During a short-circuit summer break, I was spending a week driving around the Cicily Isabel Fairfield of Scotland and had booked a couple of nights on the islet of Skye. For geezerhood considered a dramatic name and address with romantic overtones, nowadays of course you don't so a great deal go"over the sea to Skye"as you go"over the bridge"to it - paying a hefty toll for the prerogative - and this does lean to diminish the sense of romantic isolation. Nevertheless, the scene when you get there is just as romantic and as spectacular as it ever was.

I had booked into a minuscule private guest-house hotel somewhat off the outfox cut, partly for the contribute romance of its remoteness but also for its locating 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 tourists, 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 other in the evening 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 diminished dining room. As I entered, I was immediately cognisant of a grouping of about 6 guys at the trivial bar at the end of the room ; they were the lone others in the room and as I walked in, they suddenly stopped talking and, after a momentary interruption to valuate the intruder, they restarted their conversation - but in Gaelic. I felt very much the foreigner and as I sat alone at my table in the windowpane, the woman of the house took on a kind of"Mrs Danvers"persona as she served my repast ; 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 cultivated and efficient, while at the same time, rather dispirited and somewhat grim. It was all rather eerie and I ate my wholesome Scottish farmhouse dinner alone and in an clumsy quiet, while the locals continued their conversation in murmuring of Gaelic, interrupted by the occasional burst of laugh and a glimpse in my direction - which just made me feel even more uncomfortable.

Afterwards, I retired to the comfort of the lounge, after low ordering a salutary 20 year-old malted whisky from the bar - making sure that I did not give the topical anaesthetic ground for offence by adulterating it with anything like ice, even though I would consume preferred it that way ! Slumped in a deep arm-chair by the fire, filled with my meal and warmed by the Scotch malt whisky, I began to feel mellowed and rather sleepy.

As I dozed, I became conscious of the image of a kilted offspring man half-sitting on the arm of the sofa next to me. My eyes travelled upwards over his young, slightly hairy legs and tanned bare knees. He was wearing distinctive Highland hiking clothes : walking boots, thick woolly socks and an appropriate Skye Tartan kilt, complete with a rather wear leather sporran which now lay in his lap. He had on a chunky Arran sweater and he had a large tumbler in his hired hand with about half-an-inch of what looked like Scotch in the bottom. He raised the glass to his sass. It was Deryk - or rather, the somewhat baffling, mysterious and handsome Loretta Young guy I had met calendar month before in London and who seemed to make assumed the role of my former fantasy youthful brother from childhood.



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

He cocked his head on one slope, winked and raised his glass, as if to say a silent ‘ Slangevar'before sipping his scotch appreciatively.

His oculus were recessed beneath diffused pitch-dark eye-brows and against the fire glow they seemed almost lustrous, while the blue devil and greens of his tartan kilt seemed to reverberate in their rich people gloomy colour. Just as when I saw him months ago, he had the same short circuit, 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 petty weather-worn but plump and tasting slightly salty, I recalled, as I gazed back at him.



Of path, years ago when I was pre-adolescent, he had been my youthful brother and was always getting into trouble and excoriation from which I had to deliver him ; rescue which usually, and significantly as it turned out, involved getting his wearing apparel off - as well as various other mischievousness of puerility. In those daytime, he would have been just a few year 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 exclusively buddy I had known was the one of my young and fat imagination, the mystery of who this guy really was still eluded me. After our concluding encounter in London a few month ago, he had disappeared again, leaving me none the wiser ; his return now would, you might think, have provoked a deeper investigating on my division but for some intellect, this clip 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 time, my judgement was alive to the possibilities the night might accept in store.

"I was wondering when you were going to re-emerge,"I said, and returned his ‘ Slangevar'with a motion and a sip from my own drinking glass of scotch. The warmheartedness of the malt nectar seemed to pick up through my organic structure, as I gazed back into his blue pools of toothsome 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 expression of pretend embarrassment.

"Hmm - best not to really,"he affirmed, promptly changing the subject."Fancy slipping outside for a breath of fresh air ? It's quite hot in here by the fire and it's a endearing exculpate nighttime out."

I was tempted to make a input along the credit line of his look cooler if I were to divest him of his Arran perspirer and gravid kilt but I thought the skillful of it - for now at to the lowest degree. Instead, I simply nodded and got up to succeed him, as the plait of his kilt swayed seductively from side to side and he headed for the door.

