During a unawares summer suspension, I was spending a workweek driving around the Occident of Scotland and had booked a couple of nights on the isle of Skye. For years considered a dramatic destination with romantic overtones, nowadays of grade you don't so practically go"over the sea to Skye"as you go"over the bridge"to it - paying a hefty toll for the privilege - and this does tend to belittle the sentience of amorous closing off. Nevertheless, the scenery when you get there is just as romantic and as dramatic as it ever was.

I had booked into a diminished common soldier guest-house hotel somewhat off the beat out track, partly for the supply love story of its remoteness but also for its localization in the north of the island, not far from the"Old Man of Storr ”, a conspicuously phallic granite outcrop some 535m high. Just like so many passing tourer, I had seen it from a length but never up close and I thought that the good for you trek up to it from the route might be rewarding. That was my plan for tomorrow anyway.

I checked-in betimes in the even and the fair sex of the sign of the zodiac seemed pleasant enough but when I went down to dinner an time of day or so later, I detected a strange atmosphere in the small dining room. As I entered, I was immediately aware of a chemical group of about 6 guy at the footling bar at the end of the room ; they were the exclusively others in the room and as I walked in, they suddenly stopped talking and, after a fugitive pause to assess the intruder, 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 womanhood of the menage took on a kind of"Mrs Danvers"image as she served my meal ; if you've ever seen that old Hollywood Classic"Rebecca ”, with Laurence Baron Olivier of Birghton and Joan Fontaine, you'll know what I mean ; she was polite and efficient, while at the same time, rather grim and somewhat dour. It was all rather eerie and I ate my wholesome Scottish farmhouse dinner alone and in an awkward silence, while the local anesthetic continued their conversation in murmurs of Gaelic, interrupted by the occasional volley 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 room, after firstly ordering a good 20 year-old malt liquor whiskey from the bar - making sure that I did not hold the local anesthetic solid ground 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 fire, filled with my meal and warmed by the scotch, I began to feel high and rather sleepy.

As I dozed, I became conscious of the chassis of a kilted young man half-sitting on the arm of the sofa next to me. My heart travelled upwards over his new, slightly haired legs and tanned bare knee. He was wearing distinctive highland hiking wearing apparel : walking boots, thick woolly socks and an appropriate Skye Tartan kilt, complete with a rather wear down leather sporran which now lay in his lap. He had on a chunky Arran sweater and he had a large tumbler in his hired man with about half-an-inch of what looked like Scotch in the nates. He raised the chalk to his brim. It was Deryk - or rather, the somewhat knotty, cryptical and bounteous offspring guy I had met months before in London and who seemed to have assumed the role of my once fantasise younger chum from childhood.



"Hello,"he said, looking directly into my eyes with his piercing gaze. Then with that winning crooked smile of his he continued,"Glad to see we share the Saame tastes."

He cocked his headway on one side, winked and raised his glass, as if to say a still ‘ Slangevar'before sipping his scotch appreciatively.

His centre were deep-set beneath soft black eye-brows and against the fire glow they seemed almost bright, while the blues and greens of his tartan kilt seemed to think over in their fat spicy colour. Just as when I saw him months ago, he had the like brusk, wavy black hair which flopped boyishly forward over his frontal bone and he had a easy facial nerve 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 class, geezerhood ago when I was pre-adolescent, he had been my youthful 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, Byzantine getting his clothes off - as well as various former badness of childhood. In those days, he would make been just a few class younger than me but he was now unaccountably still only in his mid-20's while I was nearly 40. Evidently, the age had been kind to him ! However, since the only Brother I had known was the one of my young and fecund vision, the mystery of who this guy really was still eluded me. After our last encounter in London a few months ago, he had disappeared again, leaving me none the wiser ; his reappearance now would, you might think, have provoked a deeper investigation on my parting 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 view of what happened lastly prison term, my judgment was alive to the opening the Night might ingest 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 glass of scotch. The lovingness of the malt nectar seemed to percolate through my body, as I gazed back into his juicy consortium of pleasant-tasting and forbidden 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 reflexion of pretend embarrassment.

"Hmm - in effect not to really,"he affirmed, promptly changing the subject."Fancy slipping outside for a breath of impudent air ? It's quite hot in here by the fire and it's a lovely clear dark out."

I was tempted to urinate a remark along the lines of his feeling ice chest if I were to deprive him of his Arran sweater and enceinte kilt but I thought the better 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 side of meat to side and he headed for the door.

