Posted by Ian/RDG on August 9, 2005, 4:02 am, in reply to "The day I turned myself in (Part 3)" He flipped through the case histories some more. “Well, Ian,” he said, “we haven’t had any complaints about this incident you’re telling about, with the girl in the car.” “What, so you can’t make an arrest? But you have a confession from me.” “Yes, but, you see, with some kinds of crimes—like this one—in order to be defined as a crime, there are some conditions it has to meet. In the first place, it has to have been done contrary to the victim’s consent.” “She didn’t give me her consent.” “No, but in order for the law to keep it from being confused with what could be called an act between consenting adults, there’s only one way for the police to know, and that’s if the victim calls in to complain.” “What you mean is... like, some crimes are unequivocal, like if you caught somebody robbing a bank or something, you’d arrest him no matter what, whether somebody called to report it or not. But a crime like this... it’s just a question of how the girl feels about it that makes it a crime... and since the law can’t read people’s minds, it doesn’t officially get registered as a crime until she calls in and complains?” “That’s right. And we haven’t had any complaints about it. So officially a crime hasn’t even taken place.” “It just happened about an hour ago,” I said. “Oh? Well then, I’ll have to go ask at the front desk. Just one moment.” He got up and went to the front office. When he was away I picked up the case-history files from the desk and started flipping through them. They would say “Crime:” with a blank to fill in, “Description:” a blank to fill in, and other data. On one of them where it said “Crime:” it had written in, “ ‘Indecent liberties,’ ” and “Description: ‘Suspect rubbed victim’s genitals’.” Another said, “Crime: ‘Indecent liberties’ Description: ‘Suspect held open victim’s swimsuit, looked inside’.” After a short moment another officer came in the room. When I heard him coming, I quickly put them back on the desk before he came in. He struck up a conversation. He told me he found it interesting, an unusual case, my coming to turn myself in. After a while the first policeman came back. “They haven’t received any calls about it,” he said. “I tell you what, Ian, it was good of you to come in, but... without a complaint, the fact is... we have no charge. And I tell you, I hope they don’t receive any, either. I wish you luck on your therapy, and... you’re free to go.” So that was it. They let me off. The girl had never even called it in. I got to wondering why not. Maybe her parents would have heard her on the telephone describing it to the police and wouldn’t have liked the fact that she was hitchhiking, so that was why she didn’t call it in. Or could it be that she thought it was done unintentionally? That somehow my zipper got unzipped and it got through the crotch-panel of my underpants and into view all by accident? No, maybe in some countries where the behavior is almost unheard of and their minds are still in an innocent state about it, a girl might think something like that could happen unintentionally. But not in our country. In the U.S., they’re taught in school since they’re little girls that if a man ever does that, go call the police. Or run and tell the nearest adult. She had to have known it was done on purpose. No, it couldn’t have been that. Or maybe she just didn’t care. Some girls don’t. So maybe she just didn’t feel like calling it in. Well anyway, that was the end of that. I got on the phone, called my friend, told him I had been delayed, but I was on my way over. I got to his house. “What took you so long?” he wondered. “Hooh, man,” I sighed. “I’ve just been through a stressful experience.” “What happened?” “Ahh... I’ll tell you about it sometime. I’m not really in the mood to work anymore tonight. Are you? I’d rather just relax.” “Yeah, me too.” “Why don’t we kick back and...?” “Watch a movie?” “Yeah.” “What, something science-fiction?” he asked me. “Yeah. Something with some good effects. But something light. For relaxing with. For escapism.” “In the mood for another Trek episode or two?” “Yeah, that sounds fine.” (You see, when we’re away out of the country, his family members record all the episodes of all the Star Trek series, and after we’re back we watch them one by one, sometimes two by two, when I’m over at his house. And we were still catching up on them.) “Maybe we’ll put three of ’em away tonight.” “Yeah, why not? And after that I’ve got another good movie you might want to check out,” he added. “You hungry?” “Famished,” I said. “What’re you in the mood for?” “I know... let’s have a big pizza. One of those big deluxe kinds. I’ll call it in and have ’em bring it by. It’s on me.” “Sounds great.” I went to the phonebook and opened it. “Want me to make some popcorn too?” he offered. “Yeah. With butter and that spice you learned how to mix up in India that everybody loves on their popcorn. We can be eating that till the pizza comes.” “Oh, I was at Ye Olde Chocolate Shoppe today. Found a really delicious gourmet chocolate. Want to try some?” “Mmm, sounds delicious.” “Here. And what to drink? Sangría? I mixed up a batch two days ago. The slices of fruit have been seeping in it in the ’fridge for two days now.” “Mmm, perfect timing. Just bring the whole batch. And a tall glass filled with ice for me.” (When he made sangría, he got it to tasting so good, that even when you’re full, you want to keep sipping at the stuff, just to have the pleasure of that taste in your mouth, going down your throat.) “Oh, and the cheese of the month came, too,” he said. “Oh, good. What kind is it this month?” “Something Bohemian or Bavarian or something. Here, I’ll get it. It tastes good.” I called in for the pizza, he started up the popcorn popper, then went upstairs and brought down a pillow, blankets and a quilt for me on the couch. I tucked them into the couch, lay down and adjusted the pillow behind my head. He turned on the fire, put the tape in the VCR, sat down in the easy chair and kicked it back, with the popcorn, the chocolate, the cheese and the sangría on the table between us, and turned on the TV. “Oh man, this is so comfortable,” I said. “Every comfort a fella could want... ’cept a woman, of course.” He chuckled. “Don’t worry. Maybe in a few months... we’ll be back there again.” _________________________ 16th April 2005 Dear Ian: Have you ever been arrested and spent months in a county jail or in a state prison? I have. I have even spent many times in a courthouse alone and seeing my accuser and some county sheriffs looking at me and laughing. I always promised myself and GOD that I would stop doing this but I couldn't stop. Today I feel strong enough to control myself. Maybe it's because I have reached middle age (I am now 51 years old). But let us not think that exhibitionism is all wrong; there are ways in which one can indulge in this in a healthy way. _________________________ Have you ever been arrested and spent months in a county jail or in a state prison? Yes, I have. I told about it in the story above. Did you read the whole thing? See Part 2. ...there are ways in which one can indulge in this in a healthy way. Yes, my friends and I from the Brotherhood (that’s a little secret society of ours we were into at the university) usually find safe ways to get it out of our system. Last time some of us caught the Khumb Mela in India. Rubbed ashes all over ourselves and pretended to be nagas. We went walking nekkid along in front of everyone—girls and everybody. It’s acceptable there. Anyway, that’s one thing. Trouble is, though, it only happens once every 12 years. Oh, but there are plenty of other things you can do in India. Plenty of other ways we let off steam and plenty of other places where we find ways. There are C-scams you can do in the U.S. too. By the way, what country are you from?
Message modified by board administrator August 6, 2006, 4:06 am
(Originally posted February 7, 2001, 3:55 pm)
Re: The Legal Aspect
Posted by RDG on April 16, 2005, 10:29 am
Doin’ time, doin’ the Khumb
Posted by Ian on August 8, 2005, 9:32 pm
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