Book Review: Want: Sexual Fantasies by Anonymous, Collected by Gillian Anderson
Scully’s gettin’ smutty, and we’re here for it!
When you think of Gillian Anderson, where does your mind go first? For some, she’ll always be the sharp, skeptical Dana Scully from The X-Files. For others, she’s Jean Milburn, the sex-positive therapist from Netflix’s Sex Education. Then there are the theater buffs, history fans, and audiobook lovers who know her voice as much as her face. But now Anderson has stepped into yet another fascinating role—that of curator and editor—with Want: Sexual Fantasies by Anonymous. And yes, it’s every bit as intriguing as it sounds.
The seed of this project was planted while Anderson was researching her role as Jean Milburn. She encountered Nancy Friday’s groundbreaking book My Secret Garden, first published fifty years ago, which compiled women’s fantasies in a way that was radically taboo at the time. Anderson wanted to bring that same spirit into the 21st century, while broadening the scope to include voices that Friday’s original couldn’t or didn’t feature. Want includes fantasies from cis and trans women, non-binary individuals, and contributors of diverse ages, orientations, and cultural backgrounds.
That inclusivity is part of what makes Want so refreshing. These are fantasies not filtered through a narrow lens of what’s “expected” or what’s marketable, but raw, honest accounts of longing, play, and desire. Yes, many are spicy enough to raise eyebrows and temperatures alike. But what stands out is how often these confessions also highlight themes of emotional connection, validation, and intimacy.
It’s not just about bodies—it’s about being seen.
For every fantasy that dives into power dynamics or wild scenarios, there’s another that reflects the all-too-familiar frustrations of modern relationships: emotional neglect, domestic imbalance, the weight of invisible labor, or the still-present orgasm gap. That juxtaposition makes Want more than a collection of titillating stories. It’s also a cultural mirror, showing what people crave—whether that’s more adventure or simply more attention.
As a reader, I found myself nodding along at moments of recognition, laughing at the wit in others, and occasionally blushing at the boldness of what was shared. And that’s exactly the point. By presenting fantasies anonymously, the book encourages openness and vulnerability. Odds are, you’ll stumble upon something that feels very close to home—and maybe, just maybe, you’ll feel a little less alone in your secret thoughts.
The audiobook version of Want deserves special mention. Narrated by Anderson and a collection of anonymous voices, it adds another dimension to the intimacy of the project. Each fantasy closes with a brief note—age range, gender, country, and relationship status—which grounds the stories in lived reality. The accents and voices vary, mirroring the global reach of the submissions. Anderson herself sometimes switches between her British and American accents, a subtle but powerful touch that highlights her versatility and the book’s universality.
This isn’t Anderson’s first foray into narrating sultry material. Fans may recall her lending her voice to Anne Rice’s Exit to Eden alongside Gil Bellows. Clearly, she’s no stranger to embracing sexuality in art. But here, Anderson does more than perform—she creates a platform for others to share, in their own words, the inner worlds that usually remain unspoken.
What makes Want especially significant is its refusal to separate pleasure from meaning. Sure, it’s arousing to hear strangers share their secret desires, but it’s also deeply humanizing. The fantasies aren’t just about sex—they’re about longing, freedom, control, surrender, and connection. They reveal patterns across borders and backgrounds, reminding us how universal desire truly is.
For longtime Gillian Anderson fans, Want feels like a natural evolution of her career. She’s always chosen bold, layered roles that push against expectations, and here she continues that trajectory by challenging silence around female and queer fantasies. For new readers, the book stands on its own as both erotic entertainment and social commentary.
In short, Want: Sexual Fantasies by Anonymous is not just a collection of spicy tales—it’s a cultural document, a conversation starter, and a reminder that fantasy is as much about freedom as it is about fun. Whether you pick up the print edition or dive into the audiobook, prepare for a mix of blushes, chuckles, and maybe even a little self-reflection.
Because as this book makes clear: desire is universal, fantasy is personal, and sharing both can be downright liberating.