There is something quietly radical about choosing a book over a screen. In an age when so much of our understanding of sex is shaped by algorithms, hot takes, and an endless stream of digital noise, Sexy Book Club offers a different kind of space: slower, more curious, and decidedly more human. What began as a casual Instagram question about reading erotica across the ages quickly grew into a community spanning Melbourne, Sydney, and London, bringing people together through literature, conversation, and a shared willingness to be curious about desire.

Its founder arrived at the idea from a place of genuine disconnection with the internet. A fascination with old Black+White magazines and their unapologetic mix of erotic photography, art, and writing led her towards a much larger history of sexual thought. From the Marquis de Sade to contemporary fiction, she began looking beyond the immediacy of online discourse and discovered that many of the questions we consider uniquely modern have been troubling, thrilling, and amusing people for centuries.

That sense of discovery remains central to the club. Its members do not need to agree, identify with every fantasy, or have the “right” opinion. They simply need to be willing to talk. In rooms where strangers become friends and uncomfortable subjects become unexpectedly funny, sex loses some of its mystery and, perhaps more importantly, some of its shame.

Sexy Book Club is ultimately less about reading erotic literature than using it as an excuse to look more honestly at ourselves, each other, and the stories we inherit about desire. In a culture increasingly mediated by screens, that might be its most seductive idea of all.

How did Sexy Book Club start?

Sexy Book Club started very accidentally. Back in February, I put a callout on my Instagram story asking, “If I were to start a club where we read erotica across eras, who would join?” I really thought I might get 20 people together to read sexy books and talk about them.

Instead, the response was enormous. Hundreds of people wanted to join, and it very quickly became something much bigger than I had imagined.

What inspired you to create it?

Honestly, I was exhausted by the internet. My social media feed had started to feel like this curated hellscape of every anxiety, insecurity, and fear I had, delivered to me constantly. I was craving real art and real conversations and spaces where I could learn without everything being filtered through an algorithm.

Around that time, I was at a pub in the countryside that had this incredible collection of old Black+White magazines from the ’90s and early 2000s. They were filled with erotic photography, interviews, art, and writing, and I became completely obsessed. One of the issues referenced the Marquis de Sade and The 120 Days of Sodom, which I’d never read, and I suddenly thought, “What else don’t I know?” How many people have been writing and thinking about sex for hundreds of years?

I’m a sex writer, so it was quite liberating to realise that my inspiration didn’t have to come from the internet. There was this enormous history of literature and art about sex, desire, shame, pleasure, and relationships waiting to be explored. I wanted to read it, and I wanted other people to come along with me.

How has it grown since you started?

It’s been kind of insane. It started with about 20 people in Melbourne, and within a few months we had hundreds of people wanting to join. We’ve since expanded into Sydney and London, and there’s now a whole community around it. We read a book over a six-week cycle and then come together for events that have evolved far beyond a traditional book club; we’ve had authors join us, burlesque performances, writing workshops, themed cocktails, photographers, gifts, and lots of conversations about sex and desire.

It’s essentially gone from something I thought would be a fun little side project to a huge part of my life.

What is the community like?

“Curious” is probably the best word for it. There’s a real openness to the community, but it’s not about everyone agreeing with each other. In fact, some of my favorite conversations happen when half the room absolutely hates a character or an idea and the other half completely understands it.

People come from different ages, backgrounds, sexualities, and relationship structures, but there’s this shared willingness to talk about the things we’re often told are too embarrassing, intimate, or inappropriate to discuss openly. 

It can get very vulnerable, but it’s also incredibly funny. Sex is funny! I never wanted it to sexualities, feel like a very serious academic discussion where everyone is afraid of saying the wrong thing.

What have been some of your favorite or most memorable moments?

There have been so many. Watching people arrive alone and leave having made friends is always really special to me. I love looking around a room and seeing people swapping numbers or continuing a conversation long after the official discussion has finished.

