Reader Chad emails:
Why so many rape fantasies in women’s romance novels? How to take advantage of this female perversion without getting arrested?
It’s true. Romance novels, read almost entirely by women, are flush full of rape fantasies. If fantasy (or as I like to call it, “hyperreality”) didn’t reflect reality then we would hear and read of fantasies by women featuring beta males, short dweebs, nerdos, fatsos, and charmless stutterers in the role of desired man. But we don’t. Women’s fantasies, like men’s fantasies, provide a window into a wished-for reality where all options are available, all choice catered to, all desires quenched. Rape fantasy, despite the protestations to the contrary of the “fantasy is different than reality” crowd, is as much a reflection of real female desire as any other form of sexual fantasy.
Women fantasize about a lot of things that no one argues don’t reflect reality if that reality were an option. What fantasizing woman wouldn’t truly want to be a princess who gets swept off her feet by a prince living in a castle? What single woman who dreams it wouldn’t sleep with Johnny Depp in real life if he propositioned her? These are common fantasies of women which they never argue aren’t reflections of how they wish reality were. So why should we grant a plenary indulgence to rape fantasies? How is it that rape fantasy is the one glaring exception to the reality-reflection rule? Men also fantasize about stuff like threesomes with supermodels, but no one in their right mind would argue that men don’t actually want threesomes with supermodels in reality, if having them were possible. (Wives or girlfriends, don’t bother asking your partners. You won’t get an honest answer.)
Back when I was a stripling newly intoxicated to the allure of women, I went to the local library and read a few pulp romance novels to better understand the contours of female desire. (I knew even then that romance novels are wank material for women.) Naturally, being a man, I chubbed out reading the surprisingly explicit sex scenes and was bored with the rest of the plot. Let me tell you, the dreck of the literary world lies in the pulp romance genre. But I soldiered on. I knew that some keys to successfully seducing women would be found in between the pages of those trashy paperbacks.
And, yes, the books I read had rape scenes. I remember recoiling at those, wondering at the depravity of women if this is what they craved. I looked for commonalities in those scenes and noticed that words like “overpowered”, “overwhelmed” and “powerless” were used frequently. The horny protagonists victims were often pushed up against solid objects, like big oak trees, and roughhoused from behind, never once seeing the face of their attacker (he often wore a mask), although there was much florid description of his musky aroma and muscular body pressing into her helplessly yielding flesh.
Rape fantasy reflects a deep, inborn, uncompromising sexual desire by women to be rendered helpless, almost childlike, by a more powerful man. It is the submissive scrawling of their hindbrains, a message in a novel sailing forth from the female limbic labyrinth. And from submission to a dominant male force is born the strongest love.
I loved that he was so powerful I was nothing.
Does this mean women would be sexually turned on by real life rape? It is a question not so easily dismissed when we begin to examine closely the sexual fantasies of women. Dismissed it is, though, because no one — man or woman — wants to creak open the vault door that houses such primeval female decadence. For if women do harbor secret desires for dark seductions, then what is left of the pretext to chivalry? Women benefit from some amount of cultural pedestalization. *Societies* benefit. There is no room in a healthy, functioning society for mischievous inquisitors to lay bare the true soul of woman.
My understanding of women, and from what I’ve gleaned from their romance novel porn, leads me to believe that rape is a fantasy for women when the rapist is implied or otherwise insinuated to be the sort of man for whom women would surrender themselves in other contexts willingly, (i.e. an alpha). Women do have a natural sociobiological revulsion to rape by losers, because their most precious asset — their womb — cannot suffer lightly the gimped seed of omega chumps forcibly implanted. But what of rape by a masked alpha? That’s where the moral certainty yields to an unforgiving, and wholly discomfiting, ambiguity.
To Chad’s question above — how to take advantage of this female perversion without getting arrested — I would not suggest actual rape of your beloved. Don’t jump out at her from behind a bush while she’s walking home alone at night. But there are ways to simulate the heady rush of a lustful rape that will not only press her buttons, but yours as well.
Inform her that one night in the not too distant future she will experience something she won’t be prepared for, and shouldn’t expect to prepare for. On that night, while she’s getting ready for bed, you will cut the fuses so all the lights go out. As she’s standing in the dark, approach the doorway wearing a ski mask and dark clothes, and slowly instruct her to put her hands against the wall, in front of the window. She will, naturally, recognize your voice, so some of her fear will be mediated, but she won’t be able to see your face. It is important for the rape enactment that you act as if you are not who she thinks you are. She will appreciate this ruse, and might even be able to tempt herself with the thought that you are a stranger who sounds like her lover.
With her hands on the wall, you will approach her from behind, reminding her not to look back at you. Tell her not to struggle or make a sound. As you step up behind her, put a knife to her throat (for advanced rape enactors only) and allow your body to linger closely without touching her for a minute. Breathe heavily, creeper style. Then thrust your hand violently under her oversized nighty t-shirt and grab her panties, pulling them across her ass until they rip. Bury your hand in her mound. She will be dripping wet. Put your wet hand to her nose and angrily whisper in her ear that her wet pussy belies her fear. She will attempt to turn around to see you. With your hand firmly clutching her face, force her eyes forward. Press her cheek hard into the windowpane. Enter her.
When you are spent, I guarantee that afterward she will lovingly rest her head in your chest and confess that she had the most earth shattering orgasm of her life. Repeat for your other three girlfriends.
Filed under: The Pleasure Principle