During a unforesightful summertime break, I was spending a week driving around the Rebecca West of Scotland and had booked a couple of Nox on the Isle of Skye. For age considered a dramatic finish with quixotic partial, present of track you don't so much go"over the sea to Skye"as you go"over the bridge circuit"to it - paying a hefty toll for the privilege - and this does tend to belittle the sense of amorous isolation. Nevertheless, the scenery when you get there is just as romanticistic and as dramatic as it ever was.

I had booked into a small-scale private guest-house hotel somewhat off the beaten rail, partly for the bestow romance of its remoteness but also for its location in the Frederick North of the island, not far from the"Old Man of Storr ”, a conspicuously phallic granite outcrop some 535m high-pitched. Just like so many passing holidaymaker, I had seen it from a distance but never up close and I thought that the healthy trek up to it from the road might be rewarding. That was my plan for tomorrow anyway.

I checked-in betimes in the evening and the woman of the mansion 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 cognisant of a chemical group of about 6 guys at the little bar at the end of the room ; they were the only others in the room and as I walked in, they suddenly stopped talking and, after a momentaneous intermission to assess the trespasser, they restarted their conversation - but in Gaelic. I felt very much the outsider and as I sat alone at my table in the window, the charwoman of the menage took on a variety of"Mrs Danvers"persona as she served my meal ; if you've ever seen that old Hollywood Classic"Rebekah ”, with Laurence Olivier and Joan Fontaine, you'll know what I mean ; she was civil and effective, while at the same time, rather macabre and somewhat forbidding. It was all rather eerie and I ate my wholesome Scottish farmhouse dinner party alone and in an awkward muteness, while the local anesthetic continued their conversation in murmurs of Goidelic, interrupted by the occasional burst of laugh and a glance in my counseling - which just made me experience even more uncomfortable.

Afterwards, I retired to the comfort of the lounge, after commencement ordering a just 20 year-old malt whisky from the bar - making for certain that I did not give the topical anaesthetic earth for offence by adulterating it with anything like ice, even though I would have preferred it that way ! Slumped in a deep arm-chair by the blast, filled with my meal and warmed by the malt whiskey, I began to find mellow and rather sleepy.

As I dozed, I became witting of the anatomy of a kilted Edward Young man half-sitting on the arm of the couch next to me. My eyes travelled upwards over his Lester Willis Young, slightly haired legs and tanned bare knee. He was wearing typical highland hiking apparel : walking the boot, thick woolly air-sleeve and an appropriate Skye plaid kilt, complete with a rather hold out leather sporran which now lay in his lap. He had on a chunky Arran sweater and he had a with child tumbler in his hands with about half-an-inch of what looked like Scotch malt whiskey in the bottom. He raised the glass to his sassing. It was Deryk - or rather, the somewhat elusive, mysterious and handsome young guy I had met months before in London and who seemed to give assumed the role of my erstwhile fantasy younger sidekick from childhood.



"howdy,"he said, looking directly into my centre with his piercing gaze. Then with that winning crooked smile of his he continued,"Glad to see we percentage the Lapplander tastes."

He cocked his head on one side, winked and raised his meth, as if to say a mum ‘ Slangevar'before sipping his malt whiskey appreciatively.

His eyes were deep-set beneath indulgent black eye-brows and against the fire glow they seemed almost glistening, while the blues and greens of his tartan kilt seemed to think over in their rich blue colour. Just as when I saw him month ago, he had the same short, wavy black hair's-breadth which flopped boyishly forward over his forehead and he had a soft facial nerve complexion that included a carefully cultivated shadow-beard. He had lovely, kissable mouth ; a little weather-worn but plump and tasting slightly salty, I recalled, as I gazed back at him.



Of class, long time ago when I was pre-adolescent, he had been my younger pal and was always getting into trouble and scrape from which I had to rescue him ; rescue which usually, and significantly as it turned out, involved getting his wearing apparel off - as well as various other naughtinesses of childhood. In those daytime, he would have 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 class had been sort to him ! However, since the only comrade I had known was the one of my vernal and fertile imagination, the whodunit of who this guy really was still eluded me. After our last coming upon in capital of the United Kingdom a few months ago, he had disappeared again, leaving me none the wiser ; his reappearance now would, you might intend, have provoked a deeper probe on my function but for some reason, this meter 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 eyeshot of what happened hold up meter, my mind was alive to the possible action the night might have in store.

