Robert Coover can imagine an endless variety of rape scenes, each more revolting than the last. What talent! With writing like this, one doesn't even need a plot -- which is fortunate because there isn't one, just sordidness alternating with abstract and pointless musings from the three underdeveloped, unsympathetic characters. The author blurb describes Coover's writing as "experimental" and I think this novella is an excellent example of how novelty isn't always desirable.
If you think the concept sounds intriguing, I strongly recommend Angela Carter's The Bloody Chamber and Other Stories, Anne Sexton's Transformations or Emma Donoghue's Kissing the Witch: Old Tales in New Skins instead. I felt that Coover wanted to do what they had done but made it more extreme and graphic so he could claim to be original rather than imitative. In the process he lost the meaningfulness.