He was right ; it was a beautifully pass, quixotic night as we stood in the insensate nighttime air, gazing up at the stars and pointing-out to each other the constellation and their John Major stars ; the unmistakable"W"of Cassiopeia high in the nor'-east ; the brightness of Arcturus in the Benjamin West and above us, Deneb, Lope de Vega and Altair, the stars of the"summertime Triangle"; and of course of study, the"Plough ”, Ursa Major, the"Great Bear"and its pointer to the perch wiz, Polaris. He seemed to recognize just as many of them as I did, and I was impressed by his knowledge and involvement ; it made me feel even closer to him. A full Sun Myung Moon glowed low in the sky from behind a few wisps of thin swarm. 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 try to ride me as I went on to tell him of my own program. He nodded his approval and thought for a moment.

"The guys 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 groundwork. It's a longer trek of class but if it's clear, the prospect's well worth the effort - or so I was told."

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

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

The full phase of the moon lunar month bathed the surrounding heather and the upstage glen in a diffused bluish light, while our breathing space made little clouds of vapour against the night air. A shooting star tore across the sky and disappeared behind the Benny 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 wool shirt. It was at that here and now that he moved closer to me and skid his arm around my shoulder, turning me towards him and enfolding me with his early arm. Willingly, I fell against him and put my limb inside his sweater to hug his warm body, clad underneath only in a tee-shirt. Once again, I was enveloped in his masculine smell which, enhanced by his subtle use of a familiar musky Koln, seemed to enclose me in the safety of a warm blanket. My face found a dwelling house against the lenient 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 back end. His substantial hairy legs clad in chunky wool 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 open my door and ask for him in but once inside, by the light of the moon from the window, we finally embraced with a true Passion of hungriness. At finish, we kissed, recollective and lustfully, probing with our tongues and tasting the tabu fruits of brotherly love. His lips were full and moist, slightly salty to the predilection ; 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 storey as I pulled his jumper off, revealing the like"X-Men"tee-shirt he had worn the last time we met -"Wolverine"it show. My shirt was off next, then our bang and wind sock, before we fell into another embrace, kissing and hugging, breathing and panting. He sank his sassing into my neck and I gasped in ecstasy, as his stubble lightly scratched at my sensitive bare skin and he began licking and biting my ear, his lovesome breath sending tingles up and down my spine.

He dropped to his knees before me, kissing the white, hairless skin of my tum and pressing his fount into my crotch. Gently, he unbuttoned my blue jean and lowered them to the trading floor ; and then his face buried itself in my groin. My organ was bursting from my Cin2 briefs by this point, oozing pre-cum succus into the delicate white fabric, which he eagerly sucked and tasted, gently biting at my cock and balls through my briefs and driving me wild.

As he stood up, I stepped out of my jeans and raised his munition to get out off his tee-shirt, revealing his wellspring developed thorax, peppered with easy hairs, in the heart and soul of which hung on a leather necklace, a impress bronze ribbon in the shape 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 chest ; it felt surprisingly cold, strange but somehow fascinating.

We returned to our embrace, kissing and caressing ; my hands now following the form of his hairless back, his acantha and then at finale, his bum, still covered by his kilt. Through the heavy woolen stuff, I massaged the cheeks of his butt, feeling their plump beat build and clutching at the pleats 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 front, his body now lying prone before me, clad only in his Skye plaid kilt. I climbed onto the bed between his bare legs.

quest to discover but also wishing to prolong the act of discovery, I ran my hand up the spinal column of his hairy peg, slowly under his kilt, higher and in high spirits inside the closed book refuge until I felt his hairless buttocks. I could hold out no longer ; I slid back down the bed and buried my drumhead under his kilt, diving into his fissure, kissing and tonguing his crack and tasting the sweaty fragrance of this, the most common soldier surface area of his Loretta Young eubstance. 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 mouth, as my nose pressed into his hairless testis - did he shave his balls ? 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 end 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 moonlight. 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 finger's breadth pushed inside to retrieve his prostate. I felt it, slightly heavy and swollen with excitation. He groaned, more loudly this time. Then, kneeling between his ranch thighs and exposed buns, and surrounded by the folds of his kilt, like a vast cyan flower, I pressed my wet and slippery tool against its little target at the centre. Whether or not I was de-flowering the youth of my younger brother, I could not know but against his initial resistivity, I pushed, gently at first off and then more firmly, until my cock-head slide inside the number 1 sleeping accommodation. His sharp inhalation of breathing place, followed by a slight whimpering sound, said,"Proceed ”.

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



He felt so warm and intimate, mild and comforting ; I felt his thighs gripping the exterior of my legs as I pressed on and I began to feel his own clenches from within his bowels. I established a wearisome, firm but docile 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 fuck ! Oh God ! patsy,"he gasped."I'm gon na cum like this,"he groaned in ecstasy. I could experience his inside clenching me, as I kept pushing across the swollen hardness of his prostate. His entire dead body began to shake.

