Dress and underwear tangled and tattered,
Her good name besmirched, cum-bespattered,
She had a good cry…
One quite understood why…
Not, of course, that he cared, or it mattered.
Tag: rape
Hard call
True, her dress was revealing and tight,
But to say she’d deserved it was trite;
Had he twisted her arm?
She’d resisted his charm,
Though perhaps not as hard as she might!
Res ipso loquitur
The girl’s dress, gauzy, brief, rather racy,
Her underwear, skimpy and lacy,
Per se constituted
Consent to be rooted,
Incitement to crime, prima facie.
Legal opinion
The poor chap, dragged to court and indicted,
Protested the girl had incited
The rooting, of which
She accused him, the bitch,
It ain’t rape, if you’re fucking invited!
Natural justice
When he touched her, she felt herself tense,
The man’s cock was just bloody immense!
“Serves me right, though,” she thought,
“To have got myself caught,
Having sneaked in to pee in the Gents.”
Beneath her dignity
In mid-pee, the damn fellow intruded;
She found herself swiftly denuded,
Degraded, exposed,
She could scream she supposed,
But which dignity rather precluded.
Hindsight
Young and pretty, though rather short-sighted,
Next day she was less than delighted,
When told she’d been had
By her boyfriend, his dad,
And a couple of mates they’d invited!
The interpretation of dreams
Naked, soon to be raped, it would seem,
Her eyes fixed on the knife’s wicked gleam …
Then the blade at her throat,
And she screamed! On that note,
She woke, hot, drenched with sweat. Just a dream!
Gambit
Left hand under her dress, his right cupped
Round her breast. Such a shock! So abrupt!
His cock out of his pants …
The poor girl had no chance;
Rooted! Outwitted, routed, one-upped!
Puttana
Just a slut for the local ndrangheta,
But cause for a bloody vendetta!
She fucked the wrong guy,
Called it rape, (a big lie).
Death and violence just made her wetter!