It’s still surreal to say. I’m published. My name. Epiphora. On the pages of a book. Followed by my words — about dongs, no less. It’s not something I’ll be showing to my high school journalism teacher at his retirement party next month, but that doesn’t make it less meaningful. In fact, this book is a special sort of validation of my work as a sex writer.
My mom already made me order a copy for her — and sign it.
Best Sex Writing of the Year, Volume 1 was edited by Jon Pressick, whom interviewed me flawlessly for his Sex City Radio show last year. I submitted several pieces for consideration: “The 2 Weeks of My Sex Life I Lost to Zoloft,” “My Vagina is a Black Hole,” “What Should We Call Sex Toys?”, and “A Day in the Life of a Sex Toy Reviewer.” Pressick chose “What Should We Call Sex Toys?” and, thankfully, allowed me to edit the colloquial and irrelevant bits out. Turns out, some stuff you’d write in a blog post sounds really weird when you imagine it in a book.
I still stand by every point I make in my piece, though, about how cutesy terms like “pleasure objects” and sterile ones like “marital aid” should be thrown out in favor of the classic “sex toys.”
I do not believe that, as Shakespeare famously wrote, a sex toy by any other name would feel as good. Call something a “dong” and nobody will want to put that inside themselves.