Dear cute kilted boy…

Dear cute kilted boy,

I have a terrible memory for things both big and small, but I remember you.

We were at a BDSM event: I knew one person there, and nobody else. But I am pretty good at flitting around, pretending to be social.

You wore a kilt. Of course I remember you. I mean, *you wore a kilt*!

You were standing with two other men, I suspect they weren’t your friends, on reflection. They looked as vanilla as the day is long, jeans and t-shirt types. And yet there you were with them. In your kilt.

I approached the three of you, but my eyes were on you. The other two were irrelevant bystanders.

You were uncertain, a little shy, younger than me by quite a bit I’d guess, though I never asked. I gushed at you. I mean… kilt! I smiled and complimented you and took your hand. You let me hold it, a little bewildered perhaps, at my intense attention.

I held your hand up and motioned for you to twirl. You did, smiling shyly. Your kilt swinging up most fetchingly. I laughed with delight. Had you twirl the other way, which didn’t go quite so smoothly, but you played along sweetly. We talked about your kilt, I was obviously enamoured with it, and you for wearing it.

I included the other two men in our conversation then. About kilts. About why they weren’t wearing them and what was wrong with them and etc. A fun and flirty conversation and they were more forward than you. They grabbed my attention with compliments on my corset and light hearted bantering. Tag teaming with me.

You drifted away. Felt excluded, I am guessing, because you were not brash or forward. A shy boy on the edge then. I’m sorry I didn’t notice and pull you back into the conversation.

Later in the evening, I saw you wandering the space alone and it was then that I realised that you were there by yourself. I caught your eye across the room and gave you a nod and an encouraging smile. You cocked your head, half-smiled back, but you didn’t come back over to talk to me. Too shy, not interested, I’m not sure.

Later and afterwards and even now, I feel a little sense of loss over it. A little sad that I didn’t get your name, the sweet shy boy brave enough to go to an event alone, rocking a kilt like nobody’s business. I would have liked to contact you afterwards just to say “Hey, you know what, you really looked amazing, and I enjoyed our chat.” No more than that, really.

I wonder if you remember me. I hope our brief encounter was as positive for you as it was for me. I hope you have someone to go to events with now, someone who loves you in that kilt, and out of it. And thank you for humouring me with such grace and sweetness.

Ferns

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6 Comments

  1. As a near full-time kilted guy, this is a warning tale. We rarely recognize opportunity when it comes in the form of chance. I would still find myself waking up at odd hours, with an undefined melancholy, if this had been I. Thanks for the view.

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