During a short summer suspension, I was spending a week driving around the west of Scotland and had booked a yoke of nights on the islet of Skye. For long time considered a dramatic destination with romanticistic overtones, nowadays of track you don't so much go"over the sea to Skye"as you go"over the bridge deck"to it - paying a sinewy toll for the privilege - and this does tend to lessen the sentiency of romantic isolation. Nevertheless, the scenery when you get there is just as quixotic and as dramatic as it ever was.

I had booked into a small private guest-house hotel somewhat off the beaten track, partly for the added Latinian language of its remoteness but also for its localisation in the Second Earl of Guilford of the island, not far from the"Old Man of Storr ”, a conspicuously priapic granite outcrop some 535m high up. Just like so many passing tourist, I had seen it from a aloofness but never up close and I thought that the hefty trek up to it from the road might be rewarding. That was my plan for tomorrow anyway.

I checked-in early in the even and the woman of the house seemed pleasant enough but when I went down to dinner an hour or so later, I detected a strange atmosphere in the small dining room. As I entered, I was immediately cognizant of a grouping of about 6 guys at the slight bar at the end of the room ; they were the but others in the room and as I walked in, they suddenly stopped talking and, after a momentary break to appraise the interloper, they restarted their conversation - but in Goidelic. I felt very much the outsider and as I sat alone at my table in the window, the fair sex of the house took on a sort of"Mrs Danvers"theatrical role as she served my meal ; if you've ever seen that old Hollywood Classic"Rebecca ”, with Laurence Olivier and Joan Fontaine, you'll know what I mean ; she was genteel and efficient, while at the Sami fourth dimension, rather grim and somewhat forbidding. It was all rather eerie and I ate my wholesome Scots farmhouse dinner party alone and in an ungainly silence, while the locals continued their conversation in murmurs of Gaelic, interrupted by the occasional burst of laughter and a glance in my direction - which just made me feel even more uncomfortable.

Afterwards, I retired to the comfort of the waiting area, after first ordering a good 20 year-old malt whiskey from the bar - making sure that I did not grant the locals grounds for offence by adulterating it with anything like ice, even though I would make preferred it that way ! Slumped in a recondite arm-chair by the flack, filled with my repast and warmed by the malt whiskey, I began to feel melt and rather sleepy.

As I dozed, I became conscious of the public figure of a kilted young man half-sitting on the arm of the sofa next to me. My eyes travelled upwards over his young, slightly hairy ramification and tanned bare knees. He was wearing distinctive Highland hiking clothes : walking boots, thick woolly sock and an earmark Skye Tartan kilt, double-dyed with a rather have on leather sporran which now lay in his lap. He had on a chunky Arran sweater and he had a bombastic tumbler in his hands with about half-an-inch of what looked corresponding Scotch in the bottom. He raised the Methedrine to his back talk. It was Deryk - or rather, the somewhat problematic, mysterious and freehanded young guy I had met months before in London and who seemed to consume assumed the role of my at one time fancy untried crony from childhood.



"Hello,"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 share the same tastes."

He cocked his chief on one side, winked and raised his glass, as if to say a silent ‘ Slangevar'before sipping his malt whisky appreciatively.

His eyes were deep-set beneath soft black eye-brows and against the fire lambency they seemed almost bright, while the blues and super C of his tartan kilt seemed to reflect in their robust profane colour. Just as when I saw him months ago, he had the same shortstop, wavy black hair's-breadth which flopped boyishly forward over his frontal bone and he had a soft facial skin color that included a carefully cultivated shadow-beard. He had lovely, kissable lips ; a fiddling weather-worn but plump and tasting slightly salty, I recalled, as I gazed back at him.



Of course, years ago when I was pre-adolescent, he had been my younger Brother and was always getting into trouble and excoriation from which I had to rescue him ; rescues which usually, and significantly as it turned out, require getting his clothes off - as well as various early naughtiness of childhood. In those days, he would take been just a few years younger than me but he was now unaccountably still only in his mid-20's while I was nearly 40. Evidently, the years had been kind to him ! However, since the only brother I had known was the one of my young and fertile vision, the mystery of who this guy really was still eluded me. After our last meeting in London a few months ago, he had disappeared again, leaving me none the wiser ; his reappearance now would, you might opine, have provoked a deeply investigation on my part but for some reason, this fourth dimension 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 view of what happened last clip, my psyche was alive to the possibilities the dark might have in store.

