior to that, I hadn’t had a serious partner. My new relationship marked the first time in my life where I could experience sexual monogamy. Sex with my girlfriend was still a form of play, but something about it became more personal. After fucking a thousand people, I felt more attached to just the one.

I didn’t miss performing as much as I thought I would. But there was a part of it that I didn’t want to lose completely. I liked the act of sharing my sex, and I liked the feedback. So I talked to my new girlfriend about making our own video—one that showcased the intensely personal sex we were having now.

We had to set a date or I knew it wouldn’t happen.

The morning of, we had sex. And again several hours later. It was normal. We were addicted to each other’s bodies. When we were alone together, I wanted as much of her as I could get.

But the day was half over and we’d done nothing to prepare for our shoot. So I began to set up a couple of tripods and attach a few lights to the ceiling. She began to apply her makeup. Not that she wouldn’t have sex with me without her face made up, but this was intended for an audience. She wanted to feel beautiful.

“What if our video isn’t as good as the one you made with your ex?” she asked. We were going to use the same start-up company to host our video. The content I’d created with my ex-girlfriend was a big part of its launch. However, this attempt felt different. I was still a porn star the first time I shared my personal sex. The time away from performing made me feel like a boy playing games he hadn’t meant for others to see.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “We’re perfect together. It will be.”

We dawdled along. She joked about no longer wanting to do the video. I suggested that we call it off. Then she reassured me that it was still a good idea. “I want everyone to see how in love we are.”

Eventually, we found ourselves in bed together. The room was bright and silent. Two cameras pointed towards us. I’d hastily set them up. They weren’t even running at the same frame rate.

My girlfriend laughed. “Who makes love with the lights on?”


The giveaway IS NOW CLOSED and then a winner will be picked. Please note competition only accounts and people who are ‘taking advantage’ will be disqualified.

Winner was @CharlieInThe

One Year Blog Anniversary

Ok, I could have said blogiversary but it’s a terrible word (also I’m never sure how to spell it). ;p

WordPress just informed me that today is my one year anniversary. On this day in 2014 I wrote my first post. In it I talked about being a geekgirl, and how I wanted to use this blog as a place to develop myself. A safe place where I could explore who I was, and what that meant. Where I could hopefully re-find my self-confidence.

A year on I think I am doing those things, I am a work in progress and I love being here. As well as everything else I have done with this blog, the biggest thing for me was starting to write erotica. Which lead to my first story being published earlier this month in the anthology, Tie Me Up. Being a published writer is a huge deal for me. I’ve wanted to write since I first held a pencil, and knowing I am working to do what I always wanted is an amazing feeling.

The sex-blogging community is mostly very welcoming and inclusive, and I have been very lucky to become a part of it. I wouldn’t be here without;

  • Girl on the Net, whose blog (and book) introduced me to the world of sex blogging.
  • Exhibit A who encouraged my writing and blogging back at the beginning when I was still unsure.
  • Oleander whose writing always inspires me and who helped and supported me when I was unsure about my work.
  • And last but certainly not least F Dot Leonora who not only read some of my uni fiction and helped me edit it but who read my erotic story and published it in her book. Thank you.


I know most people make a big deal of their blog anniversaries, and I wish I had realised it was coming up so I could have planned something better but it just sort of crept up on me, and I currently have no money, so can’t afford to do a giveaway of any sort. Hopefully I will be better organised and in a better position for my two-year anniversary.

Thank you to everyone out there who reads what I write. I would write anyway for me but my followers are what makes this the experience it is.


Also, a special thank you to the follower who sent me the Bravissimo e-gift card. It was very much appreciated.


First Love


The other day I had yet another wobble about men and relationships/friendships, these happen much more frequently then I would like and it left me wondering about things. I was thinking back to a time when relationships, friendships and romance were much less complicated. Back before I was so damaged, before I’d had my heart broken, before I’d been cheated on, lied to, and treated like I was worthless. Now, much as I like to pretend I am over that stuff, that I am stronger it’s not really true. I still have a mountain of issues when it comes to men.

The first guy I loved I dated from when I was 16 through until I was 20. When I was 17 he joined the army and over the next few years ended up doing two tours of Iraq (back in the first gulf war). The whole time he was away I worried; I couldn’t eat, didn’t sleep, lost weight that back then I couldn’t afford to lose. I was convinced that one day he woudn’t come back, so much so that when he proposed I said no, I was certain that it was a ticket to becoming a widow. Our relationship didn’t survive my no but our friendship did, we stayed in touch. And when his little brother called me one day I just knew without him saying it that C was dead. I cried for days. Even though we weren’t a couple anymore I still loved him and losing him that way broke my heart. The irony is he didn’t die in combat, he had a motorbike accident while on a lads’ holiday in Italy. At his funeral I held his brother’s hand and we cried together. His parents hugged me and his mum whispered “He never gave up on you.” as she slipped a ring into my hand. His brother, told me he’d carried it in his wallet since the day I’d said no.