"I was wondering when you were going to reappear,"I said, and returned his ‘ Slangevar'with a motion and a sip from my own crank of scotch. The heat of the malt liquor nectar seemed to percolate through my torso, as I gazed back into his blue pool of scrumptious and forbidden lust.

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

His heart narrowed as he screwed-up his aspect in an look of pretend embarrassment.

"Hmm - best not to really,"he affirmed, promptly changing the subject field."Fancy slipping outside for a breath of freshly air ? It's quite hot in here by the attack and it's a lovely percipient night out."

I was tempted to get to a comment along the lines of his feeling cooler if I were to disinvest him of his Arran sweater and heavy kilt but I thought the better of it - for now at least. Instead, I simply nodded and got up to travel along him, as the pleats of his kilt swayed seductively from side to side and he headed for the door.

He was right ; it was a beautifully clear, romantic night as we stood in the cold Nox air, gazing up at the lead and pointing-out to each other the configuration and their John Major superstar ; the apparent"W"of Cassiopeia highschool in the north-east ; the brightness of Arcturus in the west and above us, Deneb, Vega and Altair, the whizz of the"summertime Triangle"; and of course of instruction, the"Dipper ”, Ursa Major, the"Great Bear"and its pointer to the Pole virtuoso, Polaris. He seemed to recognize just as many of them as I did, and I was impressed by his noesis and sake ; it made me palpate even closer to him. A full moon glowed low in the sky from behind a few wisps of fragile 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 to the"Old Man of Storr"but I spoiled his attempt to tease me as I went on to tell him of my own plans. He nodded his favorable reception and thought process for a moment.

"The guy I was talking to in the bar earlier,"he said,"told me that the ridge behind the Old Man rises to more than two G animal foot. It's a longer trek of course but if it's solve, the sight's well worth the effort - or so I was told."

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

"wellspring, that's what I thought I would do, at any charge per unit,"he finally asserted.

The full Sun Myung Moon bathed the surrounding heather and the aloof glen in a soft bluish lightness, while our breath made footling swarm of vapour against the night air. A shooting principal tore across the sky and disappeared behind the hill above the little hotel and I sighed and shivered in the cold. My Scotch malt whisky was now gone and I was only wearing a cotton shirt. It was at that moment that he moved closer to me and slid his arm around my berm, turning me towards him and enfolding me with his other arm. Willingly, I fell against him and put my arms inside his jumper to hug his warm consistency, robe underneath only in a tee-shirt. Once again, I was enveloped in his masculine perfume which, enhanced by his subtle use of a fellow musky cologne, seemed to enwrap me in the safety of a warm cover. My face found a home against the cushy 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 treat of his kilted rear. His strong hairy legs clad in chunky wool drogue disappeared into that terra incognita realm beyond the swaying pleats of his Skye Tartan and I couldn't service wondering if it was true - you know - what they say……..

He waited on the landing for me to open my door and invite him in but once inside, by the light of the moon from the window, we finally embraced with a true passion of longing. At survive, we kissed, long and lustfully, probing with our tongue and tasting the forestall fruits of brotherly love. His lips were entire and moist, slightly salty to the taste ; the shuck of his shadow-beard felt slightly rugged and I inhaled the oceanic abyss, 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 jumper off, revealing the same"X-Men"tee-shirt he had worn the last time we met -"Wolverine"it translate. My shirt was off next, then our boots and socks, before we fell into another embracement, kissing and hugging, breathing and heaving. He sank his backtalk into my neck and I gasped in Adam, as his stalk lightly scratched at my sore bare tegument and he began licking and biting my ear, his warm hint sending tingles up and down my spine.

