Paramount bought the film rights and Radakovich is now working on the screenplay

Paramount bought the film rights and Radakovich is now working on the screenplay. Her candid confessions not only touched a chord with Details' readers, but elicited an entire symphony of protest from the US far right. I didn't think that would touch such a chord in people."Touch a chord it certainly has. I was just never afraid to talk about sex and talk about my own sex life Most people are embarrassed to talk about sex generally.

I talk about my dates and my sex life and my experience and what happened to me. They act like it's so shameful and they say, 'Aren't your parents ashamed that you're writing this stuff?' Just the way that they phrase the question shows that they have some shame about it. I'd be more upset if somebody said I was writing about something that is boring or has been said before than if they worried the column was filthy."Radakovich, too, claims to be a little baffled at the stir her writings have caused "I'm just doing this to entertain people," she says "Everyone is so serious about sex What's the big deal? They're afraid to talk about it. But there's an absurd thrill in writing about something you shouldn't and the way men and women work. It's a column talking about something that isn't usually given column space. Indeed, the column is still seen as more fit for something like politics.

For some people the very subject matter makes it a less worthy thing, but I don't think what I'm writing is dirty. "A lot of people say what I write has no more value than soft porn, and certainly some of the earlier columns were quite dirty. Spicer is as English as, well, roast beef (in her own column her genitalia are described as being topped by a baked bean).Spicer says she has had trouble convincing others of the credibility of sex as a subject for good writing. Spicer, GQ's sex columnist and girl-about-the-boudoir, sits glistening in black latex. A finger slips across her moist red lips as the index finger of her other hand traces the rim of a long vodka glass.

She tips her head to one side and giggles coquettishly.Well, not quite. Actually, Spicer is dressed in an old jumper, sipping coffee in an unremarkable cafe opposite the offices of GQ, and talking about how most people she meets think she spends her entire day in bed researching - or whatever. A couple of years later, On Being a Cunning Linguist found her describing her clitoris as "the tiny pink thing on top that doesn't kiss back, but really likes you".The frank approach found its way across the Atlantic this year, in the form of Kate Spicer. Her musings on bachelor pads five years ago gradually evolved into a monthly column, picture-bylined with images of Radakovich in various stages of undress. Indeed, women's writing about their sexuality has moved on since Nora Ephron's column in Esquire in the Seventies, in which she described her adolescent anguish at developing breasts, stuff which looks tame compared to the modern, super-confident, super-candid sex columnist.Radakovich was the first of the new breed. The sex column is confessional journalism at its most intimate.The new sex columnist is also far removed from the agony aunt, a maternal figure who would offer clinical and consoling advice, suspending judgement with the same gravity-defying passion readers required in order to suspend their disbelief. She has exposed her genitalia, in words at least - "I'm the first to admit that what the gynaecologist sees all day looks like a slab of hairy roast beef." All this is a far cry from Germaine Greer's Lady Love Your C***, a feminist battle cry published in Oz in the Seventies.