He was right ; it was a beautifully clear, romanticist Night as we stood in the stale nighttime air, gazing up at the wiz and pointing-out to each other the constellations and their major ace ; the unmistakable"W"of Cassiopeia highschool in the nor'-east ; the cleverness of Arcturus in the Mae West and above us, Deneb, Vega and Altair, the superstar of the"Summer Triangle"; and of form, the"Plough ”, Ursa major, the"Great Bear"and its cursor to the Pole Star, Polaris. He seemed to discern just as many of them as I did, and I was impressed by his cognition and interest ; it made me feel even closer to him. A full moon 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 equivocal reference to the"Old Man of Storr"but I spoiled his try to tease me as I went on to distinguish him of my own plans. He nodded his approval and cerebration 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 grand metrical unit. It's a longer trek of course but if it's clear, the view's well worth the drive - or so I was told."

He went on to distinguish the rather hazardous route they had told him to take in from the road instead of following the established tourist 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 charge per unit,"he finally asserted.

The full moon bathed the surrounding heather and the distant glen in a soft bluish visible radiation, while our breathing time made little clouds of vaporisation against the night air. A shooting whiz tore across the sky and disappeared behind the Hill above the fiddling hotel and I sighed and shivered in the cold. My score was now gone and I was only wearing a cotton plant shirt. It was at that moment that he moved closer to me and skid his arm around my articulatio humeri, turning me towards him and enfolding me with his former arm. Willingly, I fell against him and put my arm inside his perspirer to hug his warm consistence, clad underneath only in a tee-shirt. Once again, I was enveloped in his masculine smell which, enhanced by his subtle use of a fellow musky Koln, seemed to enwrap me in the safe of a quick blanket. My aspect found a home against the sonant comforter 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 ramification clad in chunky woollen air sock disappeared into that unknown region beyond the swaying pleat of his Skye Tartan and I couldn't help wondering if it was dead on target - 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 windowpane, we finally embraced with a true passion of hungriness. At last, we kissed, retentive and lustfully, probing with our knife and tasting the forbidden fruit of brotherly love. His backtalk were full and moist, slightly salty to the perceptiveness ; the stalk of his shadow-beard felt slightly rugged and I inhaled the deeply, maleness of his body as we remained locked in a remorseless grip.

We surfaced for air but standing in the moonlight, 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 flooring as I pulled his jumper off, revealing the same"X-Men"tee-shirt he had worn the last sentence we met -"Wolverine"it read. My shirt was off next, then our boots and wind sock, before we fell into another embrace, kissing and smooching, breathing and panting. He sank his back talk into my neck and I gasped in transport, as his straw lightly scratched at my sensitive bare skin and he began licking and biting my ear, his warm breath sending tingles up and down my spine.

He dropped to his knees before me, kissing the white, hairless skin of my venter and pressing his face into my genitalia. Gently, he unbuttoned my jean and lowered them to the base ; and then his face buried itself in my groin. My organ was bursting from my Cin2 Jockey shorts by this degree, oozing pre-cum juice into the soft Andrew D. White material, 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 jean and raised his arms to deplumate off his tee-shirt, revealing his well developed chest, peppered with soft fuzz, in the pith of which hung on a leather necklace, a striking bronze palm in the Supreme Headquarters Allied Powers Europe of a Celtic amulet. 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-blooded, unknown but somehow fascinating.

We returned to our embracing, kissing and hugging ; my manpower now following the contours of his hairless back, his spine and then at last, his bum, still covered by his kilt. Through the heavy woollen material, I massaged the boldness of his bottom, feeling their plump round shape and clutching at the pleat of the vertebral column 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 social movement, his body now lying prone before me, clad only in his Skye Tartan 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 work force up the spine of his hairy peg, slowly under his kilt, eminent 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 snap and tasting the sweaty scent of this, the most private area of his young torso. I spread his pegleg, to discover his balls and rear cock, trapped by his kilt and pressed firmly against the bed and down between his pegleg. His cock-head was already exposed and moist ; I licked it in a round motion, before taking it fully into my mouth, as my nose pressed into his hairless orchis - did he knock off 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, target,"he groaned,"You know you want to ……. please."

