During a short summer break, I was spending a calendar week driving around the Cicily Isabel Fairfield of Scotland and had booked a couple of nighttime on the isle of Skye. For years considered a striking address with romantic overtone, nowadays of row you don't so much go"over the sea to Skye"as you go"over the span"to it - paying a sizeable toll for the exclusive right - and this does run to decrease the horse sense of wild-eyed isolation. Nevertheless, the scenery when you get there is just as romanticist and as dramatic as it ever was.

I had booked into a small individual guest-house hotel somewhat off the beaten track, partly for the added romance of its standoffishness but also for its locating in the north of the island, not far from the"Old Man of Storr ”, a conspicuously priapic granite outcrop some 535m high. Just like so many passing tourer, I had seen it from a aloofness but never up close and I thought that the healthy trek up to it from the road might be rewarding. That was my design for tomorrow anyway.

I checked-in early in the evening and the fair sex of the sign of the zodiac seemed pleasant enough but when I went down to dinner an hour or so later, I detected a strange atmosphere in the minuscule dining room. As I entered, I was immediately mindful of a group of about 6 guys at the trivial bar at the end of the room ; they were the sole others in the room and as I walked in, they suddenly stopped talking and, after a momentary pause to value the interloper, they restarted their conversation - but in Goidelic. I felt very much the outsider and as I sat alone at my board in the windowpane, the woman of the sign of the zodiac took on a sort of"Mrs Danvers"image as she served my repast ; if you've ever seen that old Hollywood Classic"Rebecca ”, with Laurence Sir Laurence Kerr Olivier and Joan Fontaine, you'll know what I mean ; she was civil and efficient, while at the Saami time, rather grim and somewhat forbidding. It was all rather eerie and I ate my wholesome Scottish farmhouse dinner party alone and in an awkward secrecy, while the topical anaesthetic continued their conversation in murmurs of Gaelic, interrupted by the occasional volley of laugh and a coup d'oeil in my counselling - which just made me find even more uncomfortable.

Afterwards, I retired to the quilt of the lounge, after first base ordering a sound 20 year-old malt whiskey from the bar - making sure that I did not chip in the locals dry land for criminal offense by adulterating it with anything like ice, even though I would take preferred it that way ! Slumped in a thick arm-chair by the fire, filled with my meal and warmed by the scotch, I began to feel mellow and rather sleepy.

As I dozed, I became conscious of the figure of a kilted Young man half-sitting on the arm of the sofa next to me. My oculus travelled upwards over his young, slightly hairy wooden leg and tanned bare articulatio genus. He was wearing distinctive Highland hiking clothes : walking boots, thick woolly socks and an appropriate Skye tartan kilt, staring with a rather break leather sporran which now lay in his lap. He had on a chunky Arran jumper and he had a large tumbler in his custody with about half-an-inch of what looked care malt whiskey in the hind end. He raised the chalk to his lips. It was Deryk - or rather, the somewhat tough, orphic and handsome Thomas Young guy I had met months before in capital of the United Kingdom and who seemed to cause assumed the role of my sometime fantasy youthful buddy from childhood.



"howdy,"he said, looking directly into my heart with his piercing gaze. Then with that winning crooked grinning of his he continued,"Glad to see we contribution the same tastes."

He cocked his head on one slope, winked and raised his chicken feed, as if to say a tacit ‘ Slangevar'before sipping his malt whisky appreciatively.

His eyes were sunken beneath soft dim eye-brows and against the flak glow they seemed almost lustrous, while the vapours and greens of his plaid kilt seemed to reflect in their rich blue colour. Just as when I saw him months ago, he had the same short, wavy black hair which flopped boyishly forward over his forehead and he had a soft nervus facialis complexion that included a carefully cultivated shadow-beard. He had lovely, kissable lips ; a little weather-worn but plump and tasting slightly salty, I recalled, as I gazed back at him.



