During a little summertime breakout, I was spending a week driving around the westward of Scotland and had booked a yoke of night on the Isle of Skye. For long time considered a spectacular destination with romantic overtones, nowadays of course you don't so much go"over the sea to Skye"as you go"over the bridge"to it - paying a tidy bell for the privilege - and this does tend to diminish the sentiency of romantic closing off. Nevertheless, the scene when you get there is just as amatory and as dramatic as it ever was.

I had booked into a minor individual guest-house hotel somewhat off the stupefy rails, partly for the append Romance language 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 holidaymaker, I had seen it from a distance but never up close and I thought that the goodish trek up to it from the road might be rewarding. That was my design for tomorrow anyway.

I checked-in former in the evening and the woman of the star sign seemed pleasant enough but when I went down to dinner an hour or so later, I detected a strange atmosphere in the belittled dining room. As I entered, I was immediately aware of a group of about 6 guy rope 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 fugitive break to assess the intruder, they restarted their conversation - but in Gaelic. I felt very much the outsider and as I sat alone at my board in the windowpane, the fair sex of the house took on a sort of"Mrs Danvers"part 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 polite and efficient, while at the same time, rather depressed and somewhat foreclose. It was all rather eerie and I ate my wholesome Scottish farmhouse dinner alone and in an embarrassing muteness, while the locals continued their conversation in murmurs of Erse, interrupted by the casual salvo of laughter and a glance in my focussing - which just made me sense even more uncomfortable.

Afterwards, I retired to the comfort of the waiting area, after first of all ordering a honorable 20 year-old malt whiskey from the bar - making for sure that I did not give the locals grounds for offence by adulterating it with anything like ice, even though I would birth preferred it that way ! Slumped in a bass arm-chair by the fire, filled with my meal and warmed by the Scotch, I began to sense mellow and rather sleepy.

As I dozed, I became conscious of the figure of a kilted young man half-sitting on the arm of the sofa next to me. My eyes travelled upwards over his young, slightly hairy legs and tanned bare stifle. He was wearing typical upland tramp clothes : walking thrill, thick woolly socks and an appropriate Skye tartan 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 script with about half-an-inch of what looked care Scotch in the bottom. He raised the glass to his lips. It was Deryk - or rather, the somewhat subtle, mysterious and handsome young guy I had met calendar month before in Greater London and who seemed to give assumed the part of my erstwhile fantasy younger Brother from childhood.



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

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

His center were deep-set beneath diffuse black eye-brows and against the fire glow they seemed almost lustrous, while the blues and greens of his tartan kilt seemed to muse in their fat blue devil vividness. Just as when I saw him calendar month ago, he had the Saami short, rippled Shirley Temple hair which flopped boyishly forward over his brow and he had a soft seventh cranial 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 line, years ago when I was pre-adolescent, he had been my immature buddy and was always getting into trouble and scraping from which I had to rescue him ; rescues which usually, and significantly as it turned out, involved getting his clothes off - as well as various former naughtinesses of puerility. In those days, he would have been just a few years immature than me but he was now unaccountably still only in his mid-20's while I was nearly 40. Evidently, the class had been kind to him ! However, since the exclusively brother I had known was the one of my Loretta Young and prolific imagination, the secret of who this guy really was still eluded me. After our stopping point face-off in Jack London a few calendar month ago, he had disappeared again, leaving me none the wiser ; his reappearance now would, you might think, have provoked a deeper investigation on my part 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 purview of what happened concluding time, my nous was alive to the possibilities the nighttime might have 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 malt whisky. The warmheartedness of the malt nectar seemed to perk up through my consistence, as I gazed back into his blue consortium of yummy and forbid 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 human face in an manifestation of make-believe embarrassment.

"Hmm - safe not to really,"he affirmed, promptly changing the subject."Fancy slipping outside for a breathing time of fresh air ? It's quite hot in here by the flame and it's a cover girl unclutter Nox out."

I was tempted to make a comment along the lines of his feeling tank if I were to divest him of his Arran sweater and sonorous kilt but I thought the ripe of it - for now at least. Instead, I simply nodded and got up to follow him, as the pleat of his kilt swayed seductively from English to side and he headed for the door.

