Diana Richardson – Slow Sex: Book Review & Audio Summary

Book Info

• Book name: Slow Sex: The Path to Fulfilling and Sustainable Sexuality
• Author: Diana Richardson
• Genre: Self-Help & Personal Development, Health & Wellness
• Published Year: 2006
• Publisher: Penguin Books
• Language: English

Audio Summary

Synopsis

In a world obsessed with speed and instant gratification, Diana Richardson offers a revolutionary approach to sexuality that challenges our goal-oriented mindset. Slow Sex argues that the passion fading in long-term relationships isn’t about choosing the wrong partner—it’s about how we approach intimacy itself. Through mindfulness, conscious breathing, and releasing the pressure to perform, Richardson guides readers toward a more fulfilling sexual experience. By shifting focus from racing toward orgasm to truly connecting with our bodies and partners, we can discover that great sex and lasting partnerships aren’t incompatible. Instead, they’re the perfect foundation for deeper intimacy, spiritual connection, and sustainable pleasure that nourishes both body and soul.

Key Takeaways

• Sexual satisfaction requires slowing down and practicing mindfulness rather than rushing toward orgasm
• Deep, conscious breathing during intimacy reduces tension and increases bodily awareness and pleasure
• Releasing performance anxiety and goal-oriented expectations opens the door to more authentic connection
• Sexuality is a spiritual practice that can bring serenity, joy, and improved health when approached with awareness
• Long-term relationships can sustain passionate intimacy when partners shift their perspective from quick gratification to meaningful presence

My Summary

When Fast Becomes the Enemy of Good

I’ll be honest—when I first picked up Diana Richardson’s Slow Sex, I was skeptical. Another book promising to revolutionize our sex lives? But as I dove into Richardson’s arguments, something clicked. She wasn’t selling tricks or techniques. She was pointing out something glaringly obvious that most of us have been too distracted to notice: we’ve turned sex into just another item on our efficiency checklist.

Think about it. We check our phones during subway rides, demand same-day delivery for online purchases, and binge entire series in single weekends. This addiction to speed has infiltrated our most intimate moments. Richardson argues that we approach sex the same way we approach fast food—quick, convenient, and ultimately unsatisfying. We’re sexually undernourished despite living in a culture saturated with sexual imagery.

The core premise of Slow Sex is deceptively simple: what if we treated sex as a basic need deserving proper attention rather than a quick release squeezed between obligations? What if the “spark” doesn’t have to die in long-term relationships, but instead deepens when we fundamentally change how we approach intimacy?

The Orgasm Trap We’ve All Fallen Into

One of Richardson’s most provocative arguments centers on our obsession with orgasm. Now, before you think she’s anti-pleasure, hear me out. She’s not suggesting orgasms are bad—she’s pointing out that our single-minded pursuit of them is ruining our sexual experiences.

We’ve turned sex into a performance sport. There’s a finish line, and we’re racing toward it, checking off mental boxes along the way. Did I climax? Did my partner? Was it good enough? This goal-oriented mindset creates tremendous pressure and anxiety. And here’s the kicker: the more we focus on achieving orgasm, the less we actually feel.

I found this particularly resonant because it mirrors what’s happening in so many other areas of modern life. We’re so focused on outcomes—the promotion, the Instagram likes, the perfect vacation photo—that we miss the actual experience. Richardson suggests that when we release the expectation of orgasm, something magical happens: we can finally be present in our bodies.

This doesn’t mean orgasms won’t happen. Rather, when they do occur, they emerge naturally from genuine connection and awareness rather than forced effort. It’s the difference between a spontaneous laugh and trying to laugh on command.

Breathing Your Way to Better Sex

Richardson offers concrete, accessible practices for implementing slow sex, and the simplest one is also the most powerful: conscious breathing. This might sound too simple to be effective, but there’s solid science behind it.

When we’re stressed or tense, our breathing becomes shallow, restricted to the chest. This triggers our sympathetic nervous system—the fight-or-flight response. Deep abdominal breathing, on the other hand, activates the parasympathetic nervous system, promoting relaxation and releasing endorphins.

During sex, most of us hold our breath or breathe shallowly without realizing it, especially as arousal builds. This creates tension in the body, which ironically reduces our capacity for pleasure. Richardson suggests something wonderfully simple: breathe deeply and consciously throughout lovemaking.

She even recommends starting with a small ritual—taking several deep breaths together with your partner before beginning. This creates a shared moment of presence and signals a transition from the hectic external world to intimate connection.

