Beach Story

by Debra Handler

There, on the rocks, under the dimming full moonlight, we fought.

It was a wondrous night. A beach party like no other, brimful of strong energy and powerful magic.

I left the dancers, leaping and stamping in loose ease among the palm trees, and wandered onto the shore. I moved to some bushes for a nature call.

The moon, the stars, the rocks and the ocean called me further. The music and lights grew fainter. I found a comfortable rock and sat down for a smoke. As I took in the smoke, I felt this fire mix with joy: I was energized and content

Oops! En garde, male approaching. My senses grew wary in a familiar reaction. He asked for a light. With cautious hand, I extended matches. He grabbed my arm, he grabbed my waist "Sex sex I want to make sex sex with you," he demanded.

"No! I don't want! I have my period. I have another man. I don't want" I babbled feebly; it took some moments to believe this was really happening to me. Finally, I believed, and my strength and rage gathered quickly.

There on the rocks, under the dimming full moon, we fought I howled and I punched and I pushed and I kicked. I fought. He screamed, "Sex sex I want to make sex sex with you." I screamed, "I hate you! I don't want! I hate you!"

I had a crazy idea. too, remnant of earlier visions. I thought my attacker and I were brother and sister. I told him so, I told him no sex because it would be like incest, unclean and taboo. We fought.

Finally, with the moon down and darkness everywhere, I held him. I lay back on a shelf of rocks and I held him pressed tightly to me. He could not wiggle or move in my grip. He seemed pacified. We slept or passed out for a few minutes.

I woke dream-filled, still holding. The eastern sky was getting lighter. With relief, I saw that dawn was coming. In the growing light, I could see the party, I could even see the dancers.

I stood us up, the young man who wanted sex sex, and me, who didn't. I pushed - followed him over the rocks back to the sand, passing the cigarette sitting-rock. At the shore, he tried former once more, weakly. I pushed him away, strongly. He walked away, away from me and away from the party.

I shuffled over the sand, back to the dancers. I was dazed. My bones felt empty. I felt at peace, too, and tall. I joined the dancers. I too swayed and stamped, leaped and moved. I felt light and pure, and I danced a prayer for positive space.

I was not certain anything had happened out there on the rocks. Not until I found my trousers ripped, my legs scratched and my body suddenly strong with new muscles did I believe, again.

Debra Handler lives in Montreal. Many encounters with aggression have stirred a determination to work with women to create change. Debra teaches ACTION, a women's self-defense course, and volunteers at a feminist abortion clinic.

Sur une plage

par Debra Handler

Voici le bref récit de la résistance sans faille qu'une femme opposa à un homme qui tenta de la violer sur une plage tranquille, à quelques mètres d'une "party" entre amis. Elle donna à l'homme des coups de pied, des coups de poings, le bouscula, se battit jusqu'à ce que tous les deux à bout de forces, elle réussisse à le maintenir fermement. Lorsqu'elle le libéra, il essaya encore une fois de l'agresser, faiblement. Mais elle le repoussa fermement. Elle alla rejoindre ses amis en éprouvant un sentiment de légèreté et de pureté, pleine d'une force nouvelle.

Back Contents Next