A matter of patriotism

As the day wore on, the crowd contained less idealistic little girls and more gawking men, and though their interest in the teen beauty queen was more prurient, they were no less impressed and were by and large well behaved. There were some inquiries about what her hobbies were (some asked if she was a cheerleader and seemed disappointed to hear her denial, but were pleased to hear about her interest in swimming and gymnastics) and if she had a boyfriend, and timid suggestions on behalf of age-appropriate sons (and even a few self-recommendations) for a suitable date, but Bria was able to parry most of these with a simple eye-roll or cute nose-scrunch.

The blonde recoiled slightly when a muscular black man in his thirties wearing camoflage pants and a vest approached her with uncommon focus. Unlike the other men she had seen, he was not smiling. "What's your name, girl?" he asked, resting a fist against the edge of the table, towering over the busty beauty.

"Uh, Bria Jeurgen," she replied, stammering slightly as she stared at his exposed arms, powerfully built and black as coal. "I'm Miss Teen Minnesota, see?" She **** a nervous smile and gestured at the sash hanging across her chest before turning to the glossy pictures spread out on the table beside them. "Would you like an autographed photo? I have one in evening wear, the one with me in a bikini has been very popular..."

"You know this where the recruitment desk is usually set up?" he interrupted her, then taking her wide-eyed silence for a no. "How many heroes have you deprived the armed forces of with this little publicity stunt, girl?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to," Bria replied pleadingly, her face turning red. "I know America's enemies hate us, and I'm grateful for what you guys do for us... for me..." She felt herself on the verge of tears.

"You wouldn't be able to stand here in a see-through dress and hand out pictures of yourself in a bikini, that's for damn sure..." he agreed. Bria glanced down at her dress, wondering why he said that, when he quickly regained her attention. "I hear you say we have your support, but I'm hoping you're ready to demonstrate that..."

"Okay, let's do a picture," Bria proposed, gesturing to the photographer. "How about a kiss, for when you're off at war and thinking of happier times?" But instead of adopting the usual pose of hunching over awkwardly beside her, the man instead led Bria around the table to a chair, sat himself down and gestured to his lap. Bria lowered herself gently to his leg, and could feel his hand slip under her dress and rest on her buttock, raising the dress so as to expose the side of her hip and part of her butt. She smiled nervously as a kaleidoscope of photographs snapped all around her to capture the teenage celebrity perched uneasily on a big black man's lap. She leaned in to give him the promised smooch, but he didn't turn his head and her lips simply made contact with his cheek.

"You ain't gonna give me any kiss worth having right now," he observed with a sneer, placing the index finger on the hand not on her butt into her cleavage and pulling forward her dress to glance down at her naked breasts. "I'll save it for later. You got some nice titties for a skinny little white girl." Blue eyes wide, Bria was frozen in embarrassment as her humiliation in the middle of her local mall was observed and recorded by scores of people.