Of course, old age ago when I was pre-adolescent, he had been my younger brother and was always getting into trouble and scrapes from which I had to rescue him ; rescues which usually, and significantly as it turned out, tortuous getting his wearing apparel off - as well as assorted early naughtiness of childhood. In those days, he would have been just a few days younger than me but he was now unaccountably still only in his mid-20's while I was nearly 40. Evidently, the eld had been variety to him ! However, since the solitary brother I had known was the one of my young and fecund resource, the mystery of who this guy really was still eluded me. After our last meeting in London a few calendar month ago, he had disappeared again, leaving me none the wiser ; his reappearance now would, you might think, have provoked a deeper investigation on my part but for some reason, this time I just accepted his being there. He was after all, fucking gorgeous and I fancied him like no-one else I had known. And in panorama of what happened last time, my brain was alive to the hypothesis the night might have got in store.

"I was wondering when you were going to reappear,"I said, and returned his ‘ Slangevar'with a gesture and a sip from my own methamphetamine of scotch. The warmth of the malt liquor ambrosia seemed to sink in through my body, as I gazed back into his down in the mouth pools of scrumptious and forbidden lust.

"I suppose I shouldn't ask what actually happened back at the park toilets that nighttime - you know, after you vanished ?"I said.

His eyes narrowed as he screwed-up his face in an reflection of make-believe embarrassment.

"Hmm - well not to really,"he affirmed, promptly changing the subject."fantasy slipping away for a breath of fresh air ? It's quite hot in here by the fire and it's a endearing top night out."

I was tempted to take a crap a comment along the lines of his touch cooler if I were to divest him of his Arran sweater and heavy kilt but I thought the near of it - for now at least. Instead, I simply nodded and got up to follow him, as the pleats of his kilt swayed seductively from face to side and he headed for the door.

He was right ; it was a beautifully discharge, romantic night as we stood in the cold night air, gazing up at the stars and pointing-out to each other the configuration and their major stars ; the apparent"W"of Cassiopeia highschool in the northeast ; the brightness of Arcturus in the west and above us, Deneb, Vega and Altair, the headliner of the"Summer trigon"; and of row, the"Plough ”, Ursa Major, the"Great Bear"and its arrow to the Pole ace, pole star. He seemed to tell apart just as many of them as I did, and I was impressed by his knowledge and stake ; it made me feel even closer to him. A full moon glowed low in the sky from behind a few wisps of thin cloud. An owl hooted.

"What are you planning tomorrow ?"he asked,"Have you seen the Old Man yet ?"

He was hoping I would misunderstand his ambiguous citation to the"Old Man of Storr"but I spoiled his effort to fluff me as I went on to separate him of my own plans. He nodded his blessing and thought for a moment.

"The cat I was talking to in the bar earlier,"he said,"told me that the ridge behind the Old Man rises to more than two thousand foundation. It's a longer trek of grade but if it's clear-cut, the survey's well worth the try - or so I was told."

He went on to delineate the rather hazardous track they had told him to take from the road instead of following the established tourer path up to the Old Man. He dismissed my protestations that it sounded treacherous.

"fountainhead, that's what I thought I would do, at any rate,"he finally asserted.

The full moon bathed the surrounding heather and the distant glen in a soft bluish light, while our breather made little clouds of vapour against the night air. A shooting star torus across the sky and disappeared behind the James Jerome Hill above the little hotel and I sighed and shivered in the cold. My Scotch was now gone and I was only wearing a cotton fiber shirt. It was at that moment that he moved closer to me and slid his arm around my shoulder, turning me towards him and enfolding me with his early arm. Willingly, I fell against him and put my arms inside his sweater to hug his warm body, clad underneath only in a tee-shirt. Once again, I was enveloped in his masculine scent which, enhanced by his subtle use of a comrade musky Koln, seemed to enwrap me in the safety device of a warm mantle. My face found a home against the balmy comfort of his shoulder.

"I missed you,"I whispered.

"I think it's time we went to bed, don't you ?"he said.

He went on ahead up the stairs and I followed behind, mesmerized by the tantalizing dainty of his kilted tail. His strong hairy legs clad in chunky woollen drogue disappeared into that stranger area beyond the swaying plait of his Skye tartan and I couldn't aid wondering if it was rightful - you know - what they say……..

He waited on the landing place for me to open my door and tempt him in but once inside, by the light of the moon from the window, we finally embraced with a lawful passion of longing. At last, we kissed, long and lustfully, probing with our tongue and tasting the forbidden fruits of brotherly beloved. His brim were full and moist, slightly salty to the gustatory perception ; the stubble of his shadow-beard felt slightly rugged and I inhaled the deep, masculinity of his physical structure as we remained locked in a remorseless grip.

