"You feel you were raped?" The Honorable Judge pulled his thin reading glasses to the tip of his nose and waited on my reply. I square eyed him.  "Yes, I do."

"Were you wearing tight jeans like that 18-year-old student that accused Carmine Cristiano, a 45-year-old driving instructor in southern Italy, of raping her like the ones you're wearing now?" He shoved those metal rims back to the middle of the bridge of his nose and peered down at me.

"No, sir." I rolled my eyes the second he stopped ogling my black leather pants. I usually don't wear pants with a zipper on both sides all the way from the hem to the waistline I can rip off in three seconds flat.  Thank you.

"I see." He rattled a piece of paper. "What were you wearing, a dress?"

"Yes, sir, a dress." I looked down and scuffed my five inch spiked patent leather boot heel to toe on the marble floor as I tucked my strap underneath my flimsy muscle shirt and straightened my posture.

"And what did this dress look like?" He stopped the obnoxious rattle of white bond paper.

"Like a dress."  I shot a hard glance at my lousy lawyer for his disruptive loud chuckle.

"Was it short, long, short sleeved, long sleeved, low cut, tight, see through? Describe your complete outfit on the day of the alleged rape in detail for the court, please."

I swallowed and hesitated a beat.  "It was cut to here." I held one long red fingernail to just right at the perfect miniskirt level.  "It had a circular red leather skirt.  I had on red lacy thigh highs and red five inch spiked heels with an open toe."

The courtroom suddenly seemed soundless.

The judge cleared his throat.  "Where were you and what were you doing when the alleged rape occurred?"

"I was in the parking lot at Priscillas. It's right down the street from Mons Venus." The same place I see you buying your wife's leather T backs.

"I was bending down fixing the buckle of my shoe when the wind blew my skirt up and that's when it happened."

"What happened?"

"He raped me."

"How did he rape you?"

"With his eyes."

Laughter burst out in the crowded courtroom.

"You're saying this man raped you with his eyes?"

"Yes, sir."  I nodded and pointed to the rapist. "That man right there looked me up and down and wolf whistled so loud I bet you could have heard it all the way down here at the courthouse."

"You're dressed like you described and you expect a man not to rape you mentally, whistle at you and make advances toward you. Come on."

"Sir, I don't care if my skirt is over my head. I don't expect to be raped."

"Let me get this straight. This man didn't actually rape you. He just ogled you."  The judge tapped his pen impatiently.

"He raped me.  At least that's what it felt like to me when you ruled it's impossible to rape a woman in jeans."

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©1999 Kay Chirichigno (CHAIR-A-KEY-NO)

An Interview with Kay Chirichigno
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