Men in skirts
At first, she is irritated by the idea: just a pointless photo shoot, with some dumbass military medics – but it will highlight the work she is trying to do, help promote her charity and let more of the world see how awful the suffering in these war zones actually is, so she goes along with it.
When she meets them, her mind sways a little, these guys have been through some tough times together and the bonds they have formed seem deep and real. They joke amongst themselves in a way that she has rarely seen before and she sees real familial ties between them.
They are all from a Scottish unit, and are dressed only in their kilts. She thinks this a bit cheap but they all have wonderful, battle hardened bodies, not what you would call muscle men at all, but well defined, well worked chests and arms and backs. They glisten slightly in the afternoon heat, and she finds herself staring at their sun bronzed torsos. These men have seen action and sadness, known love and fear and bravery and heartbreak.
They greet her with a series of grins. They lift her effortlessly into the air for some shots and call her Ma’am or Miss. They hug each other and laugh and punch each other playfully all the time and she senses a deep brotherhood.
During one shot she feels a little twitch behind her, tickling her buttocks and lower back and looks around, and down, the guy behind her is getting an erection. She glares at him angrily and he blushes through a delightfully cheeky smile, tries to whisper ‘sorry’. she glares even harder, shooting him a look of real scorn, but she stays where she is, feeling him swell against her, she even leans back gently into it at some points.
Something flickers in a corner of her vision and she glances its way, a sporran bounces playfully. “My God,” she thinks, “he’s getting one too!” She almost doesn’t dare look at any of the others but cannot help herself, and everywhere she looks she sees rising cloth and flickering sporrans. “Are they all getting stiff? she wonders excitedly as her eyes dart around her. They are. Apparently, they have all been on active duty and most of them haven’t even seen a woman for months. Little thrills run up and down her imagination and her body.
“Okay” shouts the one that seems to be in charge, “That’s it for today.” and then, “We need one or two volunteers to escort our young lady back to her quarters.” All of them thrust their hands eagerly into the air. “Er, up to you then ma’am?” says the boss and she turns round to the man behind her, the one with the cheeky grin. “Him.” she says with slightly less hesitation than she’d hoped. On the way to the jeep, she turns back, points again, “and maybe him too.”