Resistance in the Bible Belt: Sex Workers as Heroines
When I realized that I was probably never gonna get the chance to moderate my sex worker protagonist panel at any of the big crime writer conventions we all attend each year, I decided to take matters into my own hands. One of the writers I would have wanted to participate in that theoretical discussion is the ferociously brilliant and unflinching Heather Levy.
To that end, I asked her to write a guest post for this newsletter. She enthusiastically opened a vein for me and what spilled out is the deeply personal essay below.
I was eight the first time I learned what it meant to be a girl in this world. It was a perfect day at the playground at school—the backs of my thighs scorched from the metal slide, my golden-blond hair wild from the swings—when a slightly older boy I barely knew—let’s call him Billy—pinched my nonexistent breasts. At first, I was confused why this kid thought he had the right to touch me, and then I got so angry I shoved his ass hard. Within seconds, he had me pinned to the hot asphalt, his hands gripping my wrists. He seemed unsure of what to do next as I screamed and kicked my legs, the other kids around me doing nothing, the teachers on duty mysteriously absent. Then he spit in my open, howling mouth and let me go.
I’ll be forty-six this year, and I still carry that moment of complete helplessness with me. I’m sure I always will. It was the day I learned others could and would do whatever they wanted to me, and no one was going to save me but myself, so I had better learn to fight.
I have an adult daughter now, and she’s learning that hard lesson as well. It’s a rite of passage no woman wants—being assaulted, either by words, bodily, or both. In many ways, it’s why I write about women who’ve been through sexual trauma and somehow find reclamation of their sexuality. Women owning their sexuality was the one thing I thought society couldn’t take from us, but now I know I was naïve. We all watched as Roe crumbled and MeToo became more of a whisper, all while authors continued to write about sex workers, these underground heroines relegated to background characters for too long but now finding a prominent voice, especially in contemporary crime fiction (see Christa’s excellent post for examples).
When I began writing Hurt for Me, my novel about a single-mom professional dominatrix who becomes entangled with a group of dangerous rich elites, I had no idea how much the process would change me and how I view characters who’ve been damaged by men.
Back in college, I knew two young women who did cam girl work to help pay for school. One later went on to be a successful findomme (aka financial domination), which seemed like a kickass dream to me. I was fascinated by this world where women could take control of their sexuality and earn an actual living through it. Unfortunately, I live in one of the reddest states in the country—Oklahoma—where legislation regulating women’s bodies and sexuality is a constant threat.
In 2024, SB1959 went into effect, requiring sites like Pornhub and Jerkmate to confirm a person’s age through a photo ID or a third-party service. It’s no wonder Oklahoma saw a rapid increase in VPN use since then, and who can blame them? But the intent wasn’t just to protect children from viewing porn; it was to hurt the porn and cam girl industry, one of the few places where a woman can have financial independence.
Oklahoma legislators didn’t stop there. In January, Representative Dusty Deevers introduced SB593, a broad bill banning “unlawful pornography of any medium,” striking fear in boudoir photographers, burlesque performers, and authors alike. Hell, this bill has me sweating. Every book I’ve written includes on-page sex, including plenty of kink. If the bill passes, a person could face criminal penalties of up to ten years in prison for the production, distribution, or possession of what the bill would consider to be pornography.
These are indeed dark times for women’s bodily autonomy and freedom of sexual expression, but writing about sex workers allows me to live vicariously through these women who’ve been through some serious shit and find some form of justice on their own terms, even if it involves a metal-studded paddle. And as a kinky person living in a conservative state, I can tell you kinksters are alive and well here in the Bible Belt. Where there’s a will, there’s a dungeon play space, red state be damned. During my research for Hurt for Me, I spoke with many pro dommes here in my state as well as other professionals, including the indomitable Christa Faust, to get me into the headspace of a dominatrix, and it was liberating as hell. It changed how I viewed my characters; these women who are victims of sexual violence, yes, but they are also survivors who found empowerment through their sexuality, and they deserve to be the heroines of their own stories.
We all do.
Sometimes, I can still taste the spit of that boy so many years ago and the way the asphalt burned into my skin. I feel the unwelcome weight of his body on mine, and I imagine all the ways I could’ve fought back more. But then I remind myself that I’m stronger now, and I’ve learned how to fight in more ways than one, in part thanks to my characters.
Now more than ever, we all need to find those spaces where we can dictate our own stories and resist in whatever ways we can. And if that means continuing to write about sex and sex workers even if my state deems it illegal, so be it. We must fight back.
We can’t afford not to.
Heather Levy is a born and bred Oklahoman and graduate of Oklahoma City University’s Red Earth MFA program for creative writing. The New York Times called her Anthony-nominated debut, Walking Through Needles, “a spellbinding novel at the nexus of power, desire, and abuse that portends a bright future,” and the Los Angeles Times called it “a standout for its frank but sensitive exploration of trauma and desire.” Publisher's Weekly says her thriller Hurt for Me "delivers both heat and heart." Her novels focus on sexuality and complex women. Levy lives in Oklahoma with her husband, two kids, and three murderous cats. Readers can follow her on X and IG @heatherllevy.