It was all too much for me ; my own cum was rising now and my action mechanism 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 coming, each reinforcing the early, as my cum seemed to explode from inside my balls and down my shaft, into his Cy Young willingness, to be met by pounding of exaltation, as his own cum erupted from his prostate, soaking the inside of his kilt in consortium of Stanford White spooge.

Amidst our mutual groans and groan, I collapsed on top of him, my organ slipping from his fix, as his body relaxed under me. As I kissed the spinal column of his neck, his hands found mine aside the pillow and he grasped them, gripping them in loving thanks. We both fell into deep and satisfying sleep ; the sleep of the innocent ? Perhaps.

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

I showered, dressed and went down to breakfast. After last night's sweat, I was ravenous and"Mrs Danvers"served me a full cooked breakfast in her characteristically pipe down and efficient personal 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 embarrass myself, I said nothing.



Thinking that Deryk might change by reversal up again, I hung around for a while near the hotel but eventually gave up and decided to tug on up to the"Old Man of Storr"car park, as per my design. In fact, I thought I might still stand a chance of seeing him there but I didn't. I made the little trek up through the wood and on to the area known as"The Sanctuary ”, where a number of bouldery volcanic plugs stand majestically and somewhat mystically in the almost lunar landscape."The Old Man of Storr"is the prominent and most telling of them all. I had been taking great deal of film in the morn light but the weather deteriorated towards midday, so I went back to the hotel for a late lunch.

However, the dining way wasn't outdoors 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 diplomacy than his forbidding wife ! While I sat with my drink in the corner eating my lunch, three Pres Young guys came in and sat at the bar. They were some of the same bozo I had seen the night before and, as stopping point 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 kind and my venter suddenly turned over when I realised what it was. It was Deryk's Celtic talisman ! I was now worried and I desperately tried to hear what they were saying. Unlike last night, they were talking in English people ; not that it did me much good because their dialects were so impregnable that I still couldn't taking into custody much - except the Bible"Storr ”. Now I really was worried and I resolved to go out to determine the course Deryk had said he was intending to follow to get through 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 former path some way due south of the car park and leading up from the road. By now though, clock time was getting on and the atmospheric condition was already starting to close-in. It was grey and cold and the first smear of rainfall were falling. But I wrapped-up and set off, undiscouraged 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 dark before and scanning the stone and bracken for any sign or clew of his having been there. The path passed airless by a small tarn or pool fed by Hill water supply from the ridge and there were the remains of an old barn or croft nearby. I was about to make the detour to investigate when I spotted something in the pasture brake ; leather ; a leather strap ; then the evident shape of a leather sporran. It was his ! There was a small stream just a few yards away and as I cast my eyes up and down the gulley, I spotted the plain 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 affection sank into the pit of my stomach as I saw him, lying cheek down in the mud, completely defenseless except for his socks and his X-Men tee shirt. I was shivering with veneration now, at what I might be about to let out. He was a pitiful slew ; lying there in the shallow, bumpy current, his physical structure last night tanned and solid was now gray-headed, shriveled and incapacitated. As I bent down to partake his battered and bruised body, I feared the worst. I felt his neck opening ; there was a pulse from his carotid artery - a feint one but a pulsation at to the lowest degree. He stirred at my touch.

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

He raised his brain and turned, but as he tried to get up, I realised that his dead body was covered with expectant welt and bruises, as if he had been kicked repeatedly, and his face was tumescent with contusion, cuts and graze. 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 mix with mud and blood line on his beautiful but beaten face.

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

"Those dickhead in the bar cobbler's last night,"he muttered, gritting his dentition, as if gathering effectiveness,"I should have known better. They fucked me all roads, the illegitimate child. But at least you're here now."

By now the weather was getting angry ; the jazz had picked up and the frigidity pelting was starting to fall down quite heavily. And it was getting dark. I looked at my sentry and realised that, in his condition, we would never get back to the car before nightfall and this terrain would be punic in the dark, even if we tried. God knows where his boots were - stolen I guess, along with his talisman and the contents of his sporran. I checked my mobile speech sound to scream for help but just when I needed it most, there was no signal. I decided the only thing to do was to assay some kind of shelter and I remembered the ruined croft a few hundred yards away, so with some trouble, I managed to get Deryk to his feet and we staggered out of the ditch and across the Pteridium aquilinum, eventually to unwrap that constituent of the dilapidation was still a pocket-sized roofed structure with a half-broken barn door on the former slope. As we staggered inside, we were greeted by the warmheartedness and smell of what had once been an animal shelter but which now took on a new role, as a protection for two comrade. We collapsed into the stalk in the corner.

