Indian Randi

All were seeking the answer to the age-old question, "What is worn beneath a Scotsman's kilt?" "Only that which God has graced me with." "Nothing ma'am, everything is in fine working order." "If I were to wear anything beneath it, it would be a skirt." James was accustomed to this line of questioning. Ever since he had joined highland regiment, he had been inundated with it. Soon however, the fervor of his arrival died down and he was able to enjoy a dram of Oban. It was nice for him to relax with others who had just participated in a four-day race. The survivors enjoyed the company of each other one last time at this formal dinner before going back to their normal lives. "Hallo, Laddie." A tall, lean redhead in an emerald dress walked up to James. "Good evening, miss. How may I help you?" "I see you are wear a Mackay tartan, I was wondering if you were wearing the kilt in regimental fashion?" This woman was quite beautiful with her long hair and green eyes. Her frame was very tight. Now down.’ Too afraid of what he’d do if I refused, I sank to the ground, my hands pressed to the cold marble floor. Conscious of the eyes on me, all I could think of was all the classmates that would see me like this. I didn’t dare oppose him. Who knows what indignities might come if I tried to resist. And, as always, there was a little voice in the back of my mind telling me that everything was as it should be. That it was right and proper to be on the floor, if that was what he willed. That voice did nothing to ease my shame. ‘Good girl,’ he said again, reaching down to pat me on the head, and we were off. If I’d held any faint hope of keeping some tiny shred of decorum, it was quickly dashed. My skirt, already too brief for modesty, slid freely up my hips as I wiggled and scrambled to match his easy walking pace. Eyes focused on keeping pace with my owner’s heels, I heard but didn’t see the attention I drew. Cutting voices. Sometimes amused, at other times triumphant, but always.
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