We surfaced for air but standing in the moonlight, we were overtaken again by our luxuria and we began frantically pulling off each others dress. He unbuckled his sporran and it dropped to the floor as I pulled his sweater off, revealing the same"X-Men"tee-shirt he had worn the last time we met -"Michigander"it interpret. My shirt was off adjacent, then our thrill and windsock, before we fell into another embracement, kissing and snuggling, ventilation and panting. He sank his lip into my neck and I gasped in ecstasy, as his husk lightly scratched at my raw bare peel and he began licking and biting my ear, his warm breath sending tingles up and down my spine.

He dropped to his articulatio genus before me, kissing the tweed, hairless pelt of my belly and pressing his typeface into my crotch. Gently, he unbuttoned my blue jean and lowered them to the floor ; and then his face buried itself in my groin. My Hammond organ was bursting from my Cin2 briefs by this full stop, oozing pre-cum juices into the soft Elwyn Brooks White cloth, which he eagerly sucked and tasted, gently biting at my cock and Ball through my Jockey shorts and driving me wild.

As he stood up, I stepped out of my dungaree and raised his subdivision to take out off his tee-shirt, revealing his well developed chest, peppered with soft tomentum, in the centre of which hung on a leather necklace, a dramatic bronze medallion in the shape of a Celtic talisman. It glinted in the moonshine and when he saw me looking at it, he smiled knowingly and pressed it against my chest ; it felt surprisingly cold, foreign but somehow fascinating.

We returned to our embrace, kissing and smooching ; my hands now following the contours of his hairless back, his pricker and then at live, his bum, still covered by his kilt. Through the profound woolen material, I massaged the buttock of his underside, feeling their plump unit of ammunition SHAPE and clutching at the pleat of the back of his kilt. I pushed him backwards across the floor, until he fell onto the bed. But sensing what I wanted to do, he immediately rolled over onto his forepart, his dead body now lying prone before me, clad only in his Skye tartan kilt. I climbed onto the bed between his bare legs.

Seeking to observe but also wishing to prolong the act of discovery, I ran my hands up the backbone of his hairy legs, slowly under his kilt, higher and higher inside the undercover sanctuary until I felt his hairless prat. I could resist no longer ; I slid back down the bed and buried my head under his kilt, diving into his cleft, kissing and tonguing his crack and tasting the sweaty odour of this, the most private area of his untested consistency. I spread his legs, to discover his balls and erect cock, trapped by his kilt and pressed firmly against the bed and down between his legs. His cock-head was already exposed and moist ; I licked it in a circular motion, before taking it fully into my rima oris, as my nose pressed into his hairless Lucille Ball - did he shave his musket ball ? I hadn't remembered that from last time.

He was groaning and writhing against the bed, clutching at the pillow in pleasance at his rimming.

"Do it, Mark,"he groaned,"You know you want to ……. please."

I pulled the pillows down under the front of his kilt, lifting his rear. Then, gently folding back the pleats of his Skye Tartan, I exposed his beautiful, plump, round cheeks to the soft Moon. I needed no lubricant ; I was oozing pre-cum for all I was worth ! So, smearing my pre-cum in and around his anus, I first finger-fucked him gently. He gasped, as the first digit pushed inside to feel his prostate. I felt it, slightly hard and swollen with excitement. He groaned, more loudly this meter. Then, kneeling between his spread thighs and exposed rear, and surrounded by the plica of his kilt, like a immense blue-green flower, I pressed my wet and slippery tool against its pocket-sized target at the centre. Whether or not I was de-flowering the younker of my younger brother, I could not know but against his initial resistivity, I pushed, gently at first and then more firmly, until my cock-head slipped inside the starting time chamber. His sharp intake of breathing time, followed by a slight whimpering sound, said,"Proceed ”.

"Oh God !"he exclaimed into the pillow, as I pushed beyond the next barrier, into his inner sanctum.



He felt so quick and familiar, diffuse and comforting ; I felt his thighs gripping the outside of my ramification as I pressed on and I began to feel his own clinch from within his bowel. I established a slow, firm but appease action, pushing fully into him and then slowly pulling almost all the way out, but not quite, then in again, back and forth, back and forth.

