In reading these letters, I’ve come to see that there is no one type of fantasy, just like there is no one typical ‘woman’. What we want in our sex lives is as various as what we want from work, from our relationships and from love. We are all different, we all contain multitudes.

So far in this book we’ve witnessed a whole universe of wildly imagined adventures and scenarios which couldn’t be further removed from reality. However, we also received a number of letters that spoke of just wanting to feel seen, expressing a desire for romance, affection and softness, and a longing for a strong connection to another person. ‘Is it crazy that my wildest sexual fantasy is to feel safe?’ reads one letter. For some, this seemingly simple desire may well be very far from their everyday reality. This yearning is reflected not only in actions but in geographical surroundings too, the fantasies often taking place in forests and gardens. Some letters mention water or bathing and an accompanying sensation of warmth, of being sensually surrounded or engulfed. There’s a strong sense of wanting to return to basics, uncomplicated by the complexities and whirlwind of modern life, to ground oneself in and feel a connection with Mother Earth.

There is also a yearning in some women here for safety and comfort as a result of sexual abuse. One woman’s ultimate fantasy is ‘to be mothered’, which makes me wonder to what extent her fantasy might serve to heal the damage of an early trauma. In other letters, a desire for tenderness clearly springs from the profound loneliness of a sexual relationship that lacks emotional intimacy. These fantasies often get to the heart of sexual appetite: emotional attachment, for these women, is a necessity for sexual arousal. One woman, for example, longs for ‘Eye contact throughout, to portray the deep emotions from within. The desire, the connection, the adoring love. There must be love there, no one-night stand, no drunken lust, just love.’

Every successive generation of women has become more independent, but these letters show that, for some, this coexists with a desire to be dependent: to be cared for, soothed, stroked and affirmed. The intensity of connection described here ultimately reveals a longing for someone’s undivided care and attention, both physically and emotionally. Perhaps this desire has intensified the more hyperconnected our world has become. It’s pretty obvious that technology and smartphones vie for our attention to the detriment of our real-life relationships sometimes. Physical proximity is no longer a guarantee of meaningful time together. We can be in touch with people all around the world through our devices, but these same tools can be a barrier to the intimacy of in-person connection, and in fact statistics show that no matter where you live or how long you have been in a relationship, people are lonelier than ever.

I think one of the best pieces of advice uttered in Sex Education was not from my character, Dr Jean Milburn, but from her son Otis, played by Asa Butterfield (albeit written by creator Laurie Nunn). He said, ‘It’s time to stop passively hearing and start actively listening.’ An old soul in a Gen Z body. Perhaps what we’d learn is what the letters in this section ultimately testify; that what all human beings want is to be loved, to have our basic needs met, and to be treated with kindness, gentleness and respect, not only in our sexual lives but in our day-to-day lives as well.

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