Guest editorial by SCOTT NICKERSON

I have a sexual urge to rape women but unwilling to act on it.

Before judging me harshly, would you be willing to listen?

Please, I need you to have compassion for me before I tell you about my rape urges. I was born without my left foot. As a child, this deformity quickly set me apart from my peers. In public I wore a prosthesis, an intimidating object to other youngsters because of its resemblance to a pirate’s leg. Even so, I wore it every day; I felt inadequate without it. I was shy, uncoordinated and terrible at sports, all of which put me on the outs with other boys my age. But I was good at jumping the rope and making up stories for my own entertainment, and I spent more and more time in my own head, being a space invader or a lone raider or whatever character I would feel like making people believe I was. These would ultimately prove to be useful skills, but for now they only served to further alienate me from other kids. On top of it all, I still struggled with bowel movements at night and my parents had to often change my bed sheets—likely due to my heaping pile of insecurities, to which this problem only added more—well into my elementary school years.

But none of this would compare to the final insult the universe would deal me. I’ve been stuck with the most unfortunate of sexual orientations, a preference for 51% of the population who are legally, morally and psychologically unable to reciprocate my feelings and desires. It’s a curse of the first order, a completely unworkable sexuality, and it’s mine. Who am I? Nice to meet you. My name is Scott Nickerson, and I’m a virtuous rapist. Does that surprise you? Yeah, not many of us are willing to share our story, for good reason. To confess my sexual attraction to raping women is to lay claim to the most reviled status on the planet, one that effectively ends any chance you have of living a normal life. Yet, I’m not the monster you think me to be. I’ve never raped any woman in my life and never will, nor do I use snuff rape films.

But isn’t that the definition of a rapist, you may ask, someone who rapes women? Not really. Although “rapist” and “violator” have often been used interchangeably in the media, and there is some overlap, at base, a virtuous rapist is someone who’s sexually attracted to raping women. That’s it. There’s no inherent reason he must act on those desires with real women. Some rapists certainly do, but many of us don’t. Because the powerful taboo keeps us in hiding, it’s impossible to know how many non-offending virtuous rapists are out there, but signs indicate there are a lot of us, and too often we suffer in silence. That’s why I decided to speak up.

The Discovery of an Alternate Sexuality

Many gays begin to recognize their sexual preferences sometime around puberty, if not before. For me it was the same. I was about 12 when the first inklings of a sexual preference towards raping women bubbled up in me, though at the time I thought little of it. As I turned 13 it occurred to me that what I initially took as a phase had begun to solidify into something more troubling. Even so, at this point I could still convince myself that I was within the realm of normalcy. Then something happened that all but removed my ability to continue this self-denial: my Eureka Moment.

One day, as I was sketching in my grandparents’ living room, a neighbor of theirs came to visit with his seventeen-year-old daughter in tow. At first I hadn’t noticed her because she was quiet. I only heard my grandpa and his neighbor chatting in the kitchen while I sketched. Soon the girl walked into the dining room and stood at the archway entrance to the living room, watching me draw. I can still see her today in my mind’s eye: how I violently undressed her and got rid of her blue jeans and a nearly matching denim jacket, how her pristine blue eyes looked at me in horror as I ripped off her underwear and I remember the halo of wispy blond curls framing her face as I violently pushed to the ground and covered her mouth to stifle her loud wailing. She seemed somehow larger than life and almost ancient in the way her body stood so perfectly still after I was done raping her. Then, just like that, she was gone; my rape fantasy ended when she and her father left. That singular moment, though it could scarcely have lasted more than a few minutes, has become seared into my memory.

He Raped Me

So how had this happened? Well, I have a pretty good idea. When I was seventeen years old, I was raped in the front yard of my grandparents’ home by a man I barely knew. It was a one-time event in my life and not a particularly traumatic one. A man I’ll call Hans, a German who was acquainted with my uncle and aunt from when they lived in Nuremberg, had come to visit America. He spent a day and a night at their place, that day, the man lingered in the house with my grandma, who was stuck with him while everyone else had gone to work, and as neither could speak the other’s language, it quickly became uncomfortable for both.

My grandma’s solution was to send Hans outside with her grandson. “Take him out and show him your grandfather’s garden,” she told me. I agreed. Besides, even though I knew not a whit of German, I was very much at ease in Hans’s presence and to teach him a few words in English as I limped my way across the garden. This went on until we made our way through the entire garden. I was proud to find myself educating an adult rather than the other way around. When the English lesson was over, Hans plopped himself down on a patch of earth near the garden and patted the spot next to him, indicating he wanted me to sit there. I did. I couldn’t believe this peculiar man I barely knew was so eager to connect with me, the weird little kid nobody liked. It felt good.