"Oh screwing ! Oh God ! Mark,"he gasped."I'm gon na cum like this,"he groaned in disco biscuit. I could feel his inside clenching me, as I kept pushing across the swollen-headed hardness of his prostate. His entire body began to shake.

It was all too much for me ; my own cum was rising now and my action became necessarily more frantic, as I pushed faster, back and forth, in and out, until - we each let out our gasps in simultaneous relief, as we both came in two shattering orgasm, each reinforcing the other, as my cum seemed to break loose from inside my balls and down my shaft, into his Pres Young willingness, to be met by throb of XTC, as his own cum erupted from his prostate, soaking the inside of his kilt in pools of T. H. White spooge.

Amidst our reciprocal groan and moan, I collapsed on top of him, my organ slipping from his cakehole, as his body relaxed under me. As I kissed the back of his neck, his handwriting found mine aside the pillow and he grasped them, gripping them in loving thanks. We both fell into deep and cheering eternal sleep ; the sleep of the innocent ? Perhaps.

When I awoke the next morning, there was no star sign of him ; his boots and socks, the X-Men tee-shirt, Arran perspirer and the kilt, were all gone."Just like terminal metre,"I cursed to myself.

I showered, dressed and went down to breakfast. After last Night's exertion, I was edacious and"Mrs Danvers"served me a full cooked breakfast in her characteristically lull and efficient manner. I wanted to ask where he was but I had realised that I didn't actually know that he was staying in the hotel ; I had only assumed it and as I didn't want to blockade myself, I said nothing.



Thinking that Deryk might turn up again, I hung around for a piece near the hotel but eventually gave up and decided to force back on up to the"Old Man of Storr"car parking area, as per my program. In fact, I thought I might still stand a hazard of seeing him there but I didn't. I made the suddenly trek up through the Sir Henry Joseph Wood and on to the area known as"The refuge ”, where a number of rocky volcanic plugs stand majestically and somewhat mystically in the almost lunar landscape."The Old Man of Storr"is the biggest and most impressive of them all. I had been taking lots of word picture in the morning light but the weather deteriorated towards noon, so I went back to the hotel for a late lunch.

However, the dining room wasn't surface and"Mrs Danvers"wasn't around but an older guy was behind the bar - probably"Mr Danvers"- and he served me a Scotch and a micro-waved pastie with rather less discreetness than his forbidding wife ! While I sat with my drink in the turning point eating my dejeuner, three unseasoned guy cable came in and sat at the bar. They were some of the same hombre I had seen the dark before and, as last night, they were joking and sniggering about something. As I looked in their steering, I noticed one of them was proudly showing the others a medal of some sort and my tummy suddenly turned over when I realised what it was. It was Deryk's Celtic Talisman ! I was now interest and I desperately tried to hear what they were saying. Unlike live night, they were talking in English ; not that it did me much full because their dialects were so strong that I still couldn't catch very much - except the password"Storr ”. Now I really was worried and I resolved to go out to witness the course Deryk had said he was intending to postdate to reach out the ridge. I was convinced he was out there, needing to be rescued, just like when we were kids.

With some difficulty, I eventually found the other itinerary some way south of the car Park and leading up from the road. By now though, clip was getting on and the weather was already starting to close-in. It was grey-headed and cold and the first spots of rain were falling. But I wrapped-up and set off, undeterred and even more certain that he was there, somewhere.



I traced the itinerary, noting the landmark from the de***********ion he had given me the Night before and scanning the rock 'n' roll and bracken for any signboard or clue of his having been there. The way passed closing by a pocket-size tarn or pond fed by hill water from the ridge and there were the remains of an old barn or croft nearby. I was about to puddle the detour to inquire when I spotted something in the bracken ; leather ; a leather strap ; then the apparent shape of a leather sporran. It was his ! There was a lowly stream just a few yards away and as I cast my optic up and down the gulley, I spotted the unmistakable shape of a kilt, now soaking wet and filthy dirty, lying in the mud. But there was no sign of Deryk.

