The Holy Power of Sex: A Response to the Daily Mail

I wrote this in response to an article on Bonnie Blue who had sex with over 1000 men in 12 hours. 

Bonnie Blue’s story is a provocation. Not because of what she did, but because of what it reveals—our collective terror at a woman who claims her body without apology, who lets desire move through her without asking for permission. It’s not the act itself that unsettles; it’s the mirror it holds up to our own discomfort with the power of sex, the power of a woman unbound.

We’ve been told, over and over again, that a woman’s sexuality is dangerous. Dangerous to her. Dangerous to others. That it needs to be managed, contained, and—when it strays too far from the acceptable—condemned. But the danger isn’t in sex. It’s in the chains we’ve placed around it.

Sex, when you strip away the shame, is not small. It’s not neat. It’s not polite. It’s holy. It’s the place where we collide with our own aliveness, the pulse that reminds us we’re not just bodies but something much larger, something unnameable. It’s where we lose control—not in a way that diminishes us, but in a way that lets us see ourselves more clearly, more truthfully.

And yet, we’ve turned it into a tool of control. A leash, to keep women in line. A commodity, to trade. A weapon, to wield. Sarah Vine’s critique of Blue cloaks itself in concern, but what it’s really saying is this: that a woman who does not conform to the rules is dangerous. That her freedom puts others at risk. That her body is not truly hers—it’s public property, and any action she takes reverberates out to define us all.

But here’s the thing: sex has always been unruly. It refuses to fit inside the boundaries we make for it. It spills over, leaking into places it’s not supposed to go, revealing truths we’d rather keep hidden. What if we stopped trying to control it? What if we stopped trying to control her?

Bonnie Blue’s story makes people uncomfortable because it forces us to confront a world where women’s sexuality is not tidy, not palatable, not for sale. It refuses to ask for permission. It refuses to play by the rules. And in doing so, it reminds us of something we’ve worked very hard to forget: that sex, at its core, is not about performance or approval. It’s about power.

Not power as dominance, but power as energy. As connection. As creation. It’s the kind of power that can heal, that can restore, that can change everything. And yet, instead of honoring it, we hide it. We ration it out in small, acceptable doses. We bend it to fit the shape of what society will allow, and then we wonder why we feel so empty, so restless, so disconnected from ourselves.

Sarah Vine warns that women like Blue put other women at risk. But the real risk is not in Blue’s actions—it’s in the shame we’ve built around sex, the way we’ve taught women to fear their own power. When a woman claims her sexuality unapologetically, she doesn’t diminish others—she shows them what’s possible. She invites them to step into their own power, to stop hiding, to stop shrinking.

There’s a reason this kind of freedom scares people. A woman who is no longer captive, who no longer hides or apologizes, is a woman who cannot be controlled. And a world where women cannot be controlled is a world that looks very different from the one we live in now.

Bonnie Blue’s story isn’t the problem. The problem is the lens through which we view it. What would happen if we stopped seeing women’s sexuality as a threat? If we saw it instead as a gift—not just to the woman who claims it, but to everyone she touches?

Sex is not a performance. It’s not a tool for manipulation. It’s not something to be feared. It’s holy. It’s the power that moves through us, the force that reminds us we’re alive. And the more we embrace it, the more powerful we all become.