About a dozen blocks from me there is an Indian grocery store. I suppose they carry food and other items which are popular with the Indian people. I was looking for some victims and I thought what the hell, so I walked in that direction. I really didn't know much about the Indian culture. They seem to be nice people, and have met a few in my travels, but hadn't got to know them well. What they told me about their culture and traditions went in one ear and out the other. Although I suppose I remembered a few things. It was time to find out more.

I wasn't in any big hurry. It was 9:00 in the morning, so I had all day. I walked at a constant pace which allowed me the time to tell you something about myself.

I'm a typical white American man in my forties. I have brown slightly thinning hair and blue eyes. I'm about five feet nine and 160 pounds. I consider myself to be in good shape, but I don't work out. I guess as long as I keep my weight down, I can call myself in good shape. I guess all I am is ordinary.

As I near the grocery, I notice that the racial mix of the people on the street was becoming more ethnic. There are still white people around, but more and more are of Indian descent. There are of course people of other races too. The city is cosmopolitan, but this is an Indian section. That is the place where an Indian Grocery store would do the best business.

In front of the grocery, as with most stores of this type, is a parking lot. I see a woman of Indian descent get out of her car. She is the type of person I am looking for since she is wearing what I consider typical Indian apparel. She is about my age, five foot six, 140 pounds (I suppose she is slightly plump for her height) mostly straight black hair that brushed her shoulders, and dark eyes.

I walked right up to her.

"You are wearing my clothes," I told her.

She looked at me oddly for a moment before realization dawned on her. She stopped thinking it odd that a white man wouldn't be dressed in traditional Indian fashion as she was wearing.

"You have a kurta set like this?" she asked with a smile. The woman spoke English with a Hindi accent. It was obvious that although she was fluent in English, it wasn't her primary language. She assumed I owned an outfit similar to hers.

"What you are wearing belongs to me," I stated to clarify my meaning.

The woman looked down at her outfit. She didn't recognize it as her own anymore. She tried to think a way in which she could be wearing apparel that belonged to someone else. Did she pick up the wrong dry cleaning from the store? No that wasn't possible. She was wearing a casual outfit. She would never waste her money on drycleaning something like this. Maybe her laundry got mixed up in the machine. She didn't think that happened either. She didn't know how she put on apparel that didn't belong to her.

"I'm so sorry," she apologized. "It's a big mistake."

"That's OK, as long as I can have my clothes back."

"I'll go home right now and..."

"I think we should go to my house instead."

"But."

"Drive us, it's not very far."

"OK, this is so embarrassing. I don't know how it happened."

"I'm not mad. Let's just fix this."

I got into the passenger seat of her car, and she took her place in the driver's seat. I gave her directions to my house. We proceeded to my house in silence. The woman was too embarrassed to speak and too preoccupied wondering how she would be wearing someone else's apparel. She parked in front. We both exited the car. She draped her purse over he left shoulder and followed me to my door.

"Where can I change?"

"You can change right here. There's no need to be self-conscious," I instructed her.

She started by removing her scarf. She placed it on a convenient chair. Then she pulled off her long top, exposing her bra-covered breasts. Her bra was well-worn. It had shaped itself through many washings to her particular breast shape.

She had to sit down to unfasten the snaps that kept her pant legs taut around her ankles. But before she unsnapped them, she stepped out of her sandals. She had to lift her butt to pull her pants off exposing her plain white panties.

She was about to hand me her clothing when I asked, "You are wearing my underwear too?

"I'm sorry," she begged. I didn't mean to."

"Don't worry about it, but you had better give them to me also."

She reached around her back and unfastened the hooks of her bra. She then pulled the bra off her chest. her breasts sank as soon as the support disappeared. Then she pulled her panties down and stepped out of them. She was completely naked. The only shame or embarrassment she felt was that she had been wearing my clothes. Being naked before me didn't bother her at all.

She was about to hand me her clothing when I told her to "Wait."