Chewed up gum, unraveled yarn, a flower stripped of its petals.
Like so many in my generation, my introduction to sex was in pro-abstinence talks with my church youth group and in my sterile health class in Georgia, where my teacher would list the topics she wasn’t allowed to discuss and instead place emphasis on sexually transmitted diseases. I was given examples like those above for what it would mean to be a young woman who pursued sex outside of marriage.
It was part of the ongoing movement of “saving yourself for marriage” popularized by a handful of celebrities and the “purity culture” pushed by evangelical Christian groups like LifeWay Christian Resources and Focus on the Family. Their main platform was defining sex as strictly between a married man and woman, often with women being taught to fear sexuality instead of understanding desire, intimacy, and pleasure.
“A lot of cisgender women in America are really at a disadvantage when it comes to being sexually liberated and empowered because they aren’t given the tools as a young person to not only understand their own sexuality, but to advocate for it,” says Iman Hariri-Kia, a former sex and relationships editor and author of several titles, including, most recently, Female Fantasy.
Mental health professionals studying evangelical purity culture have documented increased cases of anxiety, depression, and sexual dysfunction, but also a lack of knowledge and language around sex and pleasure. Researchers have also concluded that “abstinence-only education as a state policy is ineffective in preventing teenage pregnancy and may actually be contributing” to higher rates. And that doesn’t even include the near-complete exclusion of LGBTQ+ representation. The “tradwife” and “manosphere” content praising traditional roles of today harkens back to purity culture.
While traditional sex education of the past few decades often failed to address pleasure, consent, communication, and desire, romance novels became an informal education system that helped readers explore sexuality without shame. The term “romance novel” has long been associated with discount paperbacks, the “bodice rippers” featuring the bare chest of an illustrated Fabio, and authors like Jackie Collins and Danielle Steel. Harlequin launched as an imprint solely for these novels, often targeting housewives who could purchase titles at their grocery stores.
“I learned a lot about sex from sneaking my mom’s Danielle Steel books,” says Erica Smith, a sex educator with a specialty in purity culture and those leaving high-control religious settings. She’s also the author of The Purity Culture Recovery Guide: The Shame-Free Sex Education You Deserve. “Reading about other people having sex in romance novels really taught me what it could be and what it was like.”
The genre of the “romance novel” dates back to the 18th century, with tales of “happily ever after,” a trope that would continue for years to come. Disparagingly (and lately, somewhat less disparagingly) called “smut,” these titles might have been ones you didn’t display proudly on the living room bookcase. They introduced readers to anatomy and a sexual vocabulary in a way they might not otherwise have learned. Unfortunately, they were also rife with toxic relationship dynamics and gender stereotypes.
In the past decade, however, the category has absolutely exploded, thanks in part to #BookTok, with varying “spice” levels and sub-genres like regency romance, dark romance, and fantasy romance. Several books have hit the mainstream book club set, including Heated Rivalry, A Court of Thorns and Roses, and Fifty Shades of Grey, which opened up audiences to the world of BDSM, even if it was a flawed interpretation of the kink scene. My own friends and I have discussed a memorable scene from a Meghan Quinn book over cocktails, where the main character eats popcorn off the love interest’s member.
“Women have started being so much more loud and proud about their love of romance, utilizing social media and online communities to use word-of-mouth recommendations to drive supply and demand and start to take that power back,” says Hariri-Kia.
Romance-specific bookstores are also on the rise, like Sincerely Yours, which opened in 2025 in Atlanta, Georgia, by best friends Mallory Gay and Madison Glines, who got into the genre by reading fan fiction, which launched several successful mainstream titles, including the Fifty Shades series, After, and The Idea of You.
“We were really into One Direction. That’s how we met in high school; we were like primarily friends over Tumblr before we were friends in person, and we would read and share fan fiction,” says Gay. “It kind of felt like an act of rebellion, but it was also sparking so much joy.”
Their store is divided into these sub-genres of romance and has even launched an in-person community for those embracing the literary universe, with book clubs and craft nights inspired by these titles. It was at this store that I purchased my first “smut” title, Praise by Sara Cate, from the dark romance shelf after hearing about the opening of Sincerely Yours in my neighborhood.
Plenty of schools, particularly in parts of the country whose legislatures aren’t in Republican strangleholds, have comprehensive, non-judgmental sex education. But even there, romance novels can serve as a safe and healthy way for young (and not-so-young) people to explore their own desires.
At first, I wasn’t sure where to start, literally judging the titles by their covers in the welcoming pastel-hued space. I’d only seen books like this on grocery store aisles and never in my own religious home. I found a book with a simple high heel on the cover, and its description dipped into the world of kink I was just then exploring in my dating life. The novel’s spicy themes of power dynamics and control were appealing as someone who left the control of purity culture, and I was able to find an entire shelf of books just like it.
“Some people come in, and they say, I want a spicy book. They mean Emily Henry. They mean one or two scenes of emotional intimacy rather than mostly physical. So everyone has a different scale,” adds Gay.
Authors, too, are reconsidering how they approach sex scenes in their work, recognizing the significance of how it’s presented to audiences, especially younger ones. They’re also openly covering topics like kink, trauma, neurodiversity, and queer relationships, with emphasis on communication and consent.
“It was very important to me that any and all mentions and experiences involving sex be not only empowering from the perspective of the female main character, but also be sort of educational and demonstrative,” adds Hariri-Kia. “I really wanted to underline the ability to communicate during sex, to establish consent, a focus and onus on sexual pleasure, female pleasure, female erogenous zones, and the different ways that sex can occur.”
It’s this way that readers can safely and privately explore their interests in a safe space without fear of negative responses or real-world risk, says Smith.
“There’s a lot of safety there to be able to engage with sexual stories and fantasy. Reading romance novels and erotic novels gives [you] inspiration, makes it feel safe to fantasize, and gives solid information about what [you] actually do find arousing.”
This fantasy life can allow you to discover things you do want to engage in but can also be where the idea stops. Embracing fantasy doesn’t, of course, mean you want to engage in that fantasy in real life.
“Fantasy is where the thoughts stay… a lot of people think about things that they have no intention of making a reality,” she adds.
Plenty of schools, particularly in parts of the country whose legislatures aren’t in Republican strangleholds, have comprehensive, non-judgmental sex education. But even there, romance novels can serve as a safe and healthy way for young (and not-so-young) people to explore their own desires. We’ve come to an age where these types of fiction can become more than an escape.
