In the Fashion of...

originally posted August 5, 2006

It is pleasant to walk one's women in a city foreign to one's own. Just as one looks forward to seeing the sights of a new city, those of a new city look forward to seeing the sites of her visitors. Like any other port city I've visited, the girls of Port Olni are vital and eager, a little rough around the edges. They serve the masters of the world, after all. It is not only the men of their city to whom they are subject. They are subject to the whims, tastes and preferences of visitors far and wide. Accordingly, they are quick on their feet and even quicker to assume a placatory position. I think that the men of this city, seeing what a Poet of Ar owns, were not unimpressed. What made me smile the most was a comment about the length of their garments, made from one fellow to another as they passed us in a narrow, winding street that led to the wharf taverns.
"That is how slaves are garmented in Ar," he informed his fellow.
"So short? Scandalous. Absolutely scandalous," the other replied.
"I will be having Stacy alter her garmenture when I return to my little hovel tonight," the first responded.
"Your companion will not hear of it," the second said.
"It is 'in the fashion of Ar', my good friend," the first fellow laughed.
"Ah, yes. That, then, will be acceptable," the second agreed.
I, of course, smiled inwardly as I passed them with my small parade of girls. While the general length of a kajira's garment in Ar is quite short, I have taken my own liberties with such trends. I am something of a fashion forward thinker. The manner in which women I own are garmented is somewhat bolder than the average fellow of Ar. I wonder if the cheekiness of Joy's pale green silk or Elise's light blue, Samantha's pink or Portia and Sana's teal will become the template for the slaves of this port town, their owner's assuming such is 'in the fashion of Ar. And they have yet to see Nirah's back bearing, just as cheeky purple garment, let alone my Emily's lewd sarong which makes an absolute mockery of the Harfaxian Drape. Worse misprepresentations of my culture could occur, I suppose. And would it be so terrible? Imagine, if you will, that in two days time every slave in Port Olni, from the lowest mill girl to the highest, golden collared slut, was strutting through the streets of the city with a little back side peeking out from beneath the hem of their silk. Imagine further that it is discovered that only I, a mere Poet from the glorious city of Ar, not a member of the High Castes, not a person of any significance or importance, so garments his women. Do you suppose the men of Port Olni would become outraged for this faux pas, this presumed falsification of the fashion standard of my city? Do you think they would then tell their imbonded population, "See here, bitches. Your garments are not in the style of Ar. Accordingly, lengthen them by several horts that we are not distracted by your lovely asses and sleek thighs. Chop chop."?