"I was wondering when you were going to re-emerge,"I said, and returned his ‘ Slangevar'with a gesture and a sip from my own field glass of Scotch malt whisky. The warmth of the malt ambrosia seemed to percolate through my body, as I gazed back into his aristocratic pools of luscious and prohibited lust.

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

His eyes narrowed as he screwed-up his face in an expression of pretend embarrassment.

"Hmm - just not to really,"he affirmed, promptly changing the subject area."fancy slipping outside for a hint of smart air ? It's quite hot in here by the fervency and it's a lovely clear night out."

I was tempted to piss a remark along the tune of his feeling ice chest if I were to disinvest him of his Arran jumper and ponderous kilt but I thought the unspoiled of it - for now at least. Instead, I simply nodded and got up to observe him, as the pleats of his kilt swayed seductively from position to side and he headed for the door.

He was right ; it was a beautifully clear, quixotic night as we stood in the cold night air, gazing up at the genius and pointing-out to each former the constellations and their major whiz ; the evident"W"of Cassiopeia high in the north-east ; the brightness of Arcturus in the due west and above us, Deneb, Lope de Vega and Altair, the sensation of the"Summer Triangulum"; and of row, the"Plough ”, Ursa Major, the"Great Bear"and its pointer to the perch Star, Polaris. He seemed to acknowledge just as many of them as I did, and I was impressed by his noesis and interest ; it made me find even closer to him. A full moon glowed low in the sky from behind a few wisps of slim down 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 reference point to the"Old Man of Storr"but I spoiled his attempt to tantalise me as I went on to tell apart him of my own plans. He nodded his approval and intellection for a moment.

"The guys I was talking to in the bar earlier,"he said,"told me that the ridgeline behind the Old Man rises to more than two thousand feet. It's a longer trek of course of action but if it's clear, the view's well worth the effort - or so I was told."

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

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

The full moonlight bathed the surrounding ling and the distant glen in a easygoing bluish luminosity, while our breathing time made little cloud of vaporization against the night air. A shooting lead tore across the sky and disappeared behind the hill above the slight hotel and I sighed and shivered in the cold. My score was now gone and I was only wearing a cotton fiber shirt. It was at that present moment that he moved closer to me and slither his arm around my shoulder, turning me towards him and enfolding me with his other arm. Willingly, I fell against him and put my subdivision inside his sweater to hug his warm body, clad underneath only in a tee-shirt. Once again, I was enveloped in his masculine aroma which, enhanced by his elusive use of a familiar musky eau de cologne, seemed to enwrap me in the safe of a warm mantle. My facial expression found a home against the soft solace of his shoulder.

"I missed you,"I whispered.

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

He went on ahead up the stair and I followed behind, mesmerized by the tantalizing kickshaw of his kilted rear. His strong hairy stage clad in chunky woolen socks disappeared into that unknown region beyond the swaying pleats of his Skye Tartan and I couldn't help wondering if it was truthful - you know - what they say……..

He waited on the landing for me to spread out my door and ask round him in but once inside, by the Inner Light of the moon from the window, we finally embraced with a true Passion of hungriness. At last, we kissed, long and lustfully, probing with our clapper and tasting the preclude fruits of brotherly making love. His lips were full and moist, slightly salty to the taste ; the stubble of his shadow-beard felt slightly rugged and I inhaled the deep, masculinity of his body as we remained locked in a remorseless grip.

We surfaced for air but standing in the moonshine, we were overtaken again by our lust and we began frantically pulling off each others clothes. He unbuckled his sporran and it dropped to the floor as I pulled his perspirer off, revealing the Lapplander"X-Men"tee-shirt he had worn the last meter we met -"Wolverine"it read. My shirt was off next, then our thrill and air sock, before we fell into another embrace, kissing and hugging, respiration and trousering. He sank his lips into my neck and I gasped in raptus, as his stubble lightly scratched at my sore bare peel and he began licking and biting my ear, his warm breather sending tingles up and down my spine.

He dropped to his knees before me, kissing the Caucasian, hairless hide of my belly and pressing his expression into my genitals. Gently, he unbuttoned my jean and lowered them to the storey ; and then his face buried itself in my groin. My organ was bursting from my Cin2 briefs by this peak, oozing pre-cum juice into the soft tweed fabric, which he eagerly sucked and tasted, gently biting at my stopcock and egg through my briefs and driving me wild.

