The Highland Games

All it takes is one small idea to get me motivated to write, and this one thought delivered big time. Check out what the incoming autumn weather did to me as I wrote this all in one sitting, and check out the VIP discord to see some of the men that could pass for tonight's hero.

As soon as I stepped out of my truck, I knew that fall had finally arrived. The crisp morning air felt fresh, and I stood there for a few minutes, just breathing in the new season, before a loud yell spurred me into motion.

I have been an avid spectator here at the Highland Games for the past few years, but finally, I had decided to take the leap and enter as a participant. I was now dressed in a borrowed kilt, and though I was still getting used to the breeze getting too comfortable between my legs, I still had one hurdle left to conquer. Reaching under the tartan fabric, I gripped onto the bottom hem of my boxer briefs, and I pulled them down over my thick thighs to pool on the wet grass at my feet.

I was now a true Scotsman, and as I threw my discarded underwear onto the passenger seat and headed towards the front gate, I wondered how many men around me were experiencing the same freedom.

As I waited in line to register, every step felt like some naughty secret, but finally, it was time to focus on the actual reason that I had come here. I’d been getting into the gym more and more this past year, and I felt like this would be a fun place to show off what I’d accomplished. The festival had a competition where men could compete in a variety of tests of strengths, and I was as ready as I’d ever be.

Up first, there were the stones, each weighing more than the one beside it. One by one, I was meant to throw them over the high bar behind me, and without turning around, I was able to hear my track record based on the drunken cheers yelled at my back. Finally, as I lifted the second to last one, I heard the first groans as the stone failed to make it over by a few feet. I almost wanted to feel disappointed before turning around to see how many I had really tossed. Even better, the next man up only managed to lift two of them before tapping out.

There were a few more games next, some that I aced and some that bested me, but finally, it was time for the caber toss.

I had been here for a few hours so far, and I was now full of mead and roast chicken. The area where this event was held also hosted the local Renaissance Faire every summer, and the crossover between the two seemed hazy at times.

Stepping up to the caber, I would be granted three tries to master the event, and no man had accomplished the feat so far today. It involved lifting a giant log into the air and trying to flip it halfway around before landing parallel to how it started. Grabbing onto the caber, I wasn’t prepared for how heavy it would be, and I had nowhere near enough power to lift it. Dusting myself off, I went for my second try, and I fucking launched it with almost all of the power that I had. I already had the cheer ready in my throat when I felt my kilt fly up into the air as the log snagged onto the thick material.

“Looks like we have a true Scotsman in our midst, ladies and gentlemen!”

My face felt flushed now, and I wasn’t sure if I was blushing or just straining from all of the effort that I’d put into this. There was laughter all around me, and that really reminded me how many people were here watching, just like I had done in previous years. This last event definitely had the biggest crowd, and there were easily over one hundred people who had just seen me flash them.

Trying to push that out of my mind, I looked over at the leader board and saw that I was now in second place after the man in front of me completed his last event. If I could nail this one, then I would slide back into first place.

“Hey, I’ve got a question!”

Walking over to the judge sitting by the scoreboard, I waited for him to put the megaphone down before I asked it.

“What can I help you with?”

“Does that second lift of mine count? It got caught in my kilt.”

“Why wouldn’t it count? Once you lift it, then there is no going back.”

“I just…”

“Listen, a true Scotsman will do whatever it takes to win the tournament.”

He winked at me before uncrossing his legs to get into a new position on the high chair, and I got his message loud and clear whether I was ready to receive it or not. His loose kilt had fallen open as he adjusted, and I had a straight shot at his thick cock hanging down between his hairy thighs. This was a real man, and he wasn’t afraid to show off.

Nodding at him, I walked back over to the caber, ready to lift for my third and final attempt. Placing my hands on the log, my mind immediately replayed the last throw with my cock even more exposed than the judge’s had just been. The blush was back, and there was no denying its cause this time.

Standing back up, I turned behind me to face the crowd that seemed even bigger than it had just a minute ago.

“Hey, if my kilt goes astray again this time, are any of you going to say anything?”

A few people put their phones down as their answer, and one brave woman spoke up for the crowd.

“If you get it all the way around, then you won’t hear anything but cheers. Not a single word about anything else.”

“Good, then I guess that means you’ll be silent about this too- I want to make sure I have nothing in my way for my final throw.”

Turning back around before I lost my nerve, I decided that the prize purse was more important than my dignity. Quickly pulling at the clasps holding up my kilt, I released them and let the fabric fall around my feet just like my underwear had a few hours ago. Unlike then though, there was now nothing hiding my dignity since my shirt had gotten wedged under the lifting belt strapped around my belly.

Leaning over to grab the pole, I felt the cool air against my exposed, spread open asshole right as I heard the cheers and winces behind me. I had one chance to make this worth it, and if not, I’d be going home more embarrassed than I’d ever been in my life. A giant crowd of strangers had just seen me bend over half naked in front of them, and the motivation to vindicate myself surged through my every muscle that I had.

With a mighty grunt that turned every nearby head in my direction, I sent the caber flying into the air, and there was no fabric for it to get stuck in this time. Time seemed to slow down as the large piece of wood rotated in the air before landing on its head in the soft grass. All it needed to do was fall forward now, and by some miracle, it did.

I had won!

Turning around, I jumped up into the air as the crowd roared their praises, and the judge who had just flashed me came my way with the bag of actual cash that I had won and a tartan sash that barely fit over my broad chest.

It was only as the camera flashes made me squint that I remembered that I was still half-naked. Turning around, I tried to find where my kilt had been cast aside, but some thief had snagged it in all of the commotion.

Squeezing the bag of money in front of my crotch, I gave the judge one more handshake before running out to the field where my truck was parked…

Two Weeks Later:

“Hey man, congrats again on the big win- you going to travel to the next one to compete again.”

Hector, one of the guys on the floor below me at work, was catching up in the elevator ride up this morning, and I just smiled down at him.

“Honestly, I think I might- that prize money was worth all of the training.”

“Was it worth those photos?”

“Wait, what?”

He was getting off the elevator now, and he didn’t turn around once even though I called after him. I hadn’t told anyone here about that last, mortifying detail, and the event had happened over an hour’s drive away.

Once the elevator dinged onto my floor, I practically ran to my office to fire up my computer. Typing in the games that I’d gone to, I saw exactly what he meant. The website had just uploaded a gallery of photos, and right there on the front page, there was a barely censored photo of me. There was a blur over my face, but my entire cock was visible, lit up as if I was standing in a studio.

I looked at a few more photos, and my face was blurred in every single one… except for the last one. They had cropped the last photo at my waist, and since I wasn’t naked, they apparently thought it was okay to unblur my face here. The winner’s sash around my chest obviously matched the one in the other photos, and my secret was now out there for everyone to see.

As my phone began blowing up with messages, I really wished that I hadn’t posted the link to the games that I went to on my Instagram… everyone knew now.