Stepping down into the current, my kernel sank into the pit of my tum as I saw him, lying grimace down in the mud, completely naked except for his wind cone and his X-Men tee shirt. I was shivering with fear now, at what I might be about to pick up. He was a pitiful sight ; lying there in the shoal, bouldery stream, his physical structure finish night tanned and strong was now grey, shriveled and incapacitated. As I bent down to tint his baste and bruised trunk, I feared the worst. I felt his cervix ; there was a heartbeat from his carotid artery - a feint one but a pulse at least. He stirred at my touch.

"Mark ?"he murmured,"Is that you ?"

He raised his psyche and turned, but as he tried to get up, I realised that his body was covered with large wale and bruise, as if he had been kicked repeatedly, and his human face was bouffant with bruises, baseball swing and grazes. I lifted him up and comforted him, as I took off my coat and put it over his coldness and shivering shoulders.

"You came for me. I knew you would hail for me,"he quietly sobbed,"just like when we were kids."Tears began to mix with mud and blood on his beautiful but puzzle facial expression.

"Who did this to you ?"I asked, as I used my handkerchief to wipe the mud from his face.

"Those whoreson in the bar stopping point dark,"he muttered, gritting his teeth, as if gathering strength,"I should have known better. They fucked me all roads, the love child. But at to the lowest degree you're here now."

By now the weather was getting tempestuous ; the wind had picked up and the cold rain was starting to derive down quite heavily. And it was getting dark. I looked at my sentinel and realised that, in his condition, we would never get back to the car before nightfall and this terrain would be treacherous in the wickedness, even if we tried. God knows where his boots were - stolen I guess, along with his amulet and the depicted object of his sporran. I checked my mobile phone to call for help but just when I needed it to the highest degree, there was no signal. I decided the only thing to do was to seek some kind of tax shelter and I remembered the ruined croft a few one C yards away, so with some difficultness, I managed to get Deryk to his feet and we staggered out of the ditch and across the pasture brake, eventually to discover that part of the ruin was still a pocket-sized roofed anatomical structure with a half-broken b door on the former side. As we staggered inside, we were greeted by the lovingness and smell of what had once been an carnal protection but which now took on a new role, as a shelter for two brothers. We collapsed into the stalk in the corner.

There was niggling else I could do in the nighttime, with no low gear aid kit. What little clothing we had on was now soaking wet and we had only my coat to incubate us both but at least it was tender and dry in our shelter, albeit rather smelly ! I had a bottleful of weewee which I made him sip and I also had some chocolate in my pocket - always a unspoilt source of get-up-and-go and nutriment, so I gave him that to eat. His jaw was aching from his bruising but at to the lowest degree it wasn't broken.



The only early remediation for pic in these setting is shared bodily affectionateness, so I improvised a bed from the straw, peeled off his wet X-men tee-shirt and his wet socks and then removed my own clothes and laid them out to dry on the straw beside us. Now both completely defenseless, I hugged him closely against my lovesome consistence, spooning him from behind in the foetal military position and pulling the coat over the top of us. Deryk was shivering at starting time but after a slight patch, the warmth began to build up under the coating and he settled into a blue sleep.

As the warmth built up, I started to get horny with my branch around him and my cock nestled in the crack below his fundament. I was thinking about last dark and shooting my load into his interior willingness for the first meter. I'm ashamed to say that, even in this consequence of crisis, my succus were flowing again and my erection was slipping rather easily into the gap between his buttocks. This here and now was what all my fantasies of puerility had been leading up to - although I was too offspring or naïve to understand them fully at the time - and now I had a substantial Deryk in the base hit of my coat of arms again and I wanted him. In fact, I wanted him so much that with just the slightest crusade between his buttocks, I felt my orgasm edifice uncontrollably. contribution of me didn't want it this way ; I didn't think it was"decent"while Deryk was in such a weakened state. But I didn't enter him though ; I couldn't - I shouldn't - do that ; not here, not now. Even so, my orgasm was still rising in my balls until, inevitably, I knew the battle was lost. My cum rose mercilessly through my loins and erupted from my erection in a identification number of gentle throbs, as my fluids filled the chap of his backside and I cradled his physical structure before me, hugging him and kissing the spine of his neck. At lowest I fell asleep.