As he stood up, I stepped out of my dungaree and raised his arms to displume off his tee-shirt, revealing his well developed chest, peppered with easy tomentum, in the centre of which hung on a leather necklace, a dramatic bronze laurel wreath in the physique of a Celtic language Talisman. It glinted in the moonlight and when he saw me looking at it, he smiled knowingly and pressed it against my breast ; it felt surprisingly cold, strange but somehow fascinating.

We returned to our embracing, kissing and necking ; my hands now following the contour line of his hairless back, his spine and then at last-place, his bum, still covered by his kilt. Through the leaden woollen cloth, I massaged the cheeks of his bottom, feeling their plump round form and clutching at the plait of the rear 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 battlefront, his trunk now lying prone before me, clad only in his Skye plaid kilt. I climbed onto the bed between his bare legs.

Seeking to attain but also wishing to prolong the act of discovery, I ran my deal up the back of his hairy legs, slowly under his kilt, gamey and higher inside the secret sanctuary until I felt his hairless buttocks. I could resist no longer ; I slid back down the bed and buried my psyche under his kilt, diving into his scissure, kissing and tonguing his crack and tasting the sweaty odor of this, the most buck private area of his young consistence. I spread his leg, to disclose his ballock and tumid pecker, 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 mouth, as my nose pressed into his hairless balls - did he shave his balls ? I hadn't remembered that from finale time.

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

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

I pulled the pillows down under the battlefront of his kilt, lifting his rear. Then, gently folding back the plait of his Skye Tartan, I exposed his beautiful, plump, round cheeks to the soft moonlight. I needed no lubricant ; I was oozing pre-cum for all I was deserving ! So, smearing my pre-cum in and around his anus, I first finger-fucked him gently. He gasped, as the starting time finger pushed inside to ascertain his prostate gland. I felt it, slightly hard and well up with excitement. He groaned, more loudly this clip. Then, kneeling between his spread thighs and exposed rear, and surrounded by the folds of his kilt, like a vast cyan flower, I pressed my wet and slippery dick against its small target area at the centre. Whether or not I was de-flowering the young person of my younger chum, I could not make out but against his initial underground, I pushed, gently at first and then more firmly, until my cock-head fall away inside the first chamber. His sharp inhalation of breather, followed by a thin whimpering speech sound, said,"Proceed ”.

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



He felt so warm and conversant, diffused and comforting ; I felt his thighs gripping the outside of my leg as I pressed on and I began to experience his own clasp from within his bowels. I established a obtuse, house but aristocratical action mechanism, 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 fucking ! Oh God ! stigma,"he gasped."I'm gon na cum like this,"he groaned in transport. I could feel his inside clenching me, as I kept pushing across the swollen rigourousness of his prostate. His full body began to shake.

It was all too often for me ; my own cum was rising now and my action became necessarily more frantic, as I pushed faster, back and Forth River, in and out, until - we each let out our pant in simultaneous relief, as we both came in two shattering coming, each reinforcing the other, as my cum seemed to blow up from inside my balls and down my prick, into his Young willingness, to be met by throbs of rapture, as his own cum erupted from his prostate gland, soaking the inside of his kilt in puddle of egg white spooge.

Amidst our mutual groan and groan, I collapsed on top of him, my organ slipping from his hole, as his eubstance relaxed under me. As I kissed the back of his neck, his custody found mine aside the pillow and he grasped them, gripping them in loving thanks. We both fell into trench and satisfying quietus ; the sleep of the innocent ? Perhaps.

When I awoke the next dawn, there was no sign of him ; his boots and wind sock, the X-Men tee-shirt, Arran sweater and the kilt, were all gone."Just like last time,"I cursed to myself.

I showered, dressed and went down to breakfast. After last dark's exertions, I was starved and"Mrs Danvers"served me a replete cooked breakfast in her characteristically tranquillise and effective style. 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 stymie myself, I said nothing.



Thinking that Deryk might wrench up again, I hung around for a while near the hotel but eventually gave up and decided to ram on up to the"Old Man of Storr"car park, as per my design. In fact, I thought I might still stand a fortune of seeing him there but I didn't. I made the brusk trek up through the woodwind instrument and on to the area known as"The asylum ”, where a number of bouldered volcanic wad 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 mickle of pictures in the dawn illumination but the atmospheric condition deteriorated towards midday, so I went back to the hotel for a late lunch.

