During a short summertime break, I was spending a week driving around the Benjamin West of Scotland and had booked a couple of night on the Isle of Skye. For years considered a dramatic destination with romanticist overtones, nowadays of course you don't so a great deal go"over the sea to Skye"as you go"over the bridge deck"to it - paying a powerful toll for the privilege - and this does tend to lessen the signified of romantic isolation. Nevertheless, the scenery when you get there is just as romantic and as spectacular as it ever was.

I had booked into a small individual guest-house hotel somewhat off the beaten track, partly for the added romance of its remoteness but also for its location 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. 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 early on in the evening and the fair sex 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 lowly dining room. As I entered, I was immediately aware of a group of about 6 cat at the short 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 momentary suspension to assess the interloper, they restarted their conversation - but in Gaelic. I felt very much the outsider and as I sat alone at my table in the windowpane, the cleaning lady of the house took on a sort of"Mrs Danvers"persona 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 civilised and efficient, while at the same clip, rather sick and somewhat forbidding. It was all rather eerie and I ate my wholesome Scots farmhouse dinner party alone and in an awkward silence, while the local anesthetic continued their conversation in murmurs of Erse, interrupted by the occasional fit of laugh and a glimpse in my direction - which just made me feel even more uncomfortable.

Afterwards, I retired to the quilt of the waiting room, after first ordering a dependable 20 year-old malt liquor whisky from the bar - making sure that I did not give the local anaesthetic grounds for offence by adulterating it with anything like ice, even though I would experience preferred it that way ! Slumped in a bass arm-chair by the fervour, filled with my repast and warmed by the Scotch, I began to find mellow and rather sleepy.

As I dozed, I became conscious of the build of a kilted Brigham Young man half-sitting on the arm of the sofa next to me. My centre travelled upwards over his young, slightly haired legs and tanned bare stifle. He was wearing typical highland hiking wearing apparel : walking the boot, thick woolly socks and an appropriate Skye plaid kilt, complete with a rather worn leather sporran which now lay in his lap. He had on a chunky Arran sweater and he had a large tumbler in his manpower with about half-an-inch of what looked wish Scotch in the bottom. He raised the trash to his lips. It was Deryk - or rather, the somewhat tough, mystifying and openhanded Loretta Young guy I had met months before in London and who seemed to throw assumed the character of my formerly phantasy new buddy from childhood.



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

He cocked his head on one incline, winked and raised his trash, as if to say a still ‘ Slangevar'before sipping his scotch appreciatively.

His eye were recessed beneath gentle black eye-brows and against the fire glow they seemed almost lustrous, while the blueness and greens of his tartan kilt seemed to ruminate in their rich bluish colour. Just as when I saw him months ago, he had the same short, rippled black hair which flopped boyishly forward over his forehead and he had a gentle nervus facialis complexion that included a carefully cultivated shadow-beard. He had lovely, kissable lips ; a lilliputian 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 vernal brother and was always getting into difficulty and scrapes from which I had to rescue him ; rescues which usually, and significantly as it turned out, take getting his dress off - as well as various other naughtinesses of puerility. In those days, he would have been just a few years untried 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 fecund imagination, 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 probe on my part but for some reason, 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 cobbler's last fourth dimension, my thinker was animated to the possibilities the night 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 glass of Scotch whiskey. The warmth of the malted milk nectar seemed to percolate through my dead body, as I gazed back into his blue pools of delicious and forbidden lust.

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

His optic narrowed as he screwed-up his face in an construction of pretend embarrassment.

"Hmm - best not to really,"he affirmed, promptly changing the national."illusion slipping alfresco for a breath of sweet air ? It's quite hot in here by the ardour and it's a lovely clear night out."

I was tempted to make a remark along the contrast of his look cooler if I were to divest him of his Arran sweater and lumbering 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 slope to side and he headed for the door.

He was right ; it was a beautifully sack, romantic night as we stood in the cold Nox air, gazing up at the stars and pointing-out to each early the constellations and their John R. Major stars ; the unmistakable"W"of Cassiopeia high in the north-east ; the brightness of Arcturus in the Cicily Isabel Fairfield and above us, Deneb, Vega and Altair, the sensation of the"summertime Triangle"; and of grade, the"Plough ”, Ursa John Roy Major, the"Great Bear"and its Spanish pointer to the Pole Star, polar star. He seemed to make out just as many of them as I did, and I was impressed by his knowledge and interest group ; it made me feel even closer to him. A to the full Moon glowed low in the sky from behind a few wisps of lean 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 work to the"Old Man of Storr"but I spoiled his attempt to pester me as I went on to tell apart him of my own design. 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 rooftree behind the Old Man rises to more than two thousand base. It's a longer trek of course but if it's clear, the position's well worth the effort - or so I was told."

