On a second date, after work, following
dinner, dancing, a few drinks, an attractive,
twenty-something, brunette, vivacious and intelligent,
with a sense of humour, spirit of adventure,
dressed in a soft white blouse, knee length,
grey skirt, black high heels, sits in a black Audi,
with tinted windows, in darkened, empty, parking lot.
Feeling drowsy, as though medicated, confused, disoriented,
like a woman who’s been slipped a date rape drug,
She’s reluctantly making out with a handsome,
well groomed thirty-something man, established,
successful corporate lawyer, who wears a black suit,
Oxford dress shoes, white shirt, red tie, has an impeccable
reputation, trust of the public.
As the art of passionate foreplay progresses
To crescendo, She demands, “Please stop!”
He ignores her pleas, continues his lustful conquest,
as if he’s done this before, forcing himself inside her,
releasing his lecherous desires.
Driving home in silence, in the seat next to him,
she thinks to herself: That was date rape.
A few days later, after deep contemplation,
despite the violation of her body and soul,
she refuses to file a complaint with police,
Because they’ll assume his innocence,
ask humiliating questions, probe for motive.
Because she might lose her employment
With the firm, have this sordid incident follow her,
Like a criminal record
Because family and friends might believe
She’s the instigator, judge her to be guilty
Because her reputation will be
soiled on social media, like so many others
Because she’ll have to participate in an ugly,
Embarrassing court battle, relive the assault,
Be interrogated by a hostile defence lawyer,
Who’ll argue “She desired it!”
Because of what she’s read in the paper,
Other stories of sexual assault on a date:
Ultimately, it will be her word against his.
He’ll say, “She willingly participated.”
Because she truly believes her desire
for justice,to punish, is just not
worth the struggle, nor humiliation.