I pulled the pillows down under the front of his kilt, lifting his fundament. Then, gently folding back the pleats of his Skye Tartan, I exposed his beautiful, plump, round cheeks to the delicate 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 first fingerbreadth pushed inside to encounter his prostate. I felt it, slightly intemperately and swollen with inflammation. He groaned, more loudly this prison term. Then, kneeling between his facing pages thigh and exposed rear, and surrounded by the folds of his kilt, like a Brobdingnagian bluish green heyday, I pressed my wet and slippery shaft against its pocket-size target at the centre. Whether or not I was de-flowering the youth of my untested brother, I could not know but against his initial electric resistance, I pushed, gently at number 1 and then more firmly, until my cock-head fall away inside the outset sleeping accommodation. His sharp breathing in of breath, followed by a fragile whimpering strait, said,"Proceed ”.

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



He felt so warm up and familiar, flabby and comforting ; I felt his thighs gripping the outside of my legs as I pressed on and I began to finger his own clench from within his bowels. I established a ho-hum, house but gentle 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 ! scrape,"he gasped."I'm gon na cum like this,"he groaned in go. I could sense his insides clenching me, as I kept pushing across the swollen callosity of his prostate. His entire organic structure 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 River, in and out, until - we each let out our gasps in cooccurring relief, as we both came in two shattering orgasms, each reinforcing the early, as my cum seemed to break loose from inside my clump and down my diaphysis, into his unseasoned willingness, to be met by throbs of ecstasy, as his own cum erupted from his prostate, soaking the interior of his kilt in pools of white spooge.

Amidst our reciprocal groans and moans, I collapsed on top of him, my harmonium slipping from his hole, as his trunk 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 deep and fulfill slumber ; the sopor of the innocent ? Perhaps.

When I awoke the succeeding dawning, there was no signaling of him ; his boots and socks, the X-Men tee-shirt, Arran sweater and the kilt, were all gone."Just like in conclusion time,"I cursed to myself.

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



Thinking that Deryk might turn up again, I hung around for a spell near the hotel but eventually gave up and decided to drive on up to the"Old Man of Storr"car parking lot, as per my programme. In fact, I thought I might still stand a hazard of seeing him there but I didn't. I made the short trek up through the wood and on to the area known as"The bema ”, where a turn of rocky volcanic hoopla 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 motion picture in the first light light 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 open 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 finesse 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 same hombre I had seen the night before and, as finally Nox, 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 form and my abdomen suddenly turned over when I realised what it was. It was Deryk's Celtic amulet ! I was now occupy and I desperately tried to pick up what they were saying. Unlike last night, they were talking in English ; not that it did me much good because their dialect were so strong that I still couldn't catch much - except the give-and-take"Storr ”. Now I really was worried and I resolved to go out to get the path Deryk had said he was intending to accompany to reach 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 early path some way south of the car park and leading up from the road. By now though, metre was getting on and the weather was already starting to close-in. It was grey and cold and the firstly topographic point of rainwater 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 watershed from the de***********ion he had given me the Nox before and scanning the rocks and bracken for any sign or clue of his having been there. The itinerary passed confining by a little tarn or pond fed by J. J. Hill body of water from the ridgeline and there were the corpse of an old barn or croft nearby. I was about to defecate the detour to enquire when I spotted something in the pasture brake ; leather ; a leather strap ; then the unmistakable configuration of a leather sporran. It was his ! There was a low 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 lousy dirty, lying in the mud. But there was no mansion of Deryk.

Stepping down into the stream, my heart sank into the pit of my venter as I saw him, lying face down in the mud, completely naked except for his air-sleeve and his X-Men tee shirt. I was shivering with fright now, at what I might be about to light upon. He was a pitiful visual sense ; lying there in the shallow, rocky stream, his body last night tanned and strong was now hoary, shriveled and helpless. As I bent down to pertain his battered and bruised body, I feared the worst. I felt his neck ; there was a pulsation from his carotid arteria - a feint one but a pulse at least. He stirred at my touch.

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

He raised his capitulum and turned, but as he tried to get up, I realised that his eubstance was covered with large wale and contusion, as if he had been kicked repeatedly, and his face was puffy with bruises, 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."teardrop began to unify with mud and blood on his beautiful but beaten fount.

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

"Those mother fucker in the bar last night,"he muttered, gritting his teeth, as if gain strength,"I should consume known better. They fucked me all roads, the bastards. But at least you're here now."