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

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

The wide moon bathed the surrounding heather and the distant glen in a flabby bluish light, while our breath made little clouds of vapour against the dark air. A shooting asterisk tore across the sky and disappeared behind the 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 plant shirt. It was at that moment that he moved closer to me and skid 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 sweater to hug his warm body, clad underneath only in a tee-shirt. Once again, I was enveloped in his masculine odor which, enhanced by his subtle use of a familiar musky Koln, seemed to enwrap me in the safety of a warm blanket. My face found a home against the piano comfort of his shoulder.

"I missed you,"I whispered.

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

He went on ahead up the stairs and I followed behind, mesmerized by the tantalizing goody of his kilted rear. His strong hairy peg clad in chunky woollen socks disappeared into that unnamed region beyond the swaying plait of his Skye Tartan and I couldn't help wondering if it was unfeigned - you know - what they say……..

He waited on the landing place for me to spread my room access and invite him in but once inside, by the light of the moon from the window, we finally embraced with a true passion of hungriness. At stopping point, we kissed, foresightful and lustfully, probing with our tongues and tasting the verboten fruits of brotherly love. His lips were full and moist, slightly salty to the penchant ; the chaff of his shadow-beard felt slightly rugged and I inhaled the bass, masculinity 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 floor as I pulled his sweater off, revealing the same"X-Men"tee-shirt he had worn the last time we met -"Wolverine"it read. My shirt was off future, then our boots and wind cone, before we fell into another embrace, kissing and cuddling, breathing and panting. He sank his back talk into my cervix and I gasped in hug drug, as his stubble lightly scratched at my sensitive bare skin and he began licking and biting my ear, his ardent breathing spell sending tingles up and down my spine.

He dropped to his articulatio genus before me, kissing the white, hairless pelt of my venter and pressing his face into my crotch. Gently, he unbuttoned my jeans and lowered them to the floor ; and then his case buried itself in my groin. My organ was bursting from my Cin2 briefs by this compass point, oozing pre-cum juices into the piano white fabric, which he eagerly sucked and tasted, gently biting at my hammer and testis through my briefs and driving me wild.

As he stood up, I stepped out of my jeans and raised his weapons system to pull in off his tee-shirt, revealing his wellspring developed chest, peppered with gentle hairs, in the meat of which hung on a leather necklace, a collide with bronze medallion in the human body of a Celtic 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 in some manner fascinating.

We returned to our embracing, kissing and petting ; my deal now following the contours of his hairless back, his sticker and then at hold out, his bum, still covered by his kilt. Through the heavy woollen textile, I massaged the cheek of his bottom, feeling their plump rung shape 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 name but also wishing to prolong the act of find, I ran my hands up the back of his hairy legs, slowly under his kilt, in high spirits and higher inside the clandestine sanctuary until I felt his hairless buttocks. I could resist no longer ; I slid back down the bed and buried my chief under his kilt, diving into his fissure, kissing and tonguing his cracking and tasting the sweaty scent of this, the most private expanse of his young trunk. I spread his wooden leg, to get word his Lucille Ball and tumid 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 movement, before taking it fully into my mouth, as my nose pressed into his hairless orchis - did he plane his balls ? I hadn't remembered that from hold out 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 movement 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 gear finger pushed inside to retrieve his prostate gland. I felt it, slightly hard and intumesce with excitement. He groaned, more loudly this time. Then, kneeling between his spread thigh and exposed behind, and surrounded by the folds of his kilt, like a huge blue-green flower, I pressed my wet and slippery shaft against its small target at the centre. Whether or not I was de-flowering the spring chicken of my youthful brother, I could not know but against his initial resistance, I pushed, gently at starting time and then more firmly, until my cock-head slipped inside the get-go bedroom. His precipitous intake of breath, followed by a slight whimpering sound, said,"Proceed ”.

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



He felt so warm and familiar, lenient and comforting ; I felt his thighs gripping the outside of my legs as I pressed on and I began to experience his own clutches from within his bowels. I established a slow, business firm 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 nooky ! Oh God ! Mark,"he gasped."I'm gon na cum like this,"he groaned in XTC. I could finger his insides clenching me, as I kept pushing across the swell up hardness of his prostate. His entire body began to shake.

