The annual January “wellness” jamboree means that as a book reviewer my desk disappears beneath a tower of advice on every area of health, from ayurvedic eating to mindful cleaning. But it has long struck me as strange that on one area of our lives the thriving wellness industry is very quiet indeed: sex. If you want to know how to make the most of this fundamental pillar of human pleasure and happiness, how to access the ultimate source of inner glow, good-quality advice is thin on the ground.

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And that feels odd, doesn’t it? After all, humans need satisfying, healthy sex far more than they need Zumba or chia-seed smoothies. Why aren’t we overwhelmed with brilliantly researched, imaginative advice about it? I don’t think – call me crazy – that it’s because we are all enjoying 100% fulfilling sex lives already. Quite the reverse: testimony that has emerged as part of the #MeToo movement, and the howls of recognition that greeted Kristen Roupenian’s short story Cat Person in the New Yorker last month, would suggest that really bad sexual experiences are all too common.

Yet even in 2018, when the contents of our guts are up for discussion, what happens in our bedrooms is still something we find really hard to talk about, write about, read about – or even to think about and give proper time and attention to. The idea of seeking out advice about sex still feels a bit embarrassing, or even indicative of a personal failing. Perhaps we tell ourselves that we should naturally “know” how to have good sex – which, again, seems odd. After all, we don’t presume to naturally know how to manage other aspects of our health, such as food or fitness.

So some months ago I set myself a little mission: I decided to read around the topic, and compile and circulate a list of recommended books about sex. When I announced this one evening in the pub, my group of female friends practically broke into a spontaneous round of applause. We’re all in our 30s; most of us have young kids and demanding jobs. Our relationships, while deeply loving and supportive, are no longer in their first throes of passion. As life becomes very much more about ordering new dishcloths, and very much less about tantalising flirtation, it’s hardly surprising that we may all need a little help, now and again, to keep the flame alive.

When I started my research, I didn’t know quite what I was looking for. I was intrigued by Emily Witt, whose book Future Sex explores the sexual frontiers of the digital age, taking in webcams, new-wave porn and the Burning Man festival – but none of that felt like the answer for me, or anyone else I know. I also enjoyed reading Esther Perel, a therapist and author whose latest book, The State of Affairs, considers infidelity, and who has interesting ideas about how to maintain attraction in long-term relationships. But what I really felt was missing from the market was not sociological or psychological theory, or even Witt’s brilliant reporting, but straight-up practical advice. How can we have better sex, week in, week out, over the course of our real, often tired and hectic lives?

The key to a truly nourishing sex life, for both men and women, is to slow down and stay in the moment

In this respect one name kept coming up, in Witt’s book and elsewhere: Nicole Daedone. She is the founder of OneTaste, an organisation in San Francisco that promotes a practice called Orgasmic Meditation. If you are rolling your eyes and thinking “cult” right now, then believe me, I did the same – until I read her book, Slow Sex: The Art and Craft of the Female Orgasm. Daedone’s advice is based on years of research and experience.

Her basic argument is that the way we as a society think about sex – and the way we have sex – is based on finding shortcuts to male orgasm, and is fundamentally unsuited to female sexuality. All that humping and thrusting you see in films? The luscious pouting come-and-get-me pose that female models use to sell everything from cars to ice cream? The porn, sex toys and fetish nights that are marketed as a means of jazzing up tired sex lives? These things all, in fact, detract from true, deep mutual sexual pleasure.

The key to a truly nourishing sex life, for both men and women, is to slow down and stay in the moment, and to take the time to learn much more about our bodies – and each other’s bodies. Slow sex is comparable in both approach and – I think – cultural importance to the slow food movement, which urged us to reject the capitalist fast-food model, to use simple, organic ingredients, to take our time over cooking and eating.

I would not want to argue that slow sex is the only fresh thinking in this area – there are many more ideas I have yet to find. But I would certainly put in a plea to bring a new spirit of enquiry to the subject of sex. It is, after all, the greatest source of pleasure and wellbeing our human bodies have to offer.

• Alice O’Keeffe is a freelance literary critic and journalist