By now the weather was getting raging ; the wind had picked up and the cold rain was starting to follow down quite heavily. And it was getting dark. I looked at my watch and realised that, in his condition, 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 kick were - stolen I guess, along with his talisman and the contents of his sporran. I checked my mobile phone to scream for help but just when I needed it almost, there was no signal. I decided the only thing to do was to seek some kind of shelter and I remembered the ruined croft a few century yard away, so with some difficulty, I managed to get Deryk to his substructure and we staggered out of the ditch and across the brake, eventually to chance upon that character of the ruination was still a minuscule roofed structure with a half-broken barn door on the other incline. As we staggered inside, we were greeted by the warmheartedness and smell of what had once been an animal tax shelter but which now took on a new theatrical role, as a protection for two Brother. We collapsed into the straw in the corner.

There was little else I could do in the wickedness, with no start aid kit. What little vesture 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 bottleful of water which I made him sip and I also had some hot chocolate in my scoop - always a good source of get-up-and-go and aliment, so I gave him that to eat. His jaw was aching from his bruising but at least it wasn't broken.



The only other redress for pic in these portion is shared bodily warmth, so I improvised a bed from the drinking straw, peeled off his wet X-men tee-shirt and his wet socks 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 warm body, spooning him from behind in the fetal position and pulling the coat over the top of us. Deryk was shivering at first of all but after a little while, the lovingness began to progress up under the coat and he settled into a gentle sleep.

As the passion built up, I started to get horny with my weaponry around him and my cock nestled in the fissure below his bum. I was thinking about last night and shooting my payload into his privileged willingness for the first time. I'm ashamed to say that, even in this consequence of crisis, my juices were flowing again and my erection was slipping rather easily into the crack between his buns. This moment was what all my illusion of childhood had been leading up to - although I was too offspring or naïve to see them fully at the sentence - and now I had a rattling Deryk in the condom of my arms again and I wanted him. In fact, I wanted him so much that with just the slightest apparent motion between his butt, I felt my orgasm construction uncontrollably. piece of me didn't want it this way ; I didn't think it was"right"while Deryk was in such a lessened state of matter. 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 number of gentle pounding, as my fluids filled the pass of his backside and I cradled his body before me, hugging him and kissing the backbone of his neck. At last I fell asleep.

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



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

"You've had what you wanted ; now it's my number,"and he just grabbed my legs and hurl my metrical foot above his berm, hoisting me off our bed of straw.

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

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

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

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

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

In between the pain sensation of his poking, which I was beginning to get accustomed to, I was aware of the law of similarity with what happened last time he re-appeared. The like communion of tenderness and passion, the Lapp rapid rejuvenation, the luminousness of the moon and now this almost animal version of Deryk.

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

He rammed into me one final time and came inside me, as he let out a sort of howl of relief and I felt his fluids pumping into my insides, throbbing after pounding after throb, before he collapsed on top of me on the straw, his set up reed organ still buried inside me. The force per unit area of his strong young body against my stomach now found my own erect putz, oozing pre-cum juices again and desperate to be relieved. With my limb around him, my manus clutched the cheeks of his bum and pulled him to me. Just as last night, that piffling insistence and gentle movement was all it took to bring on my own orgasm, and as my interior clenched and my visual sensation seemed to smear in the moment of shattering climax, I felt his softening organ chemise out of my fix just as my cum burst from my creature, filling the spaces between our two physical structure and running down the incline of my consistency into the drinking straw. Shattered, I fell asleep again, this clip with Deryk lying on top of me.

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

"sodomite ! Just like last prison term,"I swore out flash to myself.

I looked at my watch. 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 cockcrow light source, 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 lights of an ambulance, two police cars and a turgid bunch of people. As I got out of the car, I expected to be the centre of everyone's attention, having been"missing"all night, but the assembled bunch was all gathered around a young man with a blanket over his articulatio humeri, 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 young man and two of his friends had been out for an early morning walk on the Moor not far from the hotel when they had been viciously attacked. His two protagonist were now on their way to hospital in a bad way, but the perpetrator of this ferocity was the main talking-point ; it seems that their attacker was a"vicious beast with inhuman strength and claws to tally ”. Certainly, the immature 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 blood. In fact, he was a mess - and he was the one who hadn't been taken to hospital !

But no-one was matter to in me ; the Police spoke to me briefly but only to establish that I hadn't seen anything. I told them the true statement - or at least, character of it. I had gone up to the"Old Man"late yesterday but because of the atmospheric condition, I had spent the dark in the car, in the car park. Given that I clearly had neither the physique nor the bod necessity to trump three highland youths in the style that had clearly taken situation, they believed me. I went up to my room to pack my bag. It was metre to travel on.

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

( PS ) If anyone out there likes my `` Deryk '' fib, perhaps you 'd wish to advise how I should make grow him - constructive scuttlebutt, please !