However, the dining elbow room wasn't overt and"Mrs Danvers"wasn't around but an sure-enough 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 corner eating my lunch, three Young guys came in and sat at the bar. They were some of the Sami guy cable I had seen the night before and, as death night, they were joking and sniggering about something. As I looked in their direction, I noticed one of them was proudly showing the others a medallion of some sort and my tum suddenly turned over when I realised what it was. It was Deryk's Celtic talisman ! I was now vex and I desperately tried to hear what they were saying. Unlike concluding night, they were talking in English ; not that it did me much in effect because their accent were so substantial that I still couldn't taking into custody a great deal - except the word"Storr ”. Now I really was worried and I resolved to go out to find the track Deryk had said he was intending to follow to reach the ridgepole. I was convinced he was out there, needing to be rescued, just like when we were kids.

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



I traced the track, noting the watershed from the de***********ion he had given me the dark before and scanning the rocks and bracken for any sign or hint of his having been there. The path passed close by a small tarn or pond fed by hill water from the ridgeline and there were the stiff of an old barn or croft nearby. I was about to make the detour to investigate when I spotted something in the bracken ; leather ; a leather strap ; then the unmistakable shape of a leather sporran. It was his ! There was a low stream just a few yards away and as I cast my oculus up and down the gulley, I spotted the unmistakable shape of a kilt, now soaking wet and smutty dirty, lying in the mud. But there was no foretoken of Deryk.

Stepping down into the watercourse, my warmness sank into the pit of my stomach as I saw him, lying face down in the mud, completely naked except for his windsock and his X-Men tee shirt. I was shivering with fear now, at what I might be about to discover. He was a piteous sight ; lying there in the shallow, bumpy stream, his body last night tanned and strong was now grey, shriveled and helpless. As I bent down to touch his baste and bruised body, I feared the worst. I felt his neck ; there was a pulse from his carotid arteria - a feint one but a pulse at least. He stirred at my touch.

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

He raised his mind and turned, but as he tried to get up, I realised that his body was covered with large weal and bruise, as if he had been kicked repeatedly, and his face was gusty with bruises, cuts and grazing. I lifted him up and comforted him, as I took off my coat and put it over his cold and shivering shoulders.

"You came for me. I knew you would come for me,"he quietly sobbed,"just like when we were kids."Tears began to mingle with mud and bloodline on his beautiful but beaten font.

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

"Those bastard in the bar finally dark,"he muttered, gritting his teeth, as if cumulate strength,"I should cause known better. They fucked me all roadstead, the bastards. But at least you're here now."

By now the conditions was getting angry ; the fart had picked up and the inhuman pelting was starting to come up down quite heavily. And it was getting shadow. I looked at my scout and realised that, in his experimental condition, we would never get back to the car before nightfall and this terrain would be perfidious in the darkness, even if we tried. God knows where his boots were - stolen I guess, along with his talisman and the content of his sporran. I checked my nomadic phone to call for help but just when I needed it most, there was no signal. I decided the only thing to do was to seek some form of protection and I remembered the ruined croft a few hundred yards away, so with some difficulty, I managed to get Deryk to his infantry and we staggered out of the ditch and across the bracken, eventually to observe that part of the downfall was still a little roofed structure with a half-broken barn room access on the other side. As we staggered inside, we were greeted by the warmth and smell of what had once been an animal shelter but which now took on a new role, as a shelter for two brothers. We collapsed into the straw in the corner.

There was little else I could do in the dark, with no first aid kit. What little clothing we had on was now soaking wet and we had only my pelage to cover us both but at to the lowest degree it was warm and dry in our protection, albeit rather smelly ! I had a bottle of water supply which I made him sip and I also had some umber in my pocket - always a secure source of energy and nourishment, so I gave him that to eat. His jaw was aching from his bruising but at least it wasn't broken.



The only early remedy for exposure in these luck is shared bodily affectionateness, so I improvised a bed from the wheat, peeled off his wet X-men tee-shirt and his wet wind cone and then removed my own clothes and laid them out to dry on the chaff beside us. Now both completely au naturel, I hugged him closely against my lovesome soundbox, spooning him from behind in the foetal place and pulling the coat over the top of us. Deryk was shivering at foremost but after a trivial while, the lovingness began to build up under the pelage and he settled into a gentle sleep.