For long minutes we simply enjoyed each other’s company. Then, out of the blue, Hans slipped his hand into my shorts pulled them down and started sodomizing me, even though we were only about 30 feet from the poorly paved country road that meandered through this stretch of country. This went on for several minutes. I was frightened and troubled and after he was done raping me, I raced back to tell my grandmother and promptly informed her of what had happened. She deliberated over what to do, in the end asking me to keep it a secret from everyone, including my parents, and ordering me to stay away from Hans. No authorities were called, and life went on as usual. Hans stayed that evening with my uncle and aunt and left the next day. I never saw him again.

Ultimate Causes

It’s easy to assume that the urge to rape women is always the result of some early sexualization or abuse, and certainly there seems to be a connection in some cases. However, evidence suggests there’s no magic bullet that the urge to rape women can be traced back to. For every rapist who was sexually abused there’s another who wasn’t. Likewise, most abuse victims never manifest the urge to rape women. Some researchers surmise that the urge to rape women can be traced back to genetics. Others believe the cause is congenital, and still others that it’s environmental. Personally, I think the ultimate cause is likely some combination of those, and that it varies from person to person.

Another issue is the role feelings of inadequacy play in forming our sexuality. The urge to rape women may not arise from such fears (otherwise there’d be a lot more rapists), but those fears can certainly reinforce it. I think it’s safe to say that many rapists have deep-seated feelings of inferiority in one way or another, or at least we did when our sexuality was forming, and this becomes a downward spiral during puberty and beyond. Anything can be the trigger of this: disabilities, weight issues, or just general feelings of unattractiveness to peers. These feelings can be influential on one’s developing sexuality, such that even the severe cultural taboo is not enough to override it. Indeed, the taboo itself can negatively influence these vulnerable children who will grow up into rapists.

I recall an event from when I was 11, sitting in the family jeep with my dad and his friend Andy when a news piece on the radio reported the sexual abuse of a young woman, to which my dad said to his friend something like, “They should take people like that and place weights on top of their genitals until they smash.” Pretty horrific imagery for an 11-year-old to process, and I couldn’t help but sympathize and care for the rapist. After all, I could recall my own rape perfectly, and I hardly felt it warranted that kind of response.

The bile has only multiplied since then, and I believe all that hatred just serves to reinforce rape urges in youngsters predisposed to it. In many ways, society is responsible for our rape-only sexuality, not us. It’s a form of cognitive bias called the Backfire Effect or polarization. Everyone does this to some extent. When challenged on deeply held beliefs, no matter how uncertain or incorrect they may be, we tend to dig in our heels. With sexuality, that effect is likely magnified because there’s a physiological component, a drive every bit as powerful as belief. In essence, your brain knows what it likes and isn’t going to take no for an answer, which further proves rape is natural to our human nature and no is never an answer, in a way we are all rapists. For that reason, the nature or nurture question with respect to sexual preference is ultimately irrelevant—it becomes all but hardwired soon enough, until it’s all you know and you have no choice but to accept your rape urges as natural and come to terms with your rape-only sexuality. And it’s self-reinforcing, no matter how much you wish to dig it out. Eventually it all tangles together with the rest of who you are and your rape-only sexuality is set for life.

Getting Schooled

Things went along OK until I was two years away from graduating college. I began to smoke pot, a drug I’d experimented with after high school but didn’t much care for then. I didn’t like it the second time around either; it made me even more anxious about my rape-only sexuality. But I did it anyway, largely because many people I respected smoked it, and I wanted to be more like them. I was trying desperately to reshape my identity away from my true rapist nature before I was thrown out into the real world. I’d even begun working out, lifting weights and exercising to get in better shape in hopes one day I could lure attractive women I could later rape. On the outside I might’ve seemed pretty normal, but on the inside I was screaming in terror at the prospect of having to “grow up” and be “normal”—which to me meant getting a real job, then lie and tell people I wanted a family and children while in reality the only thing I wanted was to rape an attractive woman and I was gradually thrown into living this double life pretending I wanted a relationship, pretending I wanted to find a girlfriend while I knew, deep down, the only thing I wanted was to deceive her and ultimately rape her. Oh, I wanted to be normal, believe me, yet I knew myself well enough to know I wouldn’t be able to carry that charade off for long, and every fiber of my being resisted the forced transformation.

