Slugocki never flinches as she offers up raw details of the experiences that make and break lives. In fact, she has made a career of exploring life on the edge in books like The Erotica Project, which she co-wrote with Erin Cressida Wilson, and her 2012 novella, The Blue Hours. The blunt sexuality that runs through her work is often paired with more harrowing elements related to death, creating a deeply satisfying brand of sense and sensual memory. She is not afraid to explore sex and desire on her own terms. This book is no exception:
Because it’s 2013, and nobody calls each other anymore. In the past, she might’ve called a real human voice, attached to a real human body. But that is not the case anymore. Instead, there are multiple felicitations from all her social media platforms. The love of hundreds of people, seemingly, rain down from the sky, but it’s not like when the cock hits the good spot inside you. And everybody who is reading this knows this is true. We all know what that feels like, that ah-hah moment, like, Christ, it’s home. You feel it deep in the heart of you. In the core of your being. But the digital counterpart is an abstract hug. It’s not the visceral cock hitting the G spot. And this is what she needs today. She needs someone—a guide, a friend, a lover, a sister, a brother, someone.