This story includes a work of fiction, but as Richard (Rodgers) Castle so eloquently put it: “I’ve found that the most believable of stories have a kernel of truth in them.”
Prepare yourself for more than a kernel; however this will only be tackling one aspect of the problem; female victims. Future articles will tackle other aspects.
“You’re not going out dressed like that, are you?” her mother said, glaring up and down at what the girl believed was a chic ensemble of a denim jacket, pearly white tank top, cheeky black shorts that left the vast expanse of her tan, healthy legs exposed to the not-yet-unpleasant chill in the air, with pink Vans sneakers that she had purchased only a few days ago. The girl shifted her backpack to her other shoulder, and said “yes, Ammi. Tehani and I are just going to the corner coffee shop, for some research. There’s nothing wrong with what I’m wearing.” Her mother glared some more, and stood in front of her daughter, blocking her way to the door, the loving fear in her voice a sharp contrast to the look on her face. “Putha, I’m only telling you because I love you, change out of those shorts into longer pants. I know you’re not trying to be indecent but this is only inviting trouble.”