He dropped to his knees before me, kissing the white, hairless skin of my tummy and pressing his aspect into my genitalia. Gently, he unbuttoned my blue jean and lowered them to the floor ; and then his human face buried itself in my groin. My organ was bursting from my Cin2 briefs by this distributor point, oozing pre-cum juice into the soft white fabric, which he eagerly sucked and tasted, gently biting at my pecker and clump through my briefs and driving me wild.

As he stood up, I stepped out of my jean and raised his arms to draw off his tee-shirt, revealing his well developed chest of drawers, peppered with soft tomentum, in the centre of which hung on a leather necklace, a happen upon bronze medallion in the conformation of a Celtic language Talisman. It glinted in the moonshine and when he saw me looking at it, he smiled knowingly and pressed it against my pectus ; it felt surprisingly cold, unknown but somehow fascinating.

We returned to our embrace, kissing and smooching ; my hands now following the form of his hairless back, his spine and then at survive, his bum, still covered by his kilt. Through the heavy woollen material, I massaged the impudence of his bottom, feeling their plump round shape and clutching at the pleats of the back of his kilt. I pushed him backwards across the flooring, until he fell onto the bed. But sensing what I wanted to do, he immediately rolled over onto his nominal head, his body now lying prone before me, clad only in his Skye Tartan kilt. I climbed onto the bed between his bare legs.

Seeking to get a line but also wishing to prolong the act of discovery, I ran my hands up the binding of his hairy peg, slowly under his kilt, higher 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 head under his kilt, diving into his cleft, kissing and tonguing his whirl and tasting the sweaty smell of this, the most individual domain of his Young organic structure. I spread his peg, to discover his balls and erect cock, trapped by his kilt and pressed firmly against the bed and down between his wooden leg. His cock-head was already exposed and moist ; I licked it in a circular motion, before taking it fully into my backtalk, as my nose pressed into his hairless musket ball - did he shave his ballock ? I hadn't remembered that from last time.

He was groaning and writhing against the bed, clutching at the pillow in pleasure 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 impudence to the diffused moonlight. I needed no lubricator ; 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 offset finger pushed inside to find his prostate. I felt it, slightly concentrated and swollen with excitement. He groaned, more loudly this fourth dimension. Then, kneeling between his spread thighs and exposed rear, and surrounded by the folds of his kilt, like a huge cyan flower, I pressed my wet and slippery pecker against its small butt at the kernel. Whether or not I was de-flowering the young person of my younger brother, I could not know but against his initial impedance, I pushed, gently at first and then more firmly, until my cock-head slipped inside the start chamber. His sharp inspiration of breath, followed by a cold-shoulder whimpering audio, said,"Proceed ”.

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



He felt so warm and familiar spirit, soft and comforting ; I felt his thighs gripping the outside of my legs as I pressed on and I began to experience his own clench from within his bowels. I established a slow, firm but gentle activity, 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 Fuck ! Oh God ! Mark,"he gasped."I'm gon na cum like this,"he groaned in X. I could feel his insides clenching me, as I kept pushing across the swollen hardness of his prostate. His full body began to shake.

It was all too much for me ; my own cum was rising now and my action became necessarily more excited, as I pushed faster, back and Forth River, in and out, until - we each let out our gasp in coinciding relief, as we both came in two shattering orgasms, each reinforcing the other, as my cum seemed to explode from inside my bollock and down my shaft, into his offspring willingness, to be met by throbbing of hug drug, as his own cum erupted from his prostate, soaking the interior of his kilt in pools of white spooge.

Amidst our mutual groan and moan, I collapsed on top of him, my organ slipping from his mess, as his organic structure relaxed under me. As I kissed the backbone of his neck, his deal found mine aside the pillow and he grasped them, gripping them in loving thanks. We both fell into deep and fulfill sleep ; the sleep of the inexperienced person ? Perhaps.

When I awoke the future morning, there was no foretoken of him ; his boots and socks, 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 night's effort, I was sharp-set and"Mrs Danvers"served me a full cooked breakfast in her characteristically quiet and efficient fashion. 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 embarrass myself, I said nothing.



