Cinco De Mayo Weekend
The power of a man in a kilt...
"I think feminism is about the spirit." - Jane Fonda
This is my niece Marie Billiel, doing her own activist work in LA right now. We all do our part in our own way, mine is perhaps a tad...bawdy. This picture was taken this week, real time. Who doesn't love Jane?
Nightlife is a curious phenomenon. When I last left you I told you I had a work party to attend on Saturday, May 5th at Lake Morey Resort. I don't have much to say about the work party itself. I will say that the resort is sublime. Miles of burgeoning golf courses sitting on a beautiful lake backdrop. My room was bangin' (can I use slang here?). The resort itself hosts a great atmosphere to include an indoor pool, hot tub, spa and sauna area (NOT open after eleven pm, SHAME Princess, SHAME). It also includes a pub-style bar, dining area, and many large function rooms. The staff was fabulous and as the Princess never carries cash, there was an on-site ATM ($2.50 transaction fee) so I could leave a sum for Housekeeping staff. And even when they told the Princess "no" to all manner of spa-ness past eleven pm they did so in a professional, courteous manner. 10/10 would stay at Lake Morey again. Swanky. Before I lead you to men in kilts (wait for it) here are hotel pictures....
...wait...Naughty Princess!!! Great Bathroom lights...
So as mentioned in my previous article I left a plethora of events going on in the Upper Valley for patrons to chose from this weekend. I chose Salt Hill, West Lebanon and Windsor Station, Vermont. I had a wonderful time overall but there was an issue I encountered like no other I had experienced before.
Dating a man...in a kilt. Add a triple man bun to the loop, now you're talking no time for each other. Let me set the stage for this drama....and how a Princess had to learn (poutily so) to share the attention.....and so the story goes...
The Princess had been planning to go this work party for months. She bought the tickets, secured the room, purchased both a vegetarian and meat dish to satisfy any potential attendee. Made sure there were two large beds to define space and accordant matters. I got a suite, with a couch and television so any partner would be comfortable. We could enjoy all the luxuries Lake Morey had to offer from lake to spa, all on the generosity of a Princess (me).
The first person I asked was a dear friend of mine and he said but a yes which quickly turned to a no when slutty pursuits to Hedonism arouse (yes you read that right, swallow your coffee and put your panties on tight). Being of the non-slut shamming variety I supported his endeavors and wished him well. Secondly, I asked my sweet friend, a single gal like myself if she were interested in swanking around Lake Morey and experiencing some luxury with me and OF COURSE, it was but a remarkable yes...until a situation of a family nature arouse....and then it was a no...
What does a Princess do? In distress, I called out to everyone I knew, but it was Cinco De Mayo and calendars were booked. There was no one. I did what any well-respected Princess would. Lashed out in a keyboard fueled fit of outrage on social media and declared to the world that I would take "NO MORE".
That did not work very well. But sometimes being a keyboard warrior feels good, am I wrong?
But there was someone. He is a comfortable bold man. And he reached out in a peculiar way that I will leave to the imagination. Through this finding, I dictated to him what I wanted. I wanted my fantasy at my party. I wanted a man, in a skirt.
We worked with what he had on hand. This is a beautiful man. What we were able to create was magic. I had created sex. Walking sex. He wore a kilt, complete with monikers and cufflinks. Dress socks exposed and pulled to the knees line lingerie. White tuxedo shirt, bow tie, and jacket. What may have put this look over the edge, was his hair. Triple knotted. My god. My fantasy was alive.
I am a modern woman who operates on the theory of consent. When I crossed the threshold of my work party, those rules went out the window.
Here is Betty. She is 90. She scooped him off in five minutes and did NOT ask his permission or mine.....and I might add, we could not even cross the room at this party. There was no safe trespass. Every man and woman complimented him, told him he looked fabulous. It should have been an indication to me that the Princess was NOT the star tonight....my god...you go, Betty....Everyone wanted to know about the man in the kilt.
After (in)appropriate workplace mingles, and various ogles and curiosities were answered we left (may I add I was wearing a designer cream colored dress I ordered from Guess LA edition as well as twenty-seven inches of violet hair I made MYSELF and got zero compliments on it from my co-workers), to go check out Cinco De Mayo with the Los Fits Del Conniption Hosted by Salt hill Pub - West Leb.
My personal intentions were to pay attention to my date. Get to experience him. Tell him about my ideas for an independent publishing agency I have (web-based for struggling authors), share with him perhaps a poem. Show him parts of myself I don't allow most people to see. I wanted to be vulnerable, buy a man a drink. Dance with him in a most inappropriate way and listen to great cover music with an eclectic lively crowd. I also wanted to listen to him, in a setting where getting close is allowed.
What is a Princess to do? I created this. I asked for this. I shared him. I watched as women groped him shamelessly; I waited patiently for his photo ops. When women asked me to get next to him or talk to him; I said yes. I stood back when men also wanted attention. What is a Princess to do when every day you live a fantasy in some way because you allow yourself to do it? I shared. I let the men and women enjoy him. I stood back and had no opportune to get to appreciate him. I shared. Because it was Cinco De Mayo. Because I am kind. Because he looked happy, and I had created this. Even though a Princess is used to the spotlight, it felt nice to share. I enjoyed seeing the joy on a woman's face when he graced her with his attention.
