The Pleasure Edge: Emma-Louise Boynton and The New Rules of Sex
The founder of Sex Talks has built a movement around unfiltered conversations about sex desire, liberation and the messy beauty of modern intimacy.
JOIN THE RITUAL. SIGN UP FOR EXCLUSIVE CONTENT, EXPERT INSIGHTS,
RITUALS, STORIES, NEW LAUNCHES & EXPERIENCES
by Maya Boyd
Emma-Louise Boynton didn’t set out to become the voice of a new sexual revolution. A former political producer, she stumbled into the world of sex therapy after years of disconnection from her own body, a journey that transformed her life and career.
What began as a personal reckoning became Sex Talks, a platform for women to talk honestly and unashamedly about desire, dysfunction and everything in between. Now, with her debut book Pleasure: The Reclamation of My Body (out next year), she is redefining what sexual liberation means for the modern woman: less performative, more embodied and unapologetically real.
On Sexual Liberation
For a while I thought sexual liberation meant “more.” More partners, fewer strings, less caring. I’d come out of sex therapy newly orgasmic and high on freedom, thinking this is what liberated women do, they just fuck without feeling. But I quickly realised the hangover wasn’t in my head, it was in my body.
Now liberation means agency. It’s about defining sex on my own terms, sometimes wild and feral, sometimes soft and soaked in feeling. It’s about choice, the freedom to say yes when I mean it and to say no without apology.
On Ethical Non-Monogamy
We grow up on the fairytale that one person has to be our everything: lover, best friend, therapist, co-parent. It’s a setup for failure. What I love about the ENM conversation isn’t that everyone should open their relationship, it’s that we’re finally questioning the script. What actually works for us? But if the ethics don’t come first, if you skip the hard honest conversations, it’s just cheating with a new logo. Boundaries, care, clarity: that’s the sexy bit. And timing matters. Running a household, kids, jobs, sometimes monogamy is simply logistical. It’s not about ideology, it’s about honesty.
On Female Pleasure
We’ve seen a massive shift in how we talk about female pleasure, largely driven by women leading the sexual wellness industry. Sex toys are now beautifully designed, the conversation is mainstream, and we finally understand that pleasure isn’t a bonus — it’s essential. When I went to sex therapy, I thought I’d be told to masturbate and that would fix me. Instead, my therapist said, “Emma, for as long as you’re at war with your body, you’re going to struggle to enjoy sex.” That stopped me in my tracks. Ending that war changed everything. Pleasure isn’t just about sex; it’s about reconciling with your body. Now I treat pleasure like a practice. Slow touch, curiosity, breath. It’s not about performing pleasure; it’s about learning my own language for it.
On Desire
So many women tell me they feel broken. That they don’t enjoy sex, that something must be wrong with them. But often we’re not broken — we just don’t like the sex we’re having. What I hear most from women is a longing for intimacy. For sex that feels connected, not transactional. I think a lot of us are looking for depth, for presence, for the kind of attention that lets you feel seen. Desire isn’t a constant flame. It needs connection, honesty and safety to stay alive.
On Vulnerability vs Overexposure
Vulnerability never felt like a performance to me. I process my experiences by talking, so being open about my story felt natural — even if it made me nervous at first. At the beginning, I did feel a bit overexposed, but then I got this flood of messages from women saying, “I’ve felt the same.” That made me realise how collective these so-called private struggles are. Now I think about it less as overexposure and more as service. The honesty helps other people feel seen, and that’s worth it.
On Self-Pleasure
I see self-pleasure as maintenance, like skincare but for the soul. It’s how I stay connected to my body. It doesn’t have to be about orgasm, it’s about awareness. Touching my own skin without judgement. Learning what feels good and what doesn’t. Reclaiming that conversation with myself. I try to make self-pleasure a ritual, not an afterthought — part of how I care for myself.
On Intimacy in a Digital Age
We’ve never been more connected digitally, yet real intimacy feels rarer than ever. I love what Esther Perel calls “artificial intimacy” — the illusion of closeness that comes from constant digital contact. I’ve had those WhatsApp relationships that never leave the screen. They fill a gap, but they’re hollow. In the end, they just made me lonelier. The only way to build real connection is in person — through awkwardness, chemistry, the smells, the silences. Rejection hurts, but it’s human.
On Communication (aka Stop Faking It)
I used to fake it. Everyone does, right? But all that does is teach bad habits. It’s bad for you, bad for them, bad for the sisterhood. Now I talk during sex. Not performatively, just little directions. “Stay there.” “Softer.” “Don’t stop.” It’s sexy, not clinical. And I try to talk about sex outside of sex. A glass of wine, a laugh, a “by the way, this works for me.” It’s awkward for ten seconds and then freeing.
On Long-Term Love & Keeping the Pilot Light On
Long-term desire takes work. You can’t just skip from the school run to sex and expect fireworks. You have to keep the pilot light burning — small touches, kisses, hand on the back, actual affection. Kissing, for me, is everything. It’s how intimacy begins. You can’t go from zero to third base and expect your body to keep up.If your sex life has gone quiet, that’s not failure. It’s an invitation to rewrite the script together.