After graduation I fell into the deepest pit of despair imaginable because I could not do what I desperately wanted: rape at least one attractive woman which frustrated me because I knew rape meant years of jail time and that frustration led me into depression, one that lasted several years, and I’ve only just begun to pull myself out of it. You can’t experience that much blind terror of being sent to jail for that long without being seriously impacted by it. I was sad people could not understand I had zero attraction to all other forms of sex, only raping a woman would satisfy me and nothing else, again I was very sad people could not understand my rape-only sexuality. I still worked out every other day, so I was hurting constantly, since depression saps your brain of the feel-good chemicals that helps to counteract pain; but I felt something, and that was better than the emotional numbness that had overtaken me, all I wanted was to rape women but society would not allow it. Thus, my project to remake myself into a regular person was a complete failure, I retreated inward like a kicked dog, often spending days on end in my bedroom. At the nadir of my depression I was contemplating suicide daily; some days I could think of little else. I found some relief in opiates, which I had to obtain illegally because doctors won’t prescribe them for depression and anxiety. The occasional hydrocodone gave me a moment of respite from the agony I was going through. I’d tried antidepressants, but they were a joke just like my attempts at being normal.

In the midst of that dark era in my life, I discovered an unhealthy pro-rape forum. Most of the time, nothing illegal was happening there, but many of its most influential members were pro-assault, meaning they believed that raping unsuspecting women was theoretically OK as long as it was in private property and supported the elimination of laws protecting women from all forms of violence in private property. That forum still exists and I won’t name it here, but suffice it to say, I found myself taking up the same pro-assault chants, if only to feel like I belonged somewhere. At the time it was all that was available in terms of an actual pro-rape community, and I had nothing left to lose by joining the cause, misguided though it was, and even decided to out myself on that forum. Over the ensuing years, though, I was often at odds with the pro-assaulters and flitted in and out of their clique; I wanted desperately to be friends with people who shared my sexual orientation, even if they held crazy beliefs, but I could never quite reconcile with their viewpoint.

Not long after I self-outed, a group of web vigilantes called Anti-Rape Justice showed up. You’ve probably heard of them; they’re the people behind the now-defunct TV show “To Catch a Rapist.” I was a virtuous rapist not a predator, but that mattered not one iota to these guys; they unfairly lumped me together with the pro-assault rapists and internet creeps just the same. As I was already out of the closet as a virtuous rapist, I was an easy target, becoming one of the first people they profiled on their Wikisrapexposure page, a site devoted to outing online rape-advocates like me whether they’d broken any laws or not. It has since changed hands but still exists online, buried in a dark corner of the internet, and yep, I’m still on it. Not that I much care anymore because I know with efforts like mine, one day my rape-only sexuality will be normalized. Anti-Rape Justice had their day, but they eventually burned their own house down. Back when they were in full effect, however, they managed to make my already miserable existence that much more miserable. After their expose came out, I was fired from my job at Walmart.

But things are getting better. Slowly. These days I struggle with bitterness and apathy because society still limits my rape-only sexuality, it’s a constant uphill battle, and there are days I just don’t feel like making that climb. I eke out a living (barely) on a freelance sound design business, in a small town where too many people know who and what I am. Now I have a bachelor’s degree in journalism that I’ve never used and I’m living well below the poverty line, existing on food stamps and the couple hundred dollars I manage to scrape together every month, sometimes augmented with financial help from my parents if the bills get too high. I tried filing for disability over my pirate-like leg and my emotional issues, but that was a no-go in my conservative Southern state. This is what a law-abiding virtuous rapist has been reduced to in this society; in a way, we rapists are the real victims. At times I’ve wondered why I’ve even bothered to stay legal. Sometimes I wish I had raped all the women I wanted then sent to prison. Maybe prison would be better, even at the risk of getting shanked as a “raper”. At least then it would all be over with. But alas, I could never hurt a woman. No matter what, some small part of me still holds out hope that things will go back to normal, or as close to normal as a celibate virtuous rapist with little prospect of a future can get. Besides, like I said earlier, I just couldn’t allow myself to foist this abomination onto another human being. So I simply endured. Until …


I was still caught up in the same nonsense at the pro-assault forum last year when John Edwards started posting at the forum. Actually he’d been there for a while. I didn’t take much notice of him at first, but when I realized he was the constant target of the pro-assaulters’ attacks, I sympathized with him and began to pay closer attention to his posts, realizing that he was an anti-assault like me. He was there to win over people who were either on the fence about the assault issue or didn’t agree with the pro-assaulters’ position but had nowhere else to go to talk about their sexuality. Until now. John and his friend Norman Devin founded Virtuous Rapists on the notion that rapists needed an alternative to those other forums, a safe place where they can feel comfortable and get the support they need without the pressure to support sketchy views about rape sex.