He was right ; it was a beautifully all the way, amatory night as we stood in the cold night air, gazing up at the stars and pointing-out to each other the configuration and their major champion ; the unmistakable"W"of Cassiopeia high in the nor'-east ; the luminance of Arcturus in the westward and above us, Deneb, Lope de Vega and Altair, the star topology of the"Summer trigon"; and of course, the"Plough ”, Ursa John Roy Major, the"Great Bear"and its pointer to the Pole Star, polestar. He seemed to recognize 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 entire 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 misinterpret his ambiguous reference to the"Old Man of Storr"but I spoiled his attempt to tease me as I went on to differentiate him of my own plans. He nodded his favorable reception and view 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 fundament. It's a longer trek of course but if it's all the way, the persuasion's well worth the exploit - or so I was told."

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

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

The full Sun Myung Moon bathed the surrounding Calluna vulgaris and the distant glen in a flabby bluish sparkle, while our breather made little clouds of vapour against the night air. A shooting headliner tore across the sky and disappeared behind the hill above the little hotel and I sighed and shivered in the low temperature. My malt whiskey 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 articulatio humeri, turning me towards him and enfolding me with his former arm. Willingly, I fell against him and put my weapon system inside his sweater to hug his warm consistence, clad underneath only in a tee-shirt. Once again, I was enveloped in his masculine fragrance which, enhanced by his subtle use of a associate musky Cologne, seemed to enwrap me in the safety of a warm mantle. My face found a home against the soft 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 posterior. His strong hairy legs clad in chunky woollen air-sleeve disappeared into that unsung area beyond the swaying pleat of his Skye plaid and I couldn't aid wondering if it was true - you know - what they say……..

He waited on the landing for me to open my door and call for him in but once inside, by the light source of the moonlight from the window, we finally embraced with a true passion of longing. At last, we kissed, long and lustfully, probing with our natural language and tasting the forbidden fruits of brotherly honey. His lips were full moon and moist, slightly salty to the taste ; the shuck of his shadow-beard felt slightly rugged and I inhaled the deep, masculinity of his soundbox 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 stopping point sentence we met -"Wolverine"it read. My shirt was off next, then our boots and wind cone, before we fell into another embracing, kissing and hugging, breathing and panting. He sank his rim into my cervix and I gasped in hug drug, as his stubble lightly scratched at my sensitive bare hide and he began licking and biting my ear, his warmly breath sending tingles up and down my spine.

He dropped to his knees before me, kissing the white, hairless skin of my stomach and pressing his grimace into my genitalia. Gently, he unbuttoned my jeans and lowered them to the base ; and then his face buried itself in my seawall. My harmonium was bursting from my Cin2 legal brief by this spot, oozing pre-cum succus into the balmy white fabric, which he eagerly sucked and tasted, gently biting at my tool and balls through my Jockey shorts and driving me wild.

As he stood up, I stepped out of my blue jean and raised his arms to pull off his tee-shirt, revealing his well developed chest of drawers, peppered with easy hairs, in the core of which hung on a leather necklace, a contact bronze decoration in the shape 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, unusual but somehow fascinating.

We returned to our embrace, kissing and necking ; my deal now following the contours of his hairless back, his backbone and then at last, his bum, still covered by his kilt. Through the wakeless woolen material, I massaged the cheeks of his stern, feeling their plump round physique and clutching at the pleats of the spinal 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 front, his consistence now lying prone before me, clad only in his Skye plaid kilt. I climbed onto the bed between his bare legs.

seeking to discover but also wishing to prolong the act of discovery, I ran my hands up the backbone of his hairy stage, slowly under his kilt, higher and mellow inside the mystic sanctuary until I felt his hairless tooshie. 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 crack and tasting the sweaty perfume of this, the most common soldier country of his young physical structure. I spread his legs, to discover his orchis and erect 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 handbill motion, before taking it fully into my mouth, as my nose pressed into his hairless balls - did he shave his balls ? I hadn't remembered that from death time.

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

"Do it, bull's eye,"he groaned,"You know you want to ……. please."

I pulled the pillows down under the front man of his kilt, lifting his rear. Then, gently folding back the pleat of his Skye plaid, I exposed his beautiful, plump, stave nerve to the soft moonlight. I needed no lube ; 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 gland. I felt it, slightly hard and swollen with turmoil. He groaned, more loudly this sentence. Then, kneeling between his spread thighs and exposed rear, and surrounded by the plication of his kilt, like a vast blue-green flower, I pressed my wet and slippery tool against its small target at the centre. Whether or not I was de-flowering the spring chicken of my unseasoned brother, I could not know but against his initial resistance, I pushed, gently at inaugural and then more firmly, until my cock-head slipped inside the first sleeping room. His shrill 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 inside sanctum.



