OK, before I even start this blog I’d like to make some caveats. When I make reference to rape porn or erotica, I’m not referencing consensual bondage fantasies. I’m not slut- or kink-shaming anyone. And I am not calling for the illegalization of any pornography created by and for consenting adults, unless actual injury or the crossing of a performer’s boundaries occurred during the production. This column represents my views on this subject, nothing more.
The other day I was chatting with a friend of mine who works as a rape crisis counselor. She confided to me that several clients (whom she did not name) had come to her with a story about their assaults–a story that centered around another story.
“I told him I didn’t want him to get rough with me during sex. But he told me that he supposed I had rape fantasies, like all women did, and that I’d probably enjoyed 50 Shades of Grey,” the survivors revealed. “He told me that he knew I wanted it. Then he ignored me when I said no.”
“He raped me.”
Although sickened and enraged by this story, I was far from shocked; especially not when, at the time of the release of 50 Shades of Grey, at least one sexual assault took place immediately after the perpetrator allegedly had seen the movie and directly copied its aspects–right down to use of a man’s fashion tie as a restraint. Not to mention countless instances in which rape survivors have reported being triggered and traumatized by works like 50 Shades, and the more recent 365 Days, which glamorizes both sex abuse and drugging and kidnapping.
From a high school classmate’s assertion that the fact 9 1/2 Weeks was written by a woman proved that “Women like that sort of thing,” to the countless times that online trolls have insisted that rape can’t be all that bad because women fantasize and enjoy books and films about it, a single unfortunate truth emerges: Men use rape fiction–and rape fantasies–as excuses to rape, or at the very least to show less empathy for rape victims.
Of course, at this point, we also must discuss other truths as well. The fact is that bad people will use just about anything as an excuse to blame the victim: from the length of the survivor’s skirt to the amount of alcohol consumed by the perpetrator or survivor before the attack, to films and TV shows. When a rapist rapes, it’s the fault of the rapist. Period.
I also find it interesting that, when men fantasize about being dominated by women, nobody accuses them of coveting a violent relationship in real life. Sure, countless men fantasized about Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct, and Kathleen Turner in Body Heat. But would they want to meet the business end of an icepick in real life? I hope not.
Many experts say that, instead of a desire to be threatened or harmed in real life, the core of the rape fantasy seems to be that women are afraid of acting on certain desires, for fear of being seen as slutty or promiscuous–so in their dreams, they fantasize about a man seizing control of them. My question is, though, why do we still feel ashamed to want and enjoy sex?
I was lucky enough to come to sexual maturity in the ’80s and ’90s, when fearless, openly sensual heroines ruled the book and screen. Jackie Collins filled the pages of her sexy potboilers (like “The Stud” and “The Bitch”) with strong women who demanded satisfaction, in the boardroom and the bedroom. Kathryn Harvey’s Butterfly took us inside the walls of a male bordello that catered to women, my friend Dara Joy took us to an erotic netherworld where the heroine rescues the chained up hottie hero, and Nancy Friday’s Women On Top explored the fantasies of the modern woman–which proved to be more feminist and assertive than in years past. Hence the title.
On the silver screen, we still saw stories of sexually repressed women pleasured and liberated by seductive rebel men–but they were seduced, not raped. In the 1983 film A Night in Heaven, repressed school teacher Faye Hanlon (the fantastic Lesley Ann Warren) succumbs to the temptation of a handsome college student (Christopher Atkins, arguably the male answer to Marilyn Monroe in terms of sex appeal). Atkins’ Rick moonlights as a male stripper who, when spotting his teacher in the crowd of a strip show, tempts and teases her with a sultry lap dance and a soul kiss. Later, when he sees the married and still reluctant Faye in public, he tempts her further by praising her beauty, telling her that he enjoys erotic dreams about her, and presenting her with the old standby of a romantic red rose. Finally, when efforts to heat up her marriage fail, she joins Rick in a motel room for a heated session of lovemaking.
And as someone who enjoys male revues, I have been told that I’m acting unladylike, that I’m allowing the dancers to wield sexual power over me, and that I should trade in male strip shows for Christian singles dances. I explain to them that I often exclaim, “Oh my GOD!” at regular intervals during lap dances.
I’m also aware of the fact that, due to the proliferation of free porn on the Internet, more young girls are seeing rough, cheap, male-directed porn at a far too young age–they grow up thinking that’s how it’s done, instead of demanding something better and more respectful.
So, in my opinion, there we have it. Women who tried novel and modernistic ways of expressing their sexuality were shoved back into the closet–and under the whip.
I know that some women would disagree, saying that–after a long day of wielding power in the boardroom–they just like to safely surrender for a while in the bedroom. Understood! But some of today’s books and films–and, sadly, real life sexual relationships–are crossing the line between voluntary bondage into intimidation, the misuse of alcohol to weaken a woman’s defenses, physical pain–and, sometimes, rape. And no matter how you look at it, that ain’t cool.
The National Sexual Assault Hotline is 1-800-656-4673.
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