Thinking that Deryk might flex up again, I hung around for a while near the hotel but eventually gave up and decided to drive on up to the"Old Man of Storr"car ballpark, as per my design. In fact, I thought I might still abide a chance of seeing him there but I didn't. I made the short trek up through the forest and on to the orbit known as"The Sanctuary ”, where a bit of rocky volcanic plugs stand majestically and somewhat mystically in the almost lunar landscape."The Old Man of Storr"is the grownup and most impressive of them all. I had been taking luck of motion picture in the morning luminosity but the weather deteriorated towards twelve noon, so I went back to the hotel for a later lunch.

However, the dining room wasn't candid and"Mrs Danvers"wasn't around but an Old 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 like guys I had seen the night before and, as final nighttime, they were joking and sniggering about something. As I looked in their instruction, I noticed one of them was proudly showing the others a medallion of some sort and my stomach suddenly turned over when I realised what it was. It was Deryk's Celtic amulet ! I was now apprehensive and I desperately tried to get wind what they were saying. Unlike death Night, they were talking in English ; not that it did me much effective because their dialects were so hard that I still couldn't catch practically - except the Christian Bible"Storr ”. Now I really was worried and I resolved to go out to discover the path Deryk had said he was intending to follow to turn over the ridgepole. I was convinced he was out there, needing to be rescued, just like when we were kids.

With some difficulty, I eventually found the former course some way south of the car park and leading up from the road. By now though, time was getting on and the weather condition was already starting to close-in. It was grey and dusty 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 path, noting the landmarks from the de***********ion he had given me the Night before and scanning the rock and roll 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 urine from the ridgeline and there were the remains of an old barn or croft nearby. I was about to have the detour to investigate when I spotted something in the bracken ; leather ; a leather shoulder strap ; then the unmistakable flesh of a leather sporran. It was his ! There was a diminished flow just a few yards away and as I cast my eyes 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 stream, my pump 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 hapless sight ; lying there in the shallow, rocky flow, his organic structure last night tanned and substantial was now Zane Grey, shriveled and incapacitated. As I bent down to touch his battered and bruised body, I feared the worst. I felt his cervix ; there was a pulsation from his carotid artery - a feint one but a heartbeat at least. He stirred at my touch.

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

He raised his straits and turned, but as he tried to get up, I realised that his eubstance was covered with vauntingly weal and bruise, as if he had been kicked repeatedly, and his fount was puffy with bruises, cuts and grazes. I lifted him up and comforted him, as I took off my coat and put it over his low temperature and shivering shoulders.

"You came for me. I knew you would follow for me,"he quietly sobbed,"just like when we were kids."Tears began to jumble with mud and line of descent on his beautiful but perplex aspect.

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

"Those bastards in the bar conclusion night,"he muttered, gritting his dentition, as if foregather strength,"I should take in known better. They fucked me all roads, the bastards. But at least you're here now."

By now the conditions was getting tempestuous ; the wind had picked up and the frigidity rain was starting to amount down quite heavily. And it was getting nighttime. I looked at my watch and realised that, in his shape, we would never get back to the car before nightfall and this terrain would be treacherous in the dark, even if we tried. God knows where his bang were - stolen I guess, along with his talisman and the depicted object of his sporran. I checked my Mobile River speech sound to call for helper but just when I needed it most, there was no sign. I decided the only affair to do was to seek some variety of protection and I remembered the ruined croft a few hundred yard away, so with some difficulty, I managed to get Deryk to his feet and we staggered out of the ditch and across the brake, eventually to discover that voice of the ruination was still a pocket-sized roofed structure with a half-broken barn door on the other side of meat. As we staggered inside, we were greeted by the lovingness and smell of what had once been an animal shelter but which now took on a new role, as a shelter for two crony. 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 coat to cover us both but at least it was affectionate and dry in our tax shelter, albeit rather smelly ! I had a feeding bottle of piddle which I made him sip and I also had some chocolate in my pouch - always a good origin 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 other remedy for exposure in these portion is shared bodily warmness, so I improvised a bed from the husk, peeled off his wet X-men tee-shirt and his wet drogue and then removed my own dress and laid them out to dry on the stalk beside us. Now both completely naked, I hugged him closely against my tender body, spooning him from behind in the fetal position and pulling the coating over the top of us. Deryk was shivering at low but after a little spell, the affectionateness began to build up under the coat and he settled into a gentle sleep.

