By Chris Revelle | TV | April 17, 2025
If I had to pick one emblematic moment to represent Dying for Sex, it’d be this scene: As Molly (Michelle Williams) is engaged in a bit of watersport with a man she calls “my pet,” her mother Gail (Sissy Spacek) barges in. In the embarrassment and panic that ensues, Spacek’s Gail delivers an admonishment for the ages, “Don’t drink my daughter’s pee if you can’t handle it, you freak!” The scene has all the elements that make Dying for Sex the most audacious series of 2025 so far: adventurous situations, intense relationships, and a radical sense of sex positivity. There’s nothing else quite like Dying for Sex, an audacious series about pursuing an orgasm just as one’s life is ending.
When Molly receives the news that her cancer has returned and it’s terminal, she’s in a therapy session with her tedious husband Steve (Jay Duplass), but she quickly leaves the session to call her best friend Nikki (Jenny Slate) to process. The powerful chemistry between Williams and Slate easily sells their characters’ lifelong friendship and forms Dying for Sex’s emotional backbone. Molly’s 10-year marriage with Steve has been miserable, so she’s leaving him. Nikki is the sort of ride-or-die best friend who throws herself into caretaking, essentially replacing Steve as Molly’s partner. With the end of her life in sight, Molly realizes how much she hasn’t done and still wants to do. She’s never had an orgasm with another person due to sexual trauma in her past, so she wants to share an orgasm with someone before she dies. It’s audacious to tell a story about what self-discovery could be gained with the short time left.
She first goes on a date with a younger man (Marcello Hernandez), who is the first of several people to ask her, “What do you want?” This question drives her to try different kinks throughout the series, including puppy-play, BDSM, and the aforementioned watersports. As wild as all this might sound, Dying for Sex frames these experiences with naturalism and a healthy lack of judgment. Molly eventually meets G (Robby Hoffman), a dom who teaches Molly that “topping is a sacred art.” It’s a much gentler portrayal than BDSM gets in a lot of pop media. Dying for Sex treats all these kinks with respect and in doing so, asks the viewers whether they’ve given their penchants the same grace.
As fun as Molly’s bed-hopping is, Dying for Sex delivers devastating drama as well. Gail’s boyfriend sexually assaulted Molly when she was young, and his scary, faceless form haunts Molly’s mind whenever she lets herself go during sex. Molly’s path to healing this trauma is messy, imperfect, and utterly compelling. There’s also the character credited only as Neighbor Guy (Rob Delaney), who becomes a secondary love interest. He’s only too happy to indulge Molly’s experiments with domination and seems genuinely honored to help her have an orgasm with someone for the first time. Delaney is incredible as Neighbor Guy — sweet, charmingly slobbish, hilarious. The feelings between him and Molly are real, but he’s not the primary love interest of this story.
That honor goes to Nikki, who upends her life to become Molly’s caretaker at tremendous expense to herself. Dying for Sex frames Nikki and Molly’s enduring friendship as the real love story. When the end eventually comes for Molly, it’s Nikki’s grief that the show focuses on, emphasizing the importance of friends and found family. Dying for Sex was made in a culture that usually defines romance as “more than” or “deeper than” other relationships, so it feels a little radical to focus on this beautiful friendship instead.
Dying for Sex was adapted from the podcast of the same name that was co-hosted by Molly Kochan and Nikki Boyer (who executive produced this series). Kochan died at the age of 45, and Boyer was her caretaker until the end, much like in the FX series. Dying for Sex treats the story with tremendous humor, heart, and sex-positivity, which makes it the most audacious series of 2025 so far.