I had to write this down, just for you. You're the only one who'll see it. You're the only one who'll ever believe me, besides my wife.
I promise you, every word of it actually happened.
It was a giant karaoke party on Memorial Day. I haven't worked a show for awhile, but I told my buddy that I'd take a shift at this year's party, as all his crew does. He told me that since he wanted me to handle the load-out into the van (it's at his house but he likes to keep it ready to go), I'd be taking the last shift, at midnight. I figured I'd show up at around 6, and get a few hours of partying in, so I'd be "functionally sober" for my shift, and "actually sober" for the drive home.
My wife wasn't going (she doesn't like big parties), but she told me I should definitely have fun. Her exact words were, in fact, "Have fun, and don't come home until you get laid."
This annual party has a reputation for debauchery of the highest order. I decided to wear trunks to the party, so I could hit the hot tub early, before the "Clothing-Optional" section of the party began, if I wanted. I wore my kilt over that, and a dark t-shirt with "THE DUDE ABIDES" on the front.
When I am shirtless and wearing a kilt, my confidence level increases by approximately 10,000,000%. It's like cocaine. I find this especially true now that I've got all my tattoos. I can sell anything to anyone, talk to anyone, and be anyone I want, if you just wrap a plaid runner around my waist and take my shirt off. I'm don't think I'm hot, per se, but I ain't ugly. I guess for a 42-year old, I am pretty hot. Whatever; with the kilt, I feel like a damn Sex Deity. It's my power outfit.
Oh! And my favorite accessory, and really the star of the whole story: Sildenafil. I have no shame about using a pill to get me harder than I've been in years. Hell, that pill makes my dick a fuckin' rockstar. Refractory period? Not on this drug, you don't! The wife and I have literally tapped out to my dick. It has amazing conditioning. Its stamina alone outlasted both of ours. I came twice, almost thrice, and would have kept going straight into a massive heart attack had we not stopped.
Get to the party. Do some karaoke. People had been handing me shots almost as soon as I had arrived, mostly asking questions about the kilt. I answered these questions, before 8:30, by lifting the hem and showing them my trunks. They chuckled, and mentioned "regimental" or whatnot.
By the bye: most Scotsmen actually do wear underwear or some kind of shorts under their kilts. A fair amount go commando, but they're not the rule.
After 8:30, though, they all cheered when I answered their questions. Random people, men and women, cheering when I showed them my cock, and it had the effect of making me subsequently harder each time people cheered. This made a feedback loop which did only good things to me. By 8:45, the responses became cheers, some of which switched to sounds of surprise.
