Remember when Tracie Egan wrote about how she paid a boy whore to swiftly whisk her sense of safety and proprietorship of her own vagina to a terrible, exciting land called Rapeyville? There's a new book of essays out that claims to contain the best sex writing you're gonna read all year, and though the cover makes it look really bad (what's with all those shitty bracelets?), since it contains Tracie's awesome story we won't argue.