I can imagine that. Can you? A man in a kilt, tall as ice, hair in knots, is smiling at you. Yes ladies, your welcome. To the men, you're welcome. Don't be fooled. I could not keep them off him. I kept asking him "are you ok?" as my intoxicated friends ground their hips on him and grazed his ass. He resounded YES. So I think he fared well with my type of crazy.
Not so Princess. You are with a man in a kilt. Triple man knots on his head. He is not your date. He is now the property of every woman's fantasy and everything a man admires. They will let you realize that.
seriously, look at their faces!!! I should move into men's fashion. This experience encouraged me to buy a tux. I am going to experiment. Will I get the same epic response in the Upper Valley?
just your local friendly nightlyfe doggie!
my dear friend Derrick and I. True story we went to the Grammys.
We moved our evening to Windsor. I adore Winsdor station. The setting is rustic and personal. The crowd is eclectic. One minute you are talking to the local area rap musician, the next a brewer. Fascinating. Windsor Station was hosting a karaoke night. FIVE STARS Karaoke! If you see this event posted again, I implore you to go. The DJ had a large catalog of songs. The staff at the Station is personable. Or maybe I go there too much. If you want a "Cheers" sort of atmosphere with a modern rustic ooze, then here it is. A multitude of live music. Next time you read they are hosting "Adwalla and the Uprising", you should make time for that. It is the grind your hips, sweat to your scalp, sweet love reggae we all love to dance to. Pencil that in.
Off topic...men in kilts...
Did you know when men put kilts on not only do Princesses in designer dressed disappear off the Earth, that they also become karaoke icons as well?
Yes! They do! They start their nights woo-ing Betties and end the evening in serenades. Even my handsome ex who was unexpectedly at the Station took a gander and said "wow, who did you bring David Ortiz? He is GORGEOUS!" Really? We used to screw until dawn and hate each other and you can't tell me I am pretty? And when a man in a kilt puts his arm around me and asks me what should we sing? The party is started. I know the answer is nothing. Because...well....everyone wants to sing with and dance with a man in a kilt....oh Princess...share share share.
I have to make mention here the patrons at the Station doing karaoke were great. So friendly. I felt like we were always friends. We laughed and danced all night long and yes, I shared my kilted man. uuuug. The best part of the night? Renditioning as a group over 'Piano Man'.
So I will leave you with the remainder of my pics. I will HIGHLY encourage Salt Hill, West Leb., and Windsor Station as great Cinco De Mayo Venues.
What do I have to say about my night out with a man in a kilt? .... fascinating. In a variable of ways. My kinky side had a difficult time sharing the attention I admit. But I am a giver, I love seeing people happy. I was not aware of the universal power of a beautiful well-dressed man. I dream of them; I asked for it; he gave it to me. I had to share the consequences. What is unique is that I got a personal look at the vast difference in human behavior towards a beautiful man vs. a beautiful woman. He still had a power that I do not. What he can't see is that even though it is fun to be a muse for both men and women alike, he is born with male power. Wakes up with it every day. A power given without asking. I think he inherently knew that at any moment when he wanted "no" to mean "no" it would be no.
I have to be a guarded Princess. As much as I enjoy attention, beauty, clothing I do not have his power. To some people, men and women alike my variations of "no" go unheard. I think overall I envied his freedom. His freedom to be beautiful and allow people to get so close without fear that someone may go further than he would like. I kept asking him if he "felt safe" and realized, those were probably reflections of my own worries.
Sometimes a Princess in stilettos and twenty-seven-inch hair does not get to her car safely and she should. Sometimes a Princess hears rude comments and when she bellows out that her "clothes are art!" her friends still tell her they send "the wrong message." Perhaps I was jealous of his freedom to be a beautiful wanted man, to turn that power on and off. When I can't do that myself. I can't change the mind of society where women should be bold, independent, smart, sexy, yet still modest, natural, demure. I get lost in the confusion of it.
So, men, I implore you please wear kilts, skirts, wraps, or any variation of gender blending clothes you want to wear. The response my friend got from males was apocalyptic. Do it. Be a Prince. Professional by day, skirted by night. We women love it and are waiting for it. Don't be shy.
Women, I don't know what to say to you. My god. You command respect but treated my date like meat. The Princess approves (because he did). It was Cinco De Mayo. He looked damn good. You're welcome. It was my honor to share a beautiful man with you. Guess what...from the little I did learn, he is fantastic inside his head as well. Life is amazing. People are too.
To all of us, wear the skirts, the dresses, the hair. Live the fantasy. Be your own muse. I dare you. It is going to be a wonderful summer. If you see me out, take a picture with me.
PS....please respect men in kilts, they have feelings too.
PPS...inwardly we must be horrible people. It is ok. I live in the grey area. I will say it for you.
hair and smile of the year award goes to this guy!