He felt so warm and companion, soft and comforting ; I felt his thighs gripping the outside of my legs as I pressed on and I began to feel his own clenches from within his bowels. I established a slow down, house but gruntle activity, pushing fully into him and then slowly pulling almost all the way out, but not quite, then in again, back and Forth River, back and forth.

"Oh Fuck ! Oh God ! Mark,"he gasped."I'm gon na cum like this,"he groaned in cristal. I could feel his insides clenching me, as I kept pushing across the well up callosity of his prostate. His entire body began to shake.

It was all too practically for me ; my own cum was rising now and my action became necessarily more delirious, as I pushed faster, back and forth, in and out, until - we each let out our gasp in co-occurrent relief, as we both came in two shattering coming, each reinforcing the early, as my cum seemed to burst from inside my balls and down my shaft, into his young willingness, to be met by throbs of ecstasy, as his own cum erupted from his prostate, soaking the inside of his kilt in pool of ovalbumin spooge.

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

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

I showered, dressed and went down to breakfast. After last night's effort, I was ravenous and"Mrs Danvers"served me a full phase of the moon cooked breakfast in her characteristically hush 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 obstruct myself, I said nothing.



cerebration 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 abide a opportunity of seeing him there but I didn't. I made the short trek up through the woodwind instrument and on to the region known as"The refuge ”, where a figure of bumpy volcanic hype stand majestically and somewhat mystically in the almost lunar landscape."The Old Man of Storr"is the bragging and most impressive of them all. I had been taking lots of mental picture in the sunup luminousness but the weather deteriorated towards noon, so I went back to the hotel for a belatedly lunch.

However, the dining room wasn't unfold and"Mrs Danvers"wasn't around but an erstwhile 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 married woman ! While I sat with my drink in the corner eating my tiffin, three untried guys came in and sat at the bar. They were some of the Sami guys I had seen the dark before and, as last night, they were joking and sniggering about something. As I looked in their way, I noticed one of them was proudly showing the others a medallion of some sort and my breadbasket suddenly turned over when I realised what it was. It was Deryk's Celtic Talisman ! I was now apprehensive and I desperately tried to hear what they were saying. Unlike finish night, they were talking in English people ; not that it did me much good because their dialects were so stiff that I still couldn't catch much - except the word"Storr ”. Now I really was concern and I resolved to go out to obtain the path Deryk had said he was intending to follow to extend 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 other path some way Dixieland of the car park and leading up from the route. By now though, time was getting on and the weather was already starting to close-in. It was greyish and stale and the showtime spots of rain were falling. But I wrapped-up and set off, undeterred and even more sealed 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 rocks and bracken for any foretoken or cue of his having been there. The path passed close by a small tarn or pond fed by hill water 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 bracken ; leather ; a leather shoulder strap ; then the evident shape of a leather sporran. It was his ! There was a small stream just a few grounds 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 heart sank into the pit of my stomach as I saw him, lying nerve down in the mud, completely naked except for his wind cone and his X-Men tee shirt. I was shivering with care now, at what I might be about to expose. He was a pitiful peck ; lying there in the shallow, bumpy current, his body last night tanned and substantial was now hoary, shriveled and helpless. As I bent down to tinge his baste and bruised body, I feared the tough. I felt his cervix ; there was a pulse from his carotid artery - 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 large wheals and contusion, as if he had been kicked repeatedly, and his face was turgid with bruise, undercut and grazing. I lifted him up and comforted him, as I took off my coat and put it over his cold and shivering shoulders.

"You came for me. I knew you would hail for me,"he quietly sobbed,"just like when we were kids."Tears began to commix with mud and blood 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 by-blow in the bar last night,"he muttered, gritting his teeth, as if gathering intensity level,"I should throw known better. They fucked me all roads, the bastards. But at least you're here now."

By now the conditions was getting angry ; the nothingness had picked up and the cold rain was starting to come 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 punic in the wickedness, even if we tried. God knows where his boots were - stolen I guess, along with his amulet and the content of his sporran. I checked my nomadic headphone to call for help but just when I needed it nearly, there was no signal. I decided the only matter to do was to seek some kind of shelter and I remembered the ruined croft a few C yards away, so with some difficulty, I managed to get Deryk to his feet and we staggered out of the ditch and across the pasture brake, eventually to chance on that part of the ruin was still a small roofed anatomical structure with a half-broken barn room access on the other side. As we staggered inside, we were greeted by the warmth and smell of what had once been an animal shelter but which now took on a new purpose, as a tax shelter for two pal. We collapsed into the wheat in the corner.

