It’s Not Rape If I Like It.
JOHN Let me describe a woman to you. She’s eighteen years old, about five-foot-five, and probably around a hundred and ten or so pounds. Now that we’ve gotten the statistics out of the way, let me paint her picture in your mind. Straight, black hair frames a pale face, whose complexion is dotted with hundreds of freckles. High cheekbones, large, piercing, blue eyes, full, pouting lips, and a thin, pointed nose, structure this canvas. Her ears perk out from her head wider than normal, but that only compliments her features. Her neck is long, thin and elegant, and sits atop a narrow set of shoulders. Moving down her frame, we see a bust that protrudes vulgarly from the yellow spandex of her shirt. Each dome is shaped perfectly; creasing at the center and bursting from …