She is Asking for it, Isn’t She?

Judging a person by their appearance and attire to presume they are sexually interested is ignorance. Offenders as such do not learn their lesson until they become victims, or one of their own does.

“She is Asking for it, Isn’t She?” by Preety Singh tells the story of one such offender who forces himself on a girl believing she wants him. However, he soon realises his heinous crime when his family is affected.

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Cover Photo by Pankaj Tottada

She looks delicious in those shorts and crop top, her milky white skin glistening in the moonlight makes her seem like an angel. Every inch of her exposed skin is asking me to touch and play with her. One look at her clothes and anyone can tell that she is asking for it. The fact that she is walking in the streets alone after nine is the perfect proof of her desire and it is my duty to give her what she desires. After all, she is asking for it, isn’t she? I advance towards her slowly, moving stealthily in the shadows. I have to pounce on her and take her by surprise, just like how they show in the movies. ​ But unlike in the movies, even the most foolish person won’t come to her rescue. Even they know that she wants it. She must have fantasized about this, after all, she is asking for it, isn’t she? Why is she screaming under my weight? Why is she pushing me off of her amazing body? Why is she pleading for my mercy while trying to punch me in my gut? Alas, I am far too strong for her. Moreover, I know that these protests and struggles are nothing but pretence. Girls, like her, enjoy it as much as we do, perhaps more, I have been told. All I’m doing is offering her what she wants and fulfilling my duty. After all, she is asking for it, isn’t she?

I look down at her shivering body after I was done and believe me there are many girls like her in our world always asking for it. We must satisfy all of them. As I stood up, my phone in my pocket rang. I took it out and saw that it was my mother calling. Answering the call, I asked, slightly worried, “Hello, mom, what is it?” Usually, she never calls at this time.

I hear her sobbing on the other side while stammering “Rahul! Some guy... some guy molested Jia at the nightclub...” I feel the earth tremble beneath my feet. How? How could someone do this to my little sister? A few days later, I sat in the back row of the partially filled courtroom. The boy standing at the defendant’s stand is probably a rich spoiled brat in his late twenties. The public prosecutor asked, “Mr Udit Kapoor, what compelled you to molest Ms Jia Makheeja?” “I didn’t do anything against her will! Believe me, Your Honor!” he says, looking at the judge. He shouted, “Jia... Jia was the one asking for it!” I felt the world collapse around me as a scream made its way out of my throat.

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Credits

This contribution is edited by Sreekar Ayyagari & Tarun Chintam & photographed by Pankaj Tottada.

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Product

This flash fiction is available in paperback & ebook.

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