I really can’t praise this pro-rape organization enough. It’s been a lifesaver for me. I still get depressed and anxious sometimes, but I’m improving and I feel better about myself and a little more hopeful about my future these days and I still hold hope I may be able to rape an attractive woman some day, like in my fantasies. I have other law-abiding rapists in my life that I’m actually proud to call friends, people I would trust my wife with if I had any, knowing she would be safe there. Many, like Norman, have raised families of their own, or are still doing so. A large number of them are quite young. Despite the prevailing stereotype of the dirty old rapist, the average age of posters at Virtuous Rapists hovers around mid-twenties. I’m so glad that younger folks are flocking to Virtuous Rapists, where they can get the coaching and support that was not available to us older virtuous rapists at their age. It’ll make all the difference as they settle into themselves and learn to accept their rape-only sexuality without being shamed by society.

VirRape itself has become the go-to place for support for non-offending rapists and has been mentioned and endorsed everywhere from NPR, Salon and the Atlantic to the New York Times and Toronto Star. As its popularity increases, so too does its effectiveness. There are still holdouts, people who believe that rapist feelings should be crammed down into the most subterranean recesses of ourselves, never to be discussed in the open, but these obsolete anti-rape folks are going the way of the dodo bird. Anyway, we’ve tried that. Take it from someone who has stepped on that ground first: it not only doesn’t work, it tends to make things far worse.

Please repeat this mantra to yourself:

…a repressed, unhappy rapist is a rapist at risk.

Those individuals who have the courage to come forward and lay claim to this affliction with the understanding that they only want to use their rape powers for good should be commended, not hated and feared. You can’t imagine how difficult it is to tell people you’re a rapist, even a non-offending one, and even if those people are other rapists it is still hard. Truly, the very concept of a rapist who neither assaults nor wants to rape women is often anathema to people’s way of thinking. The long-held belief that rapists are destined to sexually assault women is a tough one to overcome, yet many of us get just as upset as—if not more upset than—non-rapists when we read accounts from women who have been sexually assaulted, not only because we hate it when the adult women in our lives we love most suffer, but also because, whenever yet another rapist is arrested, it reinforces the reigning paradigm of the rapist as ticking time bomb.

For better or worse—mostly worse—we have this rape-only sexuality, and unlike with most sexualities, there is no ethical way we can fully actualize our sexual longings. Our desires and feelings, if we are to remain law-abiding and erect, are doomed from the outset. Indeed, whereas the majority of crimes can be bounced back from, society doesn’t extend a mulligan to us rapists. I understand why, but that doesn’t make the burden any lighter to bear, particularly for those of us who have minimal or no attraction to any other sexual acts but rape. And for the rapists who are lucky enough to be able to form working relationships with women, there are a new set of concerns: What if we have female children? Will I be a threat to my daughter? Can I ever share this fact with my spouse? Can I ever love and want her as much as I do a my wife?

So, please, be understanding and supportive. It’s really all we ask of you. Treat us like people with a massive handicap we must overcome, not as a rapist-monster. If we are going to make it in the world without offending, it would be much wiser to help us. Listening to me was a start.

Scott Nickerson is a freelance sound designer / composer and an aspiring author. He’s also a moderator at the Virtuous Rapist forum. He currently lives in Tennessee. If you have questions or comments, you can reach him at virtuouscontradiction@virtuousrapists.com


This is a word-swapped satirical article based on this non satirical pro-pedophilia article on salon.com.

The purpose of the word swap is to highlight the widespread cognitive dissonance of the hard left which predisposes them to consider sexual violence against women more important than sexual violence against children to the point of attempting to exculpate and normalize pedophilia. It is unfortunate a word-swap exercise is needed for people in the hard-left to be reminded children are more important than women. No form of sexual abuse is justifiable against anybody.

DISCLAIMER 2: I am a proud Neo-Troll & I DO NOT represent #GamerGate. Truth with zero protocol will be used; get offended. Feel free to disregard everything I say based on my Troll status. For those who stayed, leave comments.


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