I often wonder what my life would have been like if I’d said yes. He probably wouldn’t have died how and where he did but I am a firm believer that when it’s your time that’s it, so I still think he would have died. I think my history wih men and relationships would have been very different. To some degree I blamed myself, not for him dying but for the heartache I caused him. He always told me he understood why I’d said no but I still hurt him, and maybe all the heartache I’ve had is the universe balancing the books.

He was the one relationship I’ve had that wasn’t complicated. We were friends before we fell in love, and falling for him was the easiest thing I’ve ever done. Since then I’ve had a series of hard relationships, ones that didn’t involve any form of friendship, and in two cases did involve some emotional abuse. In those relationships I never felt the same love that I’d felt with C but I told myself that was because he was my first love and noone could ever be that again, and when it went bad I’d tell myself it was what I deserved for what I did to C. Then a little less than a year after my dad died I met this guy, and I fell for him hard. It did feel like that first time, and I was so happy. Then I found out he’d been lying to me, and not only did he not love me like I loved him but he wasn’t even single. That broke me even more completely, not to mention leaving me with some fairly severe trust issues.

I try so hard not to project my insecurities onto new ‘friends’ but sometimes it comes into focus and I start to wobble. I start thinking that maybe he doesn’t really like me (after all he is totally out of my league), maybe he’s lying, what if he’s married, etc. This can make me seem needy and clingy, and I know it makes me sound crazy but I can’t stop it. I want so much to love and be loved but the people I love leave. Whether by choice or not, when I love people they go away and I can’t just enjoy something because I am always waiting for the other shoe to drop. Granted the fact that I have depression and anxiety exacerbates this but it’s not just a product of that. It’s experience telling me if I love someone it is all going to go to shit. It’s easy for me to fall, sometimes too easy but I always screw it up somehow.

I wish it could be like it was the first time. Where I could trust blindly, where past heartbreak doeesn’t colour the experience, where you could stay friends even after all the hurt. When it was uncomplicated, deep, and devoted.

Love and Friendship

I’ve been thinking about how we have periods of ‘mourning’ for the losses we suffer. This is seen as more acceptable when someone dies but people still expect you to get over it fairly quickly. If you’re still grieving six months later people will question what is wrong with you, and ask shouldn’t you be over that by now. There’s this perception that we should be able to put thoughts of the person aside and just move on.

When a relationship falls apart there is usually a period we go through where we take time to reflect, to deal with the hurt, to assess the damage. The length of this period can vary depending on many things; how bad the loss was, how hurt you got along the way, how betrayed you felt. I think we need this period of mourning just as much for relationship losses as for any other bereavement. For me it’s also a time to ask myself; what did I learn and what can I do differently next time. Or quite often it’s a time where I blame myself; if I was thinner, prettier, funnier, smarter, more interesting, etc. then maybe it would have worked out.

This feeling that it must be my fault drips through into meeting new guys. I am so scared I will get hurt that I keep everything close and struggle to verbalise my feelings, so I don’t tell the guy, “Hey I like you. You’re nice and make my heart flip-flop”, I tell him “Hey you’ve got a good arse/eyes/shoulders/etc”. I focus on the superficial stuff, because if I don’t tell him he has my heart, he can’t rip it out and stomp on it. Right? Well, actually no. What seems to happen is they think I’m not really interested, or that I’m shallow and materialistic, and therefore not worth the time or effort. And yet again I find myself alone. I know I do this but I seem to be stuck in a pattern that I can’t break. I’m not willing to take a leap of faith that a guy won’t hurt me, because the guys in my past HAVE hurt me, but did they hurt me only because I didn’t give them everything they needed to know so they wouldn’t hurt me?

However, recently I have met an actual nice guy. I like him a lot. I have managed to tell him that I like him. I’ve also had a few wobbles, that I know made me look a bit crazy (possibly a lot crazy), but you know what, not only is he still here but he is being really sweet about it. He is always assuring me that he’s my friend and he doesn’t want to mess me around or hurt me. Maybe I’m being naive but I actually believe him. And I like that he is my friend first and foremost, it’s not just about getting into my pants. I’m not saying he’s my next big love just that he is my friend, and I am very grateful for him to showing me not all men are going to screw with my head…….or heart.
I think the definition of a broken heart is realising you love someone more than they love you, and/or in a totally different way. And I am sick of having my heart broken. But maybe it doesn’t have to be about how you are loved, maybe what really matters is that you are loved.


*A version of this post was posted as a guest blog on Charlie’s blog at CharlieInThePool.