Having authors become part of the conversation has also been incredible. We recently read A Certain Hunger and had Chelsea G. Summers join us for a Q&A, and Sophie Mackintosh joined our London event. Being able to read something intimately and then actually ask the person who created it about sex, rage, appetite, desire, or whatever else their work brings up is such a privilege.

And the London event was definitely a moment where I thought, “Oh my God, this has become a real thing.” I started this little book club in Melbourne in February, and six months later I was sitting in a room in Soho surrounded by people talking about sexy literature. That felt pretty surreal.

What do you think people enjoy most about being part of Sexy Book Club?

I think it gives people permission to be curious. Sex is one of those subjects where you can very easily convince yourself that whatever you desire or wonder about must be uniquely weird. Then you read a book written 50 or 200 years ago and realise somebody was thinking about exactly the same thing. And then you come to book club and 20 other people admit they’ve thought about it too.

There’s also something really valuable about simply being in a room with people. We spend so much of our lives communicating through phones now, and I think people are hungry for experiences that feel genuinely human. At book club, you’ve read something slowly, formed your own opinion, and then you sit across from someone who interpreted it completely differently. There’s no algorithm deciding which opinion you see first. You just have to talk to each other.

Has creating the club changed the way you think about sex, intimacy, or relationships?

Definitely. If anything, it’s made me realise how little about sex is actually new. We tend to think whatever conversation we’re having online right now, about monogamy, casual sex, female desire, infidelity, kink, or sexual identity, is uniquely modern. Then you start reading literature from different eras and realise humans have been wrestling with versions of the same questions forever.

It’s also reinforced my belief that talking about sex makes it much less frightening. So much shame survives because we keep things private. The minute somebody says something out loud and another person says, “Oh my God, me too,” it loses some of its power. I think curiosity is one of the healthiest ways we can approach sex and relationships.

What challenges have you faced along the way?

The biggest challenge has probably been keeping up with how quickly it grew. I didn’t start it with a business plan or imagine I was creating something that would eventually exist across multiple cities. I was just trying to get some people together to read erotica!

There are also practical challenges that come with creating events around sex. Social media censorship is a constant frustration when your entire community has largely grown through social media. Even completely educational conversations around sexuality can get restricted, and you become very aware that you’re building something on platforms you ultimately have no control over.

And then there’s the challenge of growing without losing the intimacy that made it special in the first place. I don’t want it to become enormous rooms where nobody actually talks to each other. The conversation and community have to remain at the centre of it.

What do you hope people take away from the community?

I hope people leave feeling a little more curious and a little less ashamed. You don’t have to agree with everything you read or suddenly want to act out every fantasy you encounter. The point is being able to explore ideas without immediately judging them.

But I also hope people make friends. I want it to be a place where you can come alone, put your phone away for a few hours, talk about something interesting, and leave feeling more connected to other people. I think we desperately need spaces like that at the moment.

What are your plans for Sexy Book Club in the future?

I want to keep building the communities we now have in Melbourne, Sydney, and London, while protecting what makes the club feel intimate and special. I’d love to continue bringing authors into the events, exploring books from different eras and creating experiences around them, whether that’s performances, workshops, conversations or collaborations with people working across sex, literature and art.

Longer term, I’d love Sexy Book Club to become a broader cultural community around sex and literature, rather than simply a book club. There is such an enormous archive of erotic writing, art, and ideas that we’ve barely scratched the surface of. The whole thing started because I realised how much I didn’t know, and I think I want to keep following that curiosity wherever it takes us.

Editor Note 

In a culture that often asks us to quickly label, defend, and display our desires, there is something liberating about simply allowing ourselves to wonder. Sexy Book Club is a reminder that intimacy doesn’t always begin with touch; sometimes it begins with a question, a story, or the courage to admit, “I don’t know.”

There is also something beautifully subversive about putting the phone down and sitting across from another person, discovering that the things we thought made us strange are often profoundly human. Literature becomes the doorway, but connection is the destination.

Curiosity may not have all the answers, but it keeps the conversation alive.