It was all too much for me ; my own cum was rising now and my action mechanism became necessarily more frantic, as I pushed faster, back and forth, in and out, until - we each let out our gasps in coinciding relief, as we both came in two shattering climax, each reinforcing the other, as my cum seemed to explode from inside my balls and down my lance, into his young willingness, to be met by throbs of cristal, as his own cum erupted from his prostate, soaking the inside of his kilt in pools of Edward Douglas White Jr. spooge.

Amidst our reciprocal groan and moan, I collapsed on top of him, my electric organ slipping from his hole, as his body relaxed under me. As I kissed the book binding of his neck, his hands found mine aside the pillow and he grasped them, gripping them in loving thanks. We both fell into trench and satisfying sleep ; the slumber of the innocent ? Perhaps.

When I awoke the next sunup, 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 close fourth dimension,"I cursed to myself.

I showered, dressed and went down to breakfast. After last nighttime's exertions, I was edacious and"Mrs Danvers"served me a full cooked breakfast in her characteristically quiet and effective way. 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 while near the hotel but eventually gave up and decided to drive on up to the"Old Man of Storr"car park, as per my plan. In fact, I thought I might still bear a chance of seeing him there but I didn't. I made the short trek up through the wood and on to the orbit known as"The asylum ”, where a turn of rocky volcanic fire hydrant stand majestically and somewhat mystically in the almost lunar landscape."The Old Man of Storr"is the handsome and most impressive of them all. I had been taking lots of word picture in the morning light but the weather deteriorated towards midday, so I went back to the hotel for a late lunch.

However, the dining room wasn't open and"Mrs Danvers"wasn't around but an one-time guy was behind the bar - probably"Mr Danvers"- and he served me a Scotch whisky and a micro-waved pastie with rather LE finesse than his forbidding wife ! While I sat with my drunkenness in the recess eating my lunch, three young guy wire came in and sat at the bar. They were some of the Lapplander guys I had seen the night before and, as last 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 stomach suddenly turned over when I realised what it was. It was Deryk's Celtic amulet ! I was now worried and I desperately tried to find out what they were saying. Unlike end Nox, they were talking in English ; not that it did me much in effect because their accent were so firm that I still couldn't match much - except the word"Storr ”. Now I really was disquieted and I resolved to go out to observe the path Deryk had said he was intending to follow to progress to 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 early route 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-haired and cold and the starting time spots of pelting were falling. But I wrapped-up and set off, undeterred and even more sure that he was there, somewhere.



I traced the route, noting the landmarks from the de***********ion he had given me the night before and scanning the John Rock and bracken for any sign or hint of his having been there. The path passed close by a belittled tarn or pond fed by hill water from the ridge and there were the remains of an old b or croft nearby. I was about to make the detour to investigate when I spotted something in the Pteridium aquilinum ; leather ; a leather strap ; then the unmistakable shape of a leather sporran. It was his ! There was a small 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 house of Deryk.

Stepping down into the watercourse, my heart sank into the pit of my stomach as I saw him, lying face down in the mud, completely defenseless except for his air sock and his X-Men tee shirt. I was shivering with fear now, at what I might be about to key. He was a pitiful sight ; lying there in the shallow, rocky stream, his dead body utmost dark tanned and solid was now hoar, shriveled and helpless. As I bent down to disturb his battered and bruised body, I feared the regretful. 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.

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

He raised his head and turned, but as he tried to get up, I realised that his torso was covered with tumid wheals and bruises, as if he had been kicked repeatedly, and his face was gusty with bruises, track and grazes. I lifted him up and comforted him, as I took off my coat and put it over his frigid 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 on his beautiful but amaze face.

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

"Those love child in the bar final stage Night,"he muttered, gritting his tooth, as if assembly strong suit,"I should experience known better. They fucked me all roadstead, the bastards. But at least you're here now."

By now the weather was getting tempestuous ; the nothingness had picked up and the cold rain was starting to come down quite heavily. And it was getting shadow. I looked at my ticker and realised that, in his condition, we would never get back to the car before nightfall and this terrain would be treacherous in the wickedness, even if we tried. God knows where his boots were - stolen I guess, along with his talisman and the contents of his sporran. I checked my fluid phone to telephone for help but just when I needed it virtually, 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 c yards away, so with some trouble, I managed to get Deryk to his feet and we staggered out of the ditch and across the bracken, eventually to discover that part of the ruin was still a humble roofed structure with a half-broken barn threshold on the other incline. As we staggered inside, we were greeted by the warmth and look of what had once been an animal protection but which now took on a new use, as a shelter for two comrade. We collapsed into the straw in the corner.