The weather must have cleared during the dark because I awoke to a shaft of moonlight through the gap in the old barn door. And against this light, I saw a shadow, the lineation at least, of Deryk, on his articulatio genus astride my body.



"You seem to have recovered alright,"I ventured, in the half-light. He seemed to growl in response but then he said gruffly,

"You've had what you wanted ; now it's my turn of events,"and he just grabbed my legs and confound my feet above his articulatio humeri, hoisting me off our bed of straw.

Before I knew it, I felt the familiar slipperiness of his erect organ directly against my muddle and with one thrust and a defiant grunt, he rammed into me, all the way.

"Savior !"I yelled out,"Go easy - please !"

"It's the only way you're gon na get it, chum,"he barked, as he pulled back and force hard into me again. This time, I felt his nut slap my rear end. Suddenly, there was no want for shared bodily warmth, as I was shedding sweat by the bucket-load !

"Fuck me !"I found myself shouting, more in hurt than as a request. But he quickly fired back, in speech rhythm to his ramming into me,

"That's…..exactly……what I'm……..doing !"

In between the bother of his jabbing, which I was beginning to get accustomed to, I was aware of the similarity with what happened last meter he re-appeared. The Saame share-out of fondness and passion, the same rapid rejuvenation, the light of the moon and now this almost sensual version of Deryk.

"Besides…….you like it…….really……..oh diddly ! ... ... ..Oh fu…. !"

He rammed into me one final time and came inside me, as he let out a form of howl of relief and I felt his fluids pumping into my insides, throb after throbbing after pounding, before he collapsed on top of me on the straw, his set up organ still buried inside me. The pressure level of his inviolable vernal body against my venter now found my own erect cock, oozing pre-cum juice again and desperate to be relieved. With my sleeve around him, my hands clutched the boldness of his bum and pulled him to me. Just as last night, that fiddling atmospheric pressure and gentle drift was all it took to bring on my own orgasm, and as my insides clenched and my imagination seemed to obnubilate in the moment of shattering climax, I felt his softening organ slip out of my hole just as my cum burst from my dick, filling the spaces between our two dead body and running down the sides of my body into the straw. Shattered, I fell asleep again, this meter with Deryk lying on top of me.

I awoke to sunlight streaming into an vacate barn. I sat up. There was a dull ache emanating from my backside and Deryk was gone again.

"sod ! Just like stopping point metre,"I swore out cheap to myself.

I looked at my watch. It was 9.30 already. My clothes were now dry, so I quickly put them on and set off back down the lead to the car which, thankfully, was still parked where I had left it. In the aplomb good morning Christ Within, I drove back to the hotel, arriving about 11.00am. However, what greeted me made me suddenly feel quite abandon and cold.

As I pulled into the lane, I saw the flashing light source of an ambulance, two police cars and a large crowd of people. As I got out of the car, I expected to be the center of attention of everyone's aid, having been"missing"all night, but the assemble crowd was all gathered around a young man with a blanket over his shoulders, sitting on the bulwark and being attended to by the paramedical and being questioned by the Police. I recognized the youth man from the bar of the hotel yesterday and the night before. As I listened to what was going on, I discovered that the offspring man and two of his friends had been out for an early morn walk on the moor not far from the hotel when they had been viciously attacked. His two booster were now on their way to hospital in a bad way, but the perpetrator of this fury was the main talking-point ; it seems that their attacker was a"evil wolf with inhuman strength and claw to twin ”. Certainly, the vernal man in the blanket looked as if he had been heavily beaten and scratched. His clothes, or what remained of them, were torn and filthy and one side of his face bore patched combat injury of dry blood. In fact, he was a mess - and he was the one who hadn't been taken to hospital !

But no-one was interested in me ; the Police spoke to me briefly but only to build that I hadn't seen anything. I told them the truth - or at least, part of it. I had gone up to the"Old Man"late yesterday but because of the weather, I had spent the Nox in the car, in the car parking area. Given that I clearly had neither the physique nor the build requisite to best three upland youths in the fashion that had clearly taken spot, they believed me. I went up to my way to wad my bags. It was time to actuate on.

But there, lying on the pillow, was Deryk's Celtic Talisman………..

( PS ) If anyone out there likes my `` Deryk '' stories, perhaps you 'd like to hint how I should develop him - constructive commentary, please !