The Ceilidh
Discover 'The Ceilidh,' a captivating gay erotic sex story that unfolds in a vibrant celebration of passion and connection. Immerse yourself in this thrilling tale filled with intimate moments, desire, and unforgettable experiences. Perfect for fans of LGBTQ+ romance and erotic literature. Read more!<br/>
I was driving round Scotland together with my friend Ken who was visiting from NZ. We were staying in a B&B in a village near Perth. Down the road the ‘Big Hotel’ was advertising a ceilidh, open to non residents. The cover charge seemed reasonable and Ken was fanatical about country dancing so we just had to go.
The billing suggested that it would be smart dress so we both put on our black Argyle jackets for the occasion. Ken was in his usual McKenzie tartan kilt and I chose to wear my Dress Stewart kilt. I wasn’t actually going to wear anything underneath but Ken insisted that I wear pants since he didn’t want me to embarrass either myself or him while dancing. I thought about wearing my white CK trunks which go quite well with that tartan but he suggested that I wear the Dress Stewart tartan undertrews instead since he liked to see me in them. He thought they looked smart and they were certainly modest enough, coming well down my thigh, rather like Bermuda shorts and, since they were in the same tartan as the kilt, it was hard to tell which was kilt and which was underwear.
There was a good crowd there. I even danced quite a lot since there were the usual favourites like the Dashing White Sargent, Eightsome reel, etc which I can actually do. Since it was ceilidh dancing, one of the younger women made me burl more than I had intended but I soon got into the energetic way and was leaping about quite the thing. I noticed an elderly gent sitting at one of the side tables who kept looking at me. I was sure that it wasn’t because I was a good dancer!! He caught my eye and we smiled at each other. After one rather energetic dance he motioned Ken and myself over. He said that he liked my kilt and the unusual way it was pleated. He was quite knowledgeable and recognised the Dress Stewart tartan right away. He introduced us to his niece and Ken took her off as a partner for the next dance, leaving us sitting together.
We chatted for a bit about kilts and dancing then he said, “I hope that you don’t mind me asking a personal question, but are you wearing tartan undertrews beneath your kilt?”.
I laughed and said that I didn’t at all mind him asking. I confirmed that, yes, I was, and added that not many people nowadays would have recognised them. He told me that he couldn’t help getting a brief glimpse when my kilt swung up on the turns. I joked that it was more than a turn when the young lady ‘burled’ me round so fast! He was amused at that.
He told me that his name was Bobby and he had always worn trews under his kilts, as did most men of his generation. He had been a professional entertainer, with the specialties of highland dancing and playing the organ. He was a talented guy. It turned out that he was born in 1925 so that would have made him 80! A well preserved 80, I may say. Hope that I look as well at that age. I asked why he wasn’t still wearing a kilt and he told me that he recognised that he had lost both the figure and the legs for a kilt but he admired other men wearing them and he thought that I wore mine particularly well. I thanked him. Then, suddenly, and surprisingly, he asked if my friend Ken was gay.
“Yes,” I said, “and, before you ask, I am bi.”
“I did wonder.” And I wondered how he knew because I didn’t think of Ken as obviously gay. Perhaps those who are properly gay have a special instinct about others.
He said that he would like to have a private viewing of my trews if I didn’t object. He was staying in the hotel and I could come up to his room. I said that I would be delighted and he dispatched me to the bar to order drinks for his niece and Ken. He had a good bottle of Scotch in his room for us. He told his niece that he was going up to his room for a bit and I told Ken what was happening. Ken wasn’t very pleased not to be included.
We got to his room and settled down with our drinks. We were sitting opposite one another and I could see that he had deliberately put me in the higher chair from the desk while he was sitting in the low lounge chair.
“Open your legs a bit,” he asked and I obliged. “Very nice!” he said.
Then he asked me to cross my legs, high up. I duly flashed him a side view of thigh with the kilt pleats falling back to reveal the legs of the tartan undershorts. I was finding all this display quite arousing and a part of me was beginning to respond! I could feel it growing down the leg of my trews. I wondered if he could see the bulge of it between my legs.
I flashed him more views of my trews including standing up and doing a couple of spins so that the dark kilt pleats swung out and up, showing the white of the tartan which was normally covered with the pleats in repose, and, of course, the matching tartan shorts underneath the kilt. He was loving it. Then he asked me to stand beside him which I duly did. I felt his warm hand on my knee, then climbing my left thigh, all under my kilt and sporran which were still in place. Eventually it reached the leg of my trews.
“You don’t mind, do you?”
“Of course not, I am enjoying it. Feel free to do anything you want!”
I could feel him touching the material, one finger inside the leg opening, the other outside, rubbing the tartan between them. I could also feel my erection growing further down the leg, the same left leg that he had his finger in. I wondered when he would notice! He took his finger out of the leg and his hand felt along the front of my trews. I could feel them touch the bulge, then move away to the other side then come back to feel the outline more carefully but all with a light fingered touch. Remember that this was all going on under the kilt so I could only feel where his hand was, not see it. Much more exciting than having it all exposed! I was in the hands of an expert in arousal. Nothing was being said either. No frivolous chatting. It was all done in silence.
Well, he had felt enough and now was time to see. He asked me to turn round then lifted my kilt at the back. Lots of tartan pleats but he swept them all up quite expertly. But that needed both his hands so he couldn’t touch as well. He asked me to hold up the pleats for him then I felt his hands on my bum, squeezing the tartan covered cheeks gently then running a questing finger up and down the valley, then right through between the tops of my spread thighs, feeling all of my bulges. I was loving it! Then he wanted to see the front so I turned round and obligingly scooped up the aprons and sporran and held them high up on my chest. I could hear his intake of breath as he viewed the big expanse of Dress Stewart tartan. I could see my reflection in the mirror behind him. It is a big kilt and with me holding up the tartan it stretched all the way from shoulder level to the trews legs coming halfway down my thighs. As I looked down, the bulge of my penis was becoming quite obvious. These trews are rather tight as you can see in the photos and video. It was actually feeling uncomfortable. My sex was trying to erect upright, but still constrained downwards inside the close fitting leg of the shorts where it had been hanging when flaccid. He must have recognised the problem because he asked if I was feeling it tight, indicating the front of my trews. I said that I was. Then I saw him move his hand to the buttons on the fly front. He undid the lowest one, then the next, and, finally, the waistband. Then he put one hand in the opening and, very gently, reached down to grasp my stiffening penis. With both hands, one outside and one inside, he released it from its tight tartan prison, pulling it upright to freedom. Relief! Lowering my trews some more he reached down and pulled both the balls through as well. So that all my sex was outside the trews. Then he did a surprising thing. He pulled them up a bit and redid the top button so that the trews were more or less covering me but with cock and balls sticking out of the fly.