There was little else I could do in the iniquity, with no kickoff aid kit. What fiddling clothing we had on was now soaking wet and we had only my pelage to cut through us both but at least it was warm up and dry in our shelter, albeit rather smelly ! I had a feeding bottle of water which I made him sip and I also had some chocolate in my pocket - always a serious generator of vigor and sustenance, 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 exposure in these consideration is shared bodily warmness, so I improvised a bed from the stalk, peeled off his wet X-men tee-shirt and his wet air sock and then removed my own wearing apparel and laid them out to dry on the drinking straw beside us. Now both completely bare, I hugged him closely against my fond trunk, spooning him from behind in the foetal position and pulling the coating over the top of us. Deryk was shivering at first but after a little patch, the warmth began to build up under the coat and he settled into a gentle sleep.

As the warmth built up, I started to get horny with my arms around him and my cock nestled in the cleft below his behind. I was thinking about 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 erecting was slipping rather easily into the crevice between his buttocks. This moment was what all my illusion of childhood had been leading up to - although I was too young or naïve to understand them fully at the metre - and now I had a real Deryk in the base hit of my branch again and I wanted him. In fact, I wanted him so much that with just the thin campaign between his buttock, I felt my orgasm building uncontrollably. percentage of me didn't want it this way ; I didn't think it was"right"while Deryk was in such a vitiated state. But I didn't enter him though ; I couldn't - I shouldn't - do that ; not here, not now. Even so, my climax was still rising in my balls until, inevitably, I knew the fight was lost. My cum rose mercilessly through my loins and erupted from my erection in a number of gentle throbs, as my fluids filled the snap of his buttocks and I cradled his consistence before me, hugging him and kissing the back of his cervix. At last I fell asleep.

The weather must consume cleared during the night because I awoke to a shaft of light of Moon through the gap in the old b room access. And against this light, I saw a phantom, 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 growl in response but then he said gruffly,

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

Before I knew it, I felt the fellow shiftiness of his raise electronic organ directly against my mess and with one thrust and a noncompliant grunt, he rammed into me, all the way.

"Jesus Christ !"I yelled out,"Go easy - please !"

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

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

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

In between the pain of his jab, which I was beginning to get accustomed to, I was cognizant of the similarity with what happened survive meter he re-appeared. The same sharing of fondness and heat, the same rapid rejuvenation, the luminosity 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 metre and came inside me, as he let out a form of howl of relief and I felt his fluids pumping into my insides, pounding after throb after throbbing, before he collapsed on top of me on the pale yellow, his erect organ still buried inside me. The pressure of his unassailable young body against my stomach now found my own erect cock, oozing pre-cum juices again and desperate to be relieved. With my arms around him, my work force clutched the cheek of his bum and pulled him to me. Just as finally night, that little pressing and gentle movement was all it took to bring on my own orgasm, and as my insides clenched and my vision seemed to film over in the moment of shattering orgasm, I felt his softening harmonium slip out of my hole just as my cum burst from my tool, filling the blank between our two bodies and running down the sides of my physical structure into the husk. Shattered, I fell asleep again, this clock time with Deryk lying on top of me.

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

"sodomist ! Just like last metre,"I swore out garish 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 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-bellied and cold.

As I pulled into the lane, I saw the flashing lights of an ambulance, two police railcar and a large crowd 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 crowd was all gathered around a vernal man with a cover over his shoulders, sitting on the wall and being attended to by the Paramedics and being questioned by the police force. 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 friends were now on their way to hospital in a bad way, but the perpetrator of this fierceness was the main talking-point ; it seems that their assaulter was a"vicious beast with inhuman intensity level and claw to equalise ”. Certainly, the young man in the cover looked as if he had been heavily beaten and scratched. His apparel, or what remained of them, were torn and filthy and one side of his face bore patched wounds of dried lineage. In fact, he was a mess - and he was the one who hadn't been taken to hospital !

But no-one was concerned in me ; the law spoke to me briefly but only to set up that I hadn't seen anything. I told them the Sojourner Truth - or at to the lowest degree, persona of it. I had gone up to the"Old Man"late yesterday but because of the conditions, I had spent the Night in the car, in the car park. Given that I clearly had neither the physique nor the body-build necessary to best three Highland youths in the manner that had clearly taken home, they believed me. I went up to my room to take my bags. It was prison term to proceed on.

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

( PS ) If anyone out there likes my `` Deryk '' news report, perhaps you 'd like to indicate how I should develop him - constructive comments, please !