On Body Image, Shame & Healing
I lived with bulimia for 17 years. You can’t hate your body and expect to enjoy sex, it’s impossible. I’d been at war with myself since I was twelve and therapy finally made me realise how much that war was costing me. Now I feed myself. I touch myself. I talk to myself like someone I actually like. That sounds basic but it’s radical. Shame only survives in silence. Once you name it, it loses power. Pleasure isn’t a reward for getting it right, it’s a route back to yourself.
by Maya Boyd
Emma-Louise Boynton didn’t set out to become the voice of a new sexual revolution. A former political producer, she stumbled into the world of sex therapy after years of disconnection from her own body, a journey that transformed her life and career.
What began as a personal reckoning became Sex Talks, a platform for women to talk honestly and unashamedly about desire, dysfunction and everything in between. Now, with her debut book Pleasure: The Reclamation of My Body (out next year), she is redefining what sexual liberation means for the modern woman: less performative, more embodied and unapologetically real.
On Sexual Liberation
For a while I thought sexual liberation meant “more.” More partners, fewer strings, less caring. I’d come out of sex therapy newly orgasmic and high on freedom, thinking this is what liberated women do, they just fuck without feeling. But I quickly realised the hangover wasn’t in my head, it was in my body.
Now liberation means agency. It’s about defining sex on my own terms, sometimes wild and feral, sometimes soft and soaked in feeling. It’s about choice, the freedom to say yes when I mean it and to say no without apology.
On Ethical Non-Monogamy
We grow up on the fairytale that one person has to be our everything: lover, best friend, therapist, co-parent. It’s a setup for failure. What I love about the ENM conversation isn’t that everyone should open their relationship, it’s that we’re finally questioning the script. What actually works for us? But if the ethics don’t come first, if you skip the hard honest conversations, it’s just cheating with a new logo. Boundaries, care, clarity: that’s the sexy bit. And timing matters. Running a household, kids, jobs, sometimes monogamy is simply logistical. It’s not about ideology, it’s about honesty.
On Female Pleasure
We’ve seen a massive shift in how we talk about female pleasure, largely driven by women leading the sexual wellness industry. Sex toys are now beautifully designed, the conversation is mainstream, and we finally understand that pleasure isn’t a bonus — it’s essential. When I went to sex therapy, I thought I’d be told to masturbate and that would fix me. Instead, my therapist said, “Emma, for as long as you’re at war with your body, you’re going to struggle to enjoy sex.” That stopped me in my tracks. Ending that war changed everything. Pleasure isn’t just about sex; it’s about reconciling with your body. Now I treat pleasure like a practice. Slow touch, curiosity, breath. It’s not about performing pleasure; it’s about learning my own language for it.
On Desire
So many women tell me they feel broken. That they don’t enjoy sex, that something must be wrong with them. But often we’re not broken — we just don’t like the sex we’re having. What I hear most from women is a longing for intimacy. For sex that feels connected, not transactional. I think a lot of us are looking for depth, for presence, for the kind of attention that lets you feel seen. Desire isn’t a constant flame. It needs connection, honesty and safety to stay alive.
On Vulnerability vs Overexposure
Vulnerability never felt like a performance to me. I process my experiences by talking, so being open about my story felt natural — even if it made me nervous at first. At the beginning, I did feel a bit overexposed, but then I got this flood of messages from women saying, “I’ve felt the same.” That made me realise how collective these so-called private struggles are. Now I think about it less as overexposure and more as service. The honesty helps other people feel seen, and that’s worth it.
On Self-Pleasure
I see self-pleasure as maintenance, like skincare but for the soul. It’s how I stay connected to my body. It doesn’t have to be about orgasm, it’s about awareness. Touching my own skin without judgement. Learning what feels good and what doesn’t. Reclaiming that conversation with myself. I try to make self-pleasure a ritual, not an afterthought — part of how I care for myself.
On Intimacy in a Digital Age
We’ve never been more connected digitally, yet real intimacy feels rarer than ever. I love what Esther Perel calls “artificial intimacy” — the illusion of closeness that comes from constant digital contact. I’ve had those WhatsApp relationships that never leave the screen. They fill a gap, but they’re hollow. In the end, they just made me lonelier. The only way to build real connection is in person — through awkwardness, chemistry, the smells, the silences. Rejection hurts, but it’s human.
On Communication (aka Stop Faking It)
I used to fake it. Everyone does, right? But all that does is teach bad habits. It’s bad for you, bad for them, bad for the sisterhood. Now I talk during sex. Not performatively, just little directions. “Stay there.” “Softer.” “Don’t stop.” It’s sexy, not clinical. And I try to talk about sex outside of sex. A glass of wine, a laugh, a “by the way, this works for me.” It’s awkward for ten seconds and then freeing.
On Long-Term Love & Keeping the Pilot Light On
Long-term desire takes work. You can’t just skip from the school run to sex and expect fireworks. You have to keep the pilot light burning — small touches, kisses, hand on the back, actual affection. Kissing, for me, is everything. It’s how intimacy begins. You can’t go from zero to third base and expect your body to keep up.If your sex life has gone quiet, that’s not failure. It’s an invitation to rewrite the script together.
On Body Image, Shame & Healing
I lived with bulimia for 17 years. You can’t hate your body and expect to enjoy sex, it’s impossible. I’d been at war with myself since I was twelve and therapy finally made me realise how much that war was costing me. Now I feed myself. I touch myself. I talk to myself like someone I actually like. That sounds basic but it’s radical. Shame only survives in silence. Once you name it, it loses power. Pleasure isn’t a reward for getting it right, it’s a route back to yourself.
DON’T MISS