As the lovingness built up, I started to get horny with my munition around him and my cock nestled in the cleft below his behind. I was thinking about last night and shooting my warhead into his inner willingness for the kickoff time. I'm ashamed to say that, even in this moment of crisis, my juices were flowing again and my erection was slipping rather easily into the crack between his buttocks. This moment was what all my fantasy of puerility had been leading up to - although I was too young or naïve to sympathize them fully at the time - and now I had a material Deryk in the refuge of my weapon again and I wanted him. In fact, I wanted him so much that with just the slender drift between his prat, I felt my orgasm building uncontrollably. component of me didn't want it this way ; I didn't think it was"right"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 nut until, inevitably, I knew the battle was lost. My cum rose mercilessly through my loins and erupted from my hard-on in a number of gentle throbs, as my fluids filled the crack of his butt and I cradled his body before me, hugging him and kissing the book binding of his neck. At last I fell asleep.

The weather must ingest cleared during the night because I awoke to a shaft of moonlight through the gap in the old barn doorway. And against this igniter, I saw a phantasm, the outline at least, of Deryk, on his genu astride my body.



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

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

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

"Redeemer !"I yelled out,"Go gentle - please !"

"It's the only way you're gon na get it, sidekick,"he barked, as he pulled back and ram down hard into me again. This fourth dimension, I felt his testis slap my backside. Suddenly, there was no need for shared bodily warmth, as I was shedding sweat by the bucket-load !

"shag me !"I found myself shouting, more in anguish than as a asking. But he quickly fired back, in rhythm method of birth control to his ramming into me,

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

In between the pain of his poke, which I was beginning to get accustomed to, I was mindful of the similarity with what happened endure clock time he re-appeared. The Saami share-out of rawness and affectionateness, the Saame rapid rejuvenation, the brightness level of the synodic month and now this almost creature version of Deryk.

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

He rammed into me one final clip and came inside me, as he let out a variety of ululation of relief and I felt his fluids pumping into my interior, throb after throb after throb, before he collapsed on top of me on the straw, his erect organ still buried inside me. The pressure of his strong vernal body against my stomach now found my own erect cock, oozing pre-cum juices again and desperate to be relieved. With my blazon around him, my hands clutched the cheek of his bum and pulled him to me. Just as death night, that piffling atmospheric pressure and gentle apparent movement was all it took to work on my own orgasm, and as my insides clenched and my vision seemed to smear in the moment of shattering climax, I felt his softening Hammond organ slip out of my hole just as my cum explosion from my tool, filling the spaces between our two bodies and running down the side of meat of my body into the straw. Shattered, I fell asleep again, this time with Deryk lying on top of me.

I awoke to sunlight streaming into an abandon barn. I sat up. There was a softened aching emanating from my tush and Deryk was gone again.

"Bugger ! Just like finis time,"I swore out forte to myself.

I looked at my watch. It was 9.30 already. My 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 lightness, 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 brightness of an ambulance, two police cars and a large crowd of people. As I got out of the car, I expected to be the eye of everyone's attention, having been"missing"all night, but the piece crew was all gathered around a Young man with a blanket 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 new man and two of his Friend had been out for an early sunup 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 vehemence was the main talking-point ; it seems that their assaulter was a"vicious animal with inhuman strength and chela to match ”. Certainly, the Brigham Young man in the blanket looked as if he had been heavily beaten and scratched. His clothes, or what remained of them, were torn and smutty and one English of his typeface bore patched wounds of dehydrated origin. In fact, he was a slew - and he was the one who hadn't been taken to hospital !

But no-one was matter to in me ; the law spoke to me briefly but only to establish that I hadn't seen anything. I told them the the true - 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 night in the car, in the car common. Given that I clearly had neither the physique nor the build necessary to best three upland youths in the manner that had clearly taken place, they believed me. I went up to my room to pack my traveling bag. It was time to move on.

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

( PS ) If anyone out there likes my `` Deryk '' storey, perhaps you 'd like to suggest how I should grow him - constructive comments, please !