Yet more sexual harassment!

[elfs]

While we were out doing the Great Back To School Shopping of 2007, I was once again harassed for wearing me kilt in public. As Omaha and Kouryou-chan shopped for new shoes, I stood outside and fumbled with one of the luggage racks on the car, which had taken some damage during the most recent camping trip. The shoe store is on a corner lot, and its intersection is stoplight controlled.

As I stood there in the parking lot of the shoe store, a blue Mercury with three young women in their early twenty's stopped at the light, and the driver leaned over her passenger and shouted, "Hey! Do you wear underwear with that thing?"

"Would you?"

"Do you?" she said, as if not understanding the question.

"Why don't you come in here and find out?"

"Okay!" Then they drove off.

Comments

[polydad.livejournal.com]

I think we need to get you the four-foot long spiked strap-on to wear under it, to use on people who ask stupid questions and don't wait for answers.

best,

Joel

[spiralsong.livejournal.com]

Heh. Obviously she did not know who she was dealing with. I mean... if I was propositioned by Elf-in-a-kilt, I'd leave rubber on the pavement in my rush to accept. ;)

Of course... I'd not have asked the silly question in the first place...

[redhipple.livejournal.com]

Here, here!

[lionman.livejournal.com]

Aside from the girls having selective hearing, apparently, it would seem that you haven't reached you quota for the month of harrassment. :-)

[antonia-tiger.livejournal.com]

Not worth bothering if they don't know the correct form for the question.

Worn under your kilt

[(Anonymous)]

"WHAT'S WORN UNDER YOUR KILT?"

* Nothing is worn, everything is in perfect working order.

http://www.realmenwearkilts.net/what.html

Re: Worn under your kilt

[arucartoonguy.livejournal.com]

Shoes and socks, lassie, shoes and socks...

[(Anonymous)]

Fools ask if you wear underwear under a kilt.

The better among us find out for themselves ;)

[heofmanynames.livejournal.com]

It's certainly a pleasant ripple in the too-often predictable world of public randiness.

Some years ago, I was outside a Costco, scanning the parking lot for my car. Behind me, over the usual clang & rumble, came a chorus of teasing female voices: "Hey, good-lookin'!". Of course, I had to look - I had to see who they were onto. A half-dozen ood-looking teen-aged girls, in Catholic school uniforms, were stepping off the curb behind me. It was classic: their eyes were bright and their smiles were wide open, a breeze flapped their plaid skirts flapped about their knees and lifted their hair in a most compelling fashion, all excellently lit by the the autumn sun.

It was such a perfect picture, I didn't immediately realise they were looking right at me. Gobsmacked, and no mistake. They seemed to enjoy the glazed and stupid look that must surely have overtaken me. Bemused, I walked to my truck, struck by the mystery of it all & my own flat-footed lack of response; as I neared the truck, a car came up behind me & stopped. I turned to see the girls in their convertible, with laughing eyes & heart-stopping smiles. The driver, who looked something like Evangeline Lilly but much more like Sela Ward, says, "we just wanted you to know you're the best-looking thing we've seen in a long time."

Totally at a loss, I managed, "Ladies, thank you", and an awkward bow, during which they drove away.

I still don't know what to make of it. Can't call it harassment, it was neither teasing nor taunting, but seemed really quite friendly, and there was a sweetness about it that just felt good. Sadly, I was brought up to be sincere, not charming, and continue to be wrong-footed around women who appeal to me.

This is not something I've really been able to talk about (sounds like I'm full of myself): I'm glad to hear that such things have happened to others.

[http://users.livejournal.com/_candide_/]

When I was in college, I used to go cycling. It not only gave me a chance to get exercise, but to see the countryside. It was the one sport I could get into, since I was only competing against my scrawny, underweight self.

So, after sophomore year, I did a summer intership at Yale. When I could, I'd hop on my bike and head north, into the Connecticut countryside. It was always good to get out of New Haven. So, one day, I was finishing up my ride, biking back into New Haven. It was a hot day, and since I generate waaaaaay too much heat to begin with, I'd taken off my shirt and stuffed it into a cycling bag. It was how most of my rides usually ended: down to my cycling shorts. (Someone had introduced me to lycra cycling shorts at the start of freshman year. Say, "Goodbye," to chafing!!!)

Well, after I'd passed the outskirts of New Haven, this convertible full of college-age women drove past. They'd slowed down as they approached … something that'll throw off any cyclist. (We listen for oncoming cars so that we can time when we have to pull over closer to the side of the road, which is usually glass-strewn or barely ridable.) As they passed, they were whooping and hollering. One of them may have shouted out a request for my number. I don't remember.

The sad thing is, my mood-disorder-addled brain took the whole experience as a threat. My tattered self-esteem assumed that they were mocking me, somehow. Not for another 5 years, after receiving treatment, would I realize just what had happened:


19 year old guy. Lithe upper body. Lower body showing the benefits of 2+ years of recreational cycling. Wearing nothing but skin-tight Lycra shorts and a cycling helmet.

Ah well. I hope, at least, that I was, indeed, good eye-candy for those ladies. ^_^