Treading Lightly: Why We Tiptoe Around Women's Rape Fantasies

Valentine’s Day has arrived, that heart-shaped holiday that distills love into a weird brew of compulsory couplehood, performative romance, and decaying flowers.

Thankfully, the day has been reimagined to honour a broader spectrum of human connection, with celebrations like Palentine, Galentine, and Broentine. But what about self-love and pleasure?

I present to you, Wankintine.

In that vein, Gillian Anderson’s recent collection, Want: Sexual Fantasies by Anonymous (Bloomsbury Publishing, 2024), offers titillating tales for some sacred me-time. As the introduction notes, her project was inspired by Nancy Friday’s taboo-breaking My Secret Garden. First published in 1973, the book compiled a selection of women’s fantasies into a steamy, one-handed read. Friday’s project not only boosted sex drives but also shattered the myth that women either don’t fantasize or only crave gentle caresses. Anderson’s collection updates Friday’s mission, featuring greater diversity in sexual orientations, kinky activities, global perspectives, and a range of gender identities.

However, there is one notable difference between the two books. Friday’s book identifies a variety of submissive themes from the hundreds of letters she read, including humiliation, pain, masochism, terror and, significantly, rape. Similarly, Anderson’s book also features fantasies involving power play, rough sex, and subordination. But there is a conspicuous trepidation around explicit rape fantasies.

In preparation for the book, Anderson asked women to share their naughty thoughts, but she preemptively blocked any rape narratives from reaching her inbox. Despite her anything-goes invitation to readers— “I would love to know your fantasy: the secret desire you’d share with only the most trusted of confidants” —the contributor guidelines explicitly excluded certain secret desires. Among other forms of violence, the contributors were instructed not to submit fantasies that involved “rape” or “totally unwilling participants.”

In the introduction to the book, Anderson addresses the lacunae in her volume by admitting that while some women fantasize about rape, their stories were not included to avoid 'trigger[ing] traumatic responses.' However, the chapter “Captive” does contain submissions that, Anderson admits, could be interpreted as rape fantasies. While she ultimately chose to publish them, she reassures readers that these stories are not meant to normalize sexual violence but rather to prevent shame for those who find pleasure in them.

Anderson’s book is not the only collection that tiptoes around the rape in rape fantasies. The website Literotica, a popular repository of user-generated erotic fiction, categorizes a vast range of fantasies—yet notably avoids the word “rape.” Instead, it uses the indirect label “Non-consent/Reluctance,” signalling the same theme while sidestepping this highly charged word.

There are valid reasons for the semantic rebranding of 'rape fantasies' into terms like 'captive,' 'non-consent,' or 'reluctance' fantasies. Historically, sexological discourses, along with rape myths, have constructed women as naturally masochistic or secretly longing to be taken by force. Understandably, no one wants to reinforce such misogynistic, victim-blaming narratives.

There are also identity-based reasons for concern. In 1975, Susan Brownmiller declared, 'The rape fantasy exists in women as a man-made iceberg. It can be destroyed—by feminism.' From this perspective, feeling aroused by rape fantasies can be awkward, even mortifying, as it suggests that one’s libido remains contaminated by patriarchal conditioning.

Finally, Anderson and Literotica’s reluctance to use the word 'rape' may be less about respectability and more about legal risk. England and Canada have laws restricting sexually violent content, so explicitly labeling fantasies as 'rape' could invite criminal charges. 

Empirical research on rape fantasies, however, complicates legal, social conditioning and gender-essentialist theories about their meaning. As Lara Karaian notes, psychological studies of sexual fantasies, including those with violent themes, show that they are generally healthy and shouldn’t be viewed on their own as evidence of wish fulfillment. Furthermore, a study by Bivona, Critelli, and Clark (2012) found that the strongest predictors for women having rape fantasies were openness to experience and erotophilia—personality traits associated with curiosity, imaginative engagement, and a strong enjoyment of sex. The second most supported theory was sexual desirability, meaning that some women fantasize about being so irresistible that a man loses control and must ravish them immediately. Notably, the third theory, sexual blame avoidance—which suggested these fantasies help alleviate guilt about sexual desire—received little empirical support.

Anderson’s explanation for not including rape fantasies to avoid “triggering” women is also worth interrogating.  As medical researchers have pointed out, a wide range of scenarios can provoke PTSD. In addition, her collection includes erotic stories depicting dynamics which are illegal and well-documented as abusive in real life that could be distressing, such as a doctor sexually touching a patient or a boss 'punishing' an errant employee.

The heightened concern about overt rape fantasies is a classic example of sexual exceptionalism. Consider that we celebrate shows like Dexter or Hannibal, where serial killers are portrayed as intriguing and attractive anti-heroes. Yet somehow, few people think this will lead to increased acceptance of murder or feel the need to present this genre as ‘kind-hearted killers with a complex moral code’ stories. So, we’re free to enjoy unqualified violent narratives featuring homicide—even cannibalism—but when violence intersects with sex in our imagination or in our jack-off material, our pleasure is policed as a potential threat or symptom of pathology.

Though often framed as a progressive intervention, the sanitization of written rape fantasies (I’ll address visual material in a future article) reinforces the longstanding anxiety that sexual thoughts and erotica must be scrutinized and regulated, particularly when targeted at women. But if we truly want women’s sexuality to thrive, we should cherish its contradictions, complexities, and kinks, without feeling the need to apologize for its more out-there elements. Indeed, as BDSMers have known for a long time, fantasy is a form of alchemy, transmuting the horrific—like rape—into a source of self-empowerment and cathartic pleasure. 

With that in mind, if rape fantasies are your thing, get your hands on a copy of My Secret Garden, flip to the ‘Captive’ chapter in Anderson’s book or use euphemisms when searching online. You’ll be sure to find inspiration to keep your hands -- or vibrating toys -- busy.

Happy Wankintine, everyone!