Earlier this week, my best mate asked me if I’d tried using ChatGPT to see if it could accurately do my job. I am fascinated by machines that can learn, because I enjoy exploring the philosophical implications of computers that can genuinely think: the same thing that drew me to sex robots a few years ago now has me salivating over the possibility that a chat bot might one day achieve personhood. But in today’s world we are less worried about AI ‘achieving personhood’ than ‘stealing our jobs’. So… is ChatGPT good enough that one day it might take my job? Can robots write sex blogs? I thought I’d test it out to see whether I was in trouble.

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I want to say something that feels simultaneously extremely obvious yet also a little like heresy: you don’t know me. I don’t know you either, but that feels far easier to say without squirming. My job relies on complete strangers reading and enjoying my work, and although there are many ways for a blogger to do that, the way I do it is by offering you honesty and intimacy. You get to see a little way inside my life, and my head, and if you like that sort of thing you’ll stay. Share my stuff. Maybe follow me on Twitter or support me on Patreon. Maybe message me your sex secrets or send me long emails because you fancied a chat. But the tricky thing here is that no matter how you engage, you don’t know me. And I don’t know you.

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I didn’t publish a blog post yesterday, and that’s not because I have no blog posts or stories to tell. It’s because every draft I have looks like it could be terrible, and my brain refuses to kick out anything that seems even vaguely ‘OK.’ In a normal week, I write two new posts, record one new piece of audio and edit a piece of guest audio, write commissioned content for other sites (I’ve recently written up this incredible NSFW shower scene for FrolicMe, which was a genuine highlight of my January), and generally churn out word after word after word to keep everything ticking over. But at the moment I feel like I’ve forgotten how to write. And that’s a little bit scary.

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It’s important to me that you know this: I don’t publish sexy blog stories about people without their permission. That hasn’t always been the case – when I first started blogging I wrote about people who were so far in my past that I couldn’t have popped back up in their lives to get their OK, so I just fudged a lot of details and shot for anonymity. These days, everyone I’ve slept with recently knows that I’m girl on the net, which handily bypasses some of the more awkward conversations I might have to have with a stranger, and also means there’s no excuse to not ask before I turn our fuckstories into #content. So: sex writing and consent. Do people approve their blog posts? And if so, how does that work?

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No surprises for guessing why this week’s guest blog is so far up my street. Erotic writer Phoenix Rose has some thoughts on the difference between erotica as a genre and other types of writing – from internal struggles to more external ones. Like what you absolutely shouldn’t say to an erotic writer, when they tell you about their work…

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