Men in Kilts

Now Possums, does it sometimes happen to you that aspects of your life seem to follow a theme? …unrelated incidents suddenly become connected by a common thread.

A theme for me currently is men in kilts. It’s astonishing! It started on Oaks Day last November. For those of you who are not from Melbourne, Oaks Day is part of the Melbourne Cup horse racing carnival. It’s the official Ladies Day. A chance to don your heels and get out the bling-bling. On this particular Oaks Day I did just that.

I haven’t worn high heels since my teenage days, when I wore 11cm velvet stilettos and went to blue-light discos. I used to be able to dance all night in those ridiculous shoes. The ones I wore on Oaks Day were a comparatively modest 8cm, but by the end of the day I had pressure sores on the balls of my feet and the pain had to be experienced to be believed. But despite the pain, I ventured onwards to the The Bar in central Melbourne after the days racing.

The Bar was crowded with race goers and the atmosphere was friendly and chatty. It was here that I noticed a man in a kilt standing talking with a large group of his mates who all wore traditional suits. In my high heels I was almost as tall as him. He had a lovely face and friendly eyes. I stopped, momentarily transfixed by his gaze, then recovered myself. Glancing downwards to his kilted regions I said, so is it true? He followed my gaze then and with a cheeky grin just started to roll part of the kilt up his thigh, until it was obvious to me and all others who had stopped to watch that there was no undie-line there, no sign at all!

I hadn’t expected this! The thought of it all just hanging there in the breeze caught me off guard, and I exclaimed, What! Nothing? in rather an astonished, high pitched voice. Very uncool, possums, I know, but I was a bit beside myself at this stage and still in pain. He replied in a thick Scottish accent, Noo not Nothing! There’s dick and balls there lassy! I gaped at him (only for a split second) then recovered myself enough to laugh and make a lame remark like, Well, Thanks I always did wonder… before heading off to join my girlfriends.

A friend has since told me that I got what I deserved, asking a pissed up Scotsman what was under his kilt…

I was at a conference in Adelaide later that month. It was a five day conference and the schmoozing wears me out, so I have a policy these days of having a break alone in a peaceful place to recoup, text friends and put in a call home. In Adelaide I found a beautiful spot under a tree on the banks of the river. The first day I was on the phone to my cosmopolitan friend, D, who now lives in Sydney, when I was struck by the most astonishing vision. A man with a beautiful torso and long flowing hair sped by me on roller blades, wearing nothing but a kilt! Now you know possums that I now know all about kilts! I stopped mid conversation to watch him approach, pass me and then skate out of sight with rhythmic motion and fluid, athletic movements. Let your imagination linger there for a moment, possums…

On each of the five days I returned to the same spot, and at exactly the same time on every day, this beautiful man returned to skate… skate… skate… past me wearing nothing but a kilt.

But that’s not all! Driving home from The Jazz Club the night I mentioned previously in ‘Seeking Older Women‘, we picked up two girlfriends who had been to an Irish pub around the corner and the four of us shared the taxi fare. These two women had met a kilted man at Paddy McGee’s and proceeded to tell us about their encounter. They had asked him the question directly.

This particular Scotsman did not have the decorum of my one at the The Bar, because he raised his kilt and held it there for the women, who stood there like roos in headlights aghast at his full frontal exposure. The women had recovered completely of course by the time they recounted the story to us. The lingering fascination they had was with the size of his schlong. Honestly, it hung down to his knees. Have you ever seen a flaccid one that long? they asked us. No we hadn’t. So now we’re all wondering if there is such a thing as prosthetic extensions, or whether he was the genuine article… Men in Kilts.