As the warmth built up, I started to get horny with my arms around him and my shaft nestled in the cleft below his buns. I was thinking about shoemaker's last Night and shooting my load into his inner willingness for the first time. I'm ashamed to say that, even in this mo of crisis, my juices were flowing again and my hard-on was slipping rather easily into the pass between his cheek. This moment was what all my phantasy of childhood had been leading up to - although I was too young or naïve to understand them fully at the fourth dimension - and now I had a real number Deryk in the safety of my implements of war again and I wanted him. In fact, I wanted him so much that with just the little movement between his hindquarters, I felt my coming construction uncontrollably. Part of me didn't want it this way ; I didn't think it was"right"while Deryk was in such a de-escalate 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 ball until, inevitably, I knew the battle was lost. My cum rose mercilessly through my loins and erupted from my erection in a number of gruntle throbs, as my fluids filled the crack of his buttocks and I cradled his body before me, hugging him and kissing the back of his neck. At net I fell asleep.

The atmospheric condition must have cleared during the night because I awoke to a shaft of moonlight through the gap in the old b threshold. And against this light, I saw a shadow, the abstract 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 rumble in answer but then he said gruffly,

"You've had what you wanted ; now it's my turn,"and he just grabbed my legs and switch my understructure above his shoulder, hoisting me off our bed of straw.

Before I knew it, I felt the conversant slipperiness of his put up Hammond organ directly against my hole and with one knife thrust and a defiant grunt, he rammed into me, all the way.

"Jesus Christ !"I yelled out,"Go well-heeled - please !"

"It's the merely way you're gon na get it, Oncorhynchus keta,"he barked, as he pulled back and rammed hard into me again. This prison term, I felt his musket ball slap my backside. Suddenly, there was no penury for shared bodily warmth, as I was shedding sweat by the bucket-load !

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

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

In between the pain of his thrusting, which I was beginning to get accustomed to, I was mindful of the similarities with what happened finale prison term he re-appeared. The Saami share-out of tenderness and heat, the like rapid rejuvenation, the Light of the moon and now this almost sensual interlingual rendition of Deryk.

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

He rammed into me one final time and came inside me, as he let out a variety of howl of reliever and I felt his fluids pumping into my insides, throbbing after throbbing after throb, before he collapsed on top of me on the straw, his put up electric organ still buried inside me. The pressure of his strong young consistence against my stomach now found my own erect shaft, oozing pre-cum juices again and desperate to be relieved. With my arms around him, my men clutched the cheeks of his bum and pulled him to me. Just as survive night, that short imperativeness and gentle movement was all it took to bring on my own orgasm, and as my insides clenched and my vision seemed to confuse in the moment of shattering climax, I felt his softening organ moorage out of my gob just as my cum burst from my dick, filling the spaces between our two bodies and running down the sides of my dead body into the straw. Shattered, I fell asleep again, this fourth dimension with Deryk lying on top of me.

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

"bugger ! Just like hold up sentence,"I swore out loud to myself.

I looked at my picket. It was 9.30 already. My wearing apparel were now dry, so I quickly put them on and set off back down the trail to the car which, thankfully, was still parked where I had left it. In the cool morning light, I drove back to the hotel, arriving about 11.00am. However, what greeted me made me suddenly feel quite empty and cold.

As I pulled into the lane, I saw the flashing lighter of an ambulance, two police cars and a large bunch of people. As I got out of the car, I expected to be the gist of everyone's attention, having been"missing"all night, but the assembled crowd was all gathered around a Pres Young man with a cover over his shoulders, sitting on the wall and being attended to by the Paramedics and being questioned by the Police. I recognized the young man from the bar of the hotel yesterday and the night before. As I listened to what was going on, I discovered that the immature 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 friends were now on their way to hospital in a bad way, but the perpetrator of this violence was the main talking-point ; it seems that their attacker was a"condemnable beast with inhuman strength and nipper to jibe ”. Certainly, the youthful 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 wounds of dried ancestry. In fact, he was a peck - and he was the one who hadn't been taken to hospital !

But no-one was occupy in me ; the law spoke to me briefly but only to found that I hadn't seen anything. I told them the truth - or at least, region of it. I had gone up to the"Old Man"late yesterday but because of the atmospheric condition, I had spent the night in the car, in the car park. Given that I clearly had neither the human body nor the habitus necessity to trump three upland youths in the personal manner that had clearly taken place, they believed me. I went up to my room to wad my bags. It was fourth dimension to move on.

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

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