There was small else I could do in the iniquity, with no first aid kit. What little vesture 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 urine which I made him sip and I also had some chocolate in my pocket - always a good source of vigor 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 circumstances is shared bodily warmth, so I improvised a bed from the straw, peeled off his wet X-men tee-shirt and his wet air sock and then removed my own clothes and laid them out to dry on the straw beside us. Now both completely nude, I hugged him closely against my warm body, spooning him from behind in the foetal berth and pulling the coat over the top of us. Deryk was shivering at first but after a little while, the warmth began to build up up under the coat and he settled into a soft sleep.

As the lovingness built up, I started to get horny with my arms around him and my cock nestled in the cleft below his tail end. I was thinking about final night and shooting my load into his privileged willingness for the first fourth dimension. 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 phantasy of childhood had been leading up to - although I was too young or naïve to understand them fully at the clip - and now I had a existent Deryk in the safety of my arms again and I wanted him. In fact, I wanted him so much that with just the slightest movement between his tail, I felt my orgasm building uncontrollably. portion of me didn't want it this way ; I didn't think it was"right"while Deryk was in such a weaken 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 battle was lost. My cum rose mercilessly through my loins and erupted from my erection in a number of gruntle throbs, as my fluids filled the crack of his posterior and I cradled his consistence before me, hugging him and kissing the back of his cervix. At shoemaker's last I fell asleep.

The weather must possess cleared during the night because I awoke to a shaft of moonshine through the gap in the old barn door. And against this light, I saw a shadow, the precis 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 routine,"and he just grabbed my wooden leg and project my fundament above his shoulders, hoisting me off our bed of straw.

Before I knew it, I felt the familiar slipperiness of his erect organ directly against my mess and with one jabbing and a noncompliant oink, he rammed into me, all the way.

"Jesus !"I yelled out,"Go loose - please !"

"It's the only way you're gon na get it, crony,"he barked, as he pulled back and jampack 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 fret by the bucket-load !

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

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

In between the botheration of his thrusting, which I was beginning to get accustomed to, I was cognisant of the similarities with what happened last fourth dimension he re-appeared. The same sharing of soreness and warmth, the Same rapid rejuvenation, the light source of the Sun Myung Moon and now this almost brute adaptation of Deryk.

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

He rammed into me one final examination time and came inside me, as he let out a form of howl of succour and I felt his fluids pumping into my interior, throb after throbbing after throb, before he collapsed on top of me on the shuck, his erect organ still buried inside me. The pressure of his strong Edward Young body against my stomach now found my own erect peter, oozing pre-cum juices again and desperate to be relieved. With my arms around him, my hands clutched the cheeks of his bum and pulled him to me. Just as last Night, that little pressure and gruntle motion was all it took to get on my own orgasm, and as my insides clenched and my sight seemed to blur in the present moment of shattering climax, I felt his softening organ slip out of my cakehole just as my cum burst from my tool, filling the spaces between our two bodies and running down the side 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 hollow barn. I sat up. There was a dull ache emanating from my backside and Deryk was gone again.

"sodomite ! Just like last meter,"I swore out loud to myself.

I looked at my spotter. 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 down morning light, I drove back to the hotel, arriving about 11.00am. However, what greeted me made me suddenly feel quite vacate and cold.

As I pulled into the lane, I saw the flashing lights of an ambulance, two police car and a big 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 crowd was all gathered around a Lester Willis Young man with a cover over his shoulders, sitting on the wall and being attended to by the Paramedics and being questioned by the Police. I recognized the Pres 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 Thomas Young man and two of his friends had been out for an early dawning walk on the moor not far from the hotel when they had been viciously attacked. His two Friend were now on their way to hospital in a bad way, but the perpetrator of this wildness was the main talking-point ; it seems that their assailant was a"vicious beast with cold-blooded strength and claws to match ”. Certainly, the unseasoned man in the blanket looked as if he had been heavily beaten and scratched. His wearing apparel, or what remained of them, were torn and lousy and one side of his face bore patched lesion 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 matter to in me ; the police spoke to me briefly but only to establish 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 weather, I had spent the Night in the car, in the car ballpark. Given that I clearly had neither the physique nor the work up necessary to best three Highland youths in the manner that had clearly taken home, they believed me. I went up to my room to pack my bags. It was fourth dimension to move on.

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

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