I’ve noticed in my own life how much tension I carry without awareness. My shoulders creep toward my ears during stressful workdays. My jaw clenches while I’m writing. If we bring that same unconscious tension into the bedroom, is it any wonder sex feels mechanical or unsatisfying?

The Power of Awareness in Intimate Connection

If breathing is the foundation of slow sex, awareness is the structure built upon it. Richardson emphasizes that awareness—paying close, non-judgmental attention to every sensation, breath, movement, and touch—is the most important key to unlocking sexual potential.

This concept draws heavily from mindfulness practices that have become increasingly popular in Western culture over the past two decades. Mindfulness-based stress reduction, pioneered by Jon Kabat-Zinn, has demonstrated measurable benefits for everything from chronic pain to anxiety disorders. Richardson applies these same principles to sexuality.

When we practice awareness during sex, we’re essentially meditating with our bodies. Instead of letting our minds wander to tomorrow’s meeting or that embarrassing thing we said three years ago, we anchor ourselves in the present moment through physical sensation.

This isn’t always easy, especially at first. Our minds are trained to multitask, to plan, to analyze. Staying present requires practice. But the payoff is significant: when we’re truly aware, we notice subtle sensations that would otherwise pass unnoticed. Pleasure deepens. Connection intensifies.

Richardson points out that awareness also helps us notice when we’re tensing up, rushing, or falling into habitual patterns. This gentle observation—without judgment or criticism—creates space for something different to emerge.

Practical Applications for Modern Relationships

So how do we actually implement slow sex in our lives? Richardson’s approach is refreshingly non-prescriptive. She’s not handing down commandments or creating another to-do list. Instead, she offers suggestions to explore spontaneously, whatever appeals to you and your partner.

Start with solo practice: Before bringing these concepts into partnered sex, try them alone. During self-pleasure, focus on breathing deeply and staying present with sensations rather than rushing toward climax. Notice what happens when you slow down and remove the goal.

Create transition rituals: The shift from everyday life to intimate connection doesn’t happen automatically. Consider simple rituals that signal this transition—lighting a candle, taking those deep breaths together, or simply making eye contact for a full minute. These small acts create psychological and physical space for presence.

Communicate about expectations: Have an explicit conversation with your partner about trying slow sex. Discuss the idea of removing orgasm as a goal, even temporarily. This takes pressure off both partners and creates permission to explore without performance anxiety.

Schedule time for intimacy: I know, I know—scheduling sex sounds about as romantic as scheduling a dental cleaning. But here’s the thing: when we leave sex to “whenever we feel like it,” it often gets pushed aside by everything else demanding our attention. Scheduling doesn’t mean the sex itself is rigid or planned out—it just means you’re prioritizing this time together.

Practice awareness in daily life: Slow sex isn’t just about what happens in the bedroom. It’s part of a broader practice of presence. Try bringing awareness to mundane activities—really tasting your food, feeling the water on your skin during a shower, noticing the sensation of your feet touching the ground as you walk. This trains the muscle of awareness that you can then bring to intimate moments.

What Richardson Gets Right (and Where She Falls Short)

There’s much to appreciate in Richardson’s approach. She’s addressing a genuine problem—the way our culture’s obsession with speed and performance has colonized even our most intimate moments. Her emphasis on mindfulness and presence offers a genuine antidote to the disconnection many people feel in their sex lives.

The practices she suggests are accessible and don’t require expensive equipment, complicated techniques, or contortionist flexibility. Deep breathing and awareness are available to everyone. This democratic approach to sexual fulfillment is refreshing in a culture that often makes good sex seem like something requiring special skills or knowledge.

Richardson also deserves credit for framing sexuality as a spiritual practice rather than merely a physical act. This perspective elevates sex from recreation to something more meaningful—a path to greater well-being, connection, and even wisdom.

However, the book isn’t without limitations. Some readers have noted a lack of scientific evidence supporting certain claims. While the principles of mindfulness and conscious breathing are well-established, some of Richardson’s more specific assertions about sexual energy and bodily wisdom venture into territory that’s more philosophical than empirical.

Additionally, Richardson’s approach may not resonate with everyone. Some people genuinely enjoy goal-oriented, energetic sex and don’t experience it as stressful or disconnecting. The book sometimes implies that slow sex is the “right” way, which could inadvertently create a new form of pressure or judgment.