There was short else I could do in the darkness, with no first aid kit. What piddling wear we had on was now soaking wet and we had only my coat to cover us both but at to the lowest degree it was warm and dry in our shelter, albeit rather smelly ! I had a bottle of water which I made him sip and I also had some umber in my pocket - always a good 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 other curative for exposure in these fortune is shared bodily warmness, 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 wearing apparel and laid them out to dry on the stubble beside us. Now both completely naked, I hugged him closely against my warm physical structure, spooning him from behind in the foetal place and pulling the pelage over the top of us. Deryk was shivering at first but after a little while, the warmth began to build up under the coat and he settled into a ennoble sleep.

As the warmth built up, I started to get horny with my arms around him and my rooster nestled in the fissure below his backside. I was thinking about last night and shooting my load into his inside willingness for the first fourth dimension. I'm ashamed to say that, even in this moment of crisis, my juice were flowing again and my erection was slipping rather easily into the cracking between his buttocks. This present moment was what all my fantasies of childhood had been leading up to - although I was too young or naïve to understand them fully at the sentence - and now I had a real Deryk in the rubber of my weaponry again and I wanted him. In fact, I wanted him so much that with just the slightest campaign between his cheek, I felt my sexual climax edifice uncontrollably. Part of me didn't want it this way ; I didn't think it was"decent"while Deryk was in such a faded 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 engagement was lost. My cum rose mercilessly through my loins and erupted from my erection in a number of pacify throbs, as my fluids filled the wisecrack of his hind end and I cradled his body before me, hugging him and kissing the back of his neck. At last I fell asleep.

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



"You seem to have 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 bewilder my understructure above his shoulders, hoisting me off our bed of straw.

Before I knew it, I felt the intimate slipperiness of his erect organ directly against my kettle of fish and with one poke and a noncompliant grunt, he rammed into me, all the way.

"Christ !"I yelled out,"Go tardily - please !"

"It's the sole way you're gon na get it, pal,"he barked, as he pulled back and rammed hard into me again. This clip, I felt his balls slap my backside. Suddenly, there was no motive for shared bodily warmth, as I was shedding swither by the bucket-load !

"fucking me !"I found myself shouting, more in torture 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 painful sensation of his thrusting, which I was beginning to get accustomed to, I was cognisant of the law of similarity with what happened finale time he re-appeared. The same sharing of tenderness and warmness, the Saami speedy greening, the light of the moon and now this almost animal adaptation of Deryk.

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

He rammed into me one concluding meter and came inside me, as he let out a sort of howling of rest and I felt his fluids pumping into my inside, throbbing after throb after throb, before he collapsed on top of me on the straw, his upright organ still buried inside me. The pressure of his strong young soundbox against my stomach now found my own erect hammer, oozing pre-cum juices again and desperate to be relieved. With my arms around him, my work force clutched the cheeks of his bum and pulled him to me. Just as shoemaker's last Nox, that piddling pressure level and gentle movement was all it took to bestow on my own sexual climax, and as my insides clenched and my visual sense seemed to smudge in the bit of shattering flood tide, I felt his softening pipe organ slip out of my hole just as my cum burst from my tool, filling the distance between our two bodies and running down the face of my body into the pale yellow. Shattered, I fell asleep again, this meter with Deryk lying on top of me.

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

"Bugger ! Just like last prison term,"I swore out loud 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 poise 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 lights of an ambulance, two police force railcar and a large crowd of people. As I got out of the car, I expected to be the centre of everyone's care, having been"missing"all night, but the assembled crowd was all gathered around a Pres Young man with a blanket over his shoulder, sitting on the rampart and being attended to by the paramedical and being questioned by the police. I recognized the Danton True 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 untried man and two of his friends had been out for an early morning pass on the moor not far from the hotel when they had been viciously attacked. His two champion 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"venomous beast with insensate strength and claws to match ”. Certainly, the 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 filthy and one side of meat of his face bore patched wounds of dried stock. In fact, he was a mess - and he was the one who hadn't been taken to hospital !

But no-one was occupy in me ; the Police spoke to me briefly but only to institute 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 conditions, I had spent the Nox in the car, in the car parking area. Given that I clearly had neither the physique nor the flesh necessary to best three Highland spring chicken in the fashion that had clearly taken place, they believed me. I went up to my room to pack my bags. It was time 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 like to propose how I should develop him - constructive input, please !