The writing style, while accessible, occasionally veers toward the simplistic. Complex psychological and physiological processes are sometimes reduced to easy formulas. Readers looking for deep scientific exploration or nuanced discussion of various sexual orientations and relationship structures might find the treatment somewhat surface-level.

How Slow Sex Fits into the Broader Conversation

Richardson’s work exists within a growing movement toward more mindful, conscious approaches to sexuality. Books like Emily Nagoski’s Come As You Are and Esther Perel’s Mating in Captivity similarly challenge conventional assumptions about sex and relationships, though from different angles.

Nagoski brings rigorous scientific research to questions of desire and arousal, particularly for women. Her work complements Richardson’s by providing the empirical foundation for why slowing down and reducing stress can enhance sexual experience. When Nagoski explains how the “brake” and “accelerator” of sexual response work, it validates Richardson’s emphasis on removing pressure and anxiety.

Perel, meanwhile, explores the tension between security and excitement in long-term relationships. Her work intersects with Richardson’s in addressing why passion fades and how couples can maintain erotic connection over time. While Perel emphasizes the importance of separateness and mystery, Richardson focuses on presence and awareness—different but potentially complementary approaches.

What distinguishes Slow Sex is its explicit connection to spiritual practice and its radical simplicity. Richardson isn’t trying to help couples “spice things up” with novelty. She’s suggesting that depth, not variety, is the key to sustainable sexual fulfillment.

The Cultural Context We Can’t Ignore

Richardson’s message feels particularly relevant in 2024, as we’re collectively grappling with the effects of constant connectivity and digital distraction. Research continues to show links between smartphone use and decreased relationship satisfaction, increased anxiety, and reduced capacity for sustained attention.

The pornography industry, with its emphasis on visual stimulation and rapid-fire imagery, has shaped sexual expectations in ways that often contradict the principles of slow sex. Many people, particularly younger generations, have formed their understanding of sex primarily through porn rather than through embodied experience and genuine connection.

In this context, Richardson’s call to slow down, turn inward, and prioritize sensation over performance offers a countercultural alternative. It’s essentially a form of resistance against the commodification and acceleration of every aspect of life, including our most intimate moments.

The book also speaks to growing interest in mindfulness, meditation, and contemplative practices. As these approaches have moved from niche spiritual communities into mainstream wellness culture, people are increasingly open to applying mindfulness principles to sexuality.

Questions Worth Pondering

As I finished Slow Sex, several questions stayed with me. How much of our sexual dissatisfaction stems from unrealistic expectations created by media and culture rather than actual incompatibility with our partners? If we removed all the “shoulds” around sex—how often we should have it, what it should look like, how we should feel—what would naturally emerge?

I also found myself wondering about the relationship between vulnerability and pleasure. Slowing down and staying present requires a kind of openness that can feel scary. We’re exposed in our bodies, in our desires, in our responses. Is our rush toward orgasm partly a way of avoiding that vulnerability?

And on a broader level: what would it mean to apply the principles of slow sex to other areas of life? What if we approached work, creativity, friendship, and even leisure with the same emphasis on presence, awareness, and releasing goal-oriented pressure?

Finding Your Own Rhythm

Ultimately, Slow Sex isn’t a rigid prescription but an invitation to experiment. Richardson encourages readers to approach these practices with curiosity and playfulness rather than adding them to an already overwhelming list of things we’re supposed to do to optimize our lives.

The irony isn’t lost on me that even self-help books about slowing down can become another source of pressure. “Am I doing slow sex correctly? Am I mindful enough? Why isn’t this working immediately?” These questions miss the point entirely.

What I appreciate most about Richardson’s approach is the underlying message that our bodies already know how to experience pleasure and connection—we just need to get out of our own way. The practices she suggests aren’t about learning something new so much as unlearning the habits and expectations that block our natural capacity for fulfillment.

Whether you’re in a long-term relationship struggling with diminished desire, newly exploring intimacy with a partner, or simply curious about deepening your connection to your own body, Slow Sex offers valuable perspectives. The book won’t solve every sexual challenge or relationship issue, but it provides a framework for approaching intimacy with more presence, less pressure, and greater openness to what might emerge.

I’d love to hear your thoughts on this approach. Have you experienced the pressure to perform or rush through intimate moments? What helps you stay present in your body? Drop a comment below and let’s continue this conversation—because if there’s one thing Richardson gets absolutely right, it’s that we’re all navigating these questions together.