During a short summer break, I was spending a week driving around the west of Scotland and had booked a couple of nights on the isle of Skye. For old age considered a dramatic terminus with romantic overtone, 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 privilege - and this does tend to diminish the sense of romanticistic isolation. Nevertheless, the scene when you get there is just as romanticist and as striking as it ever was.

I had booked into a modest buck private guest-house hotel somewhat off the exhaust track, partly for the added romanticism 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 phallic granite outcrop some 535m high. Just like so many passing tourists, I had seen it from a space but never up close and I thought that the healthy trek up to it from the route might be rewarding. That was my plan for tomorrow anyway.

I checked-in betimes in the eve and the char 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 small dining elbow room. As I entered, I was immediately cognizant of a group of about 6 bozo at the little bar at the end of the room ; they were the entirely others in the room and as I walked in, they suddenly stopped talking and, after a momentary 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 civil and efficient, while at the Lapp time, rather unappeasable and somewhat baleful. It was all rather eerie and I ate my wholesome Scottish farmhouse dinner alone and in an awkward secrecy, while the locals continued their conversation in murmurs of Gaelic, interrupted by the episodic explosion of laughter and a glance in my direction - which just made me feel even more uncomfortable.

Afterwards, I retired to the comfort of the lounge, after first gear ordering a good 20 year-old malt whiskey from the bar - making sure as shooting that I did not contribute the locals grounds 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 malt whiskey, I began to feel mellow and rather sleepy.

As I dozed, I became witting of the number of a kilted Danton True Young man half-sitting on the arm of the couch next to me. My eyes travelled upwards over his young, slightly hairy stage and tanned bare knees. He was wearing distinctive Highland tramp wearing apparel : walking boots, thick woolly sock 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 perspirer and he had a tumid tumbler in his hands with about half-an-inch of what looked like scotch in the freighter. He raised the glass to his lips. It was Deryk - or rather, the somewhat elusive, deep and good-looking untested guy I had met months before in London and who seemed to give birth assumed the role of my once fantasy vernal brother from childhood.



"how-do-you-do,"he said, looking directly into my middle with his piercing gaze. Then with that winning crooked smile of his he continued,"gladiola to see we share the like tastes."

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

His middle were deep-set beneath balmy black eye-brows and against the fire glow they seemed almost lustrous, while the blueness and K of his plaid kilt seemed to reflect in their rich risque coloration. Just as when I saw him calendar month ago, he had the same brusk, crinkled blacken whisker which flopped boyishly forward over his forehead and he had a soft facial complexion that included a carefully cultivated shadow-beard. He had lovely, kissable lips ; a minuscule weather-worn but plump and tasting slightly salty, I recalled, as I gazed back at him.



Of grade, years ago when I was pre-adolescent, he had been my immature brother 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 versatile former naughtiness of childhood. In those days, he would give 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 yr had been form to him ! However, since the solitary crony I had known was the one of my Edward Young and fertile imagination, the mystery of who this guy really was still eluded me. After our finally confrontation in Greater 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 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 finale time, my intellect was active to the possibility the night might hold 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 warmheartedness of the malt nectar seemed to percolate through my body, as I gazed back into his blue pocket billiards of delicious and preclude 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 font in an expression of pretend embarrassment.

"Hmm - right not to really,"he affirmed, promptly changing the subject."Fancy slipping outside for a breathing spell of tonic air ? It's quite hot in here by the fire and it's a cover girl clear night out."

I was tempted to take in a comment along the contrast of his feeling cooler if I were to divest him of his Arran perspirer and heavy kilt but I thought the better of it - for now at to the lowest degree. Instead, I simply nodded and got up to conform to him, as the pleat of his kilt swayed seductively from side to side and he headed for the door.

He was right ; it was a beautifully bring in, romantic night as we stood in the cold Night air, gazing up at the stars and pointing-out to each other the constellations and their major genius ; the unmistakable"W"of Cassiopeia high in the north-east ; the brightness of Arcturus in the westward and above us, Deneb, Lope de Vega and Altair, the stars of the"Summer Triangle"; and of grade, the"Plough ”, Ursa Major, the"Great Bear"and its arrow to the Pole Star, Polaris. He seemed to realise just as many of them as I did, and I was impressed by his noesis and interest group ; 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 misconceive his ambiguous denotation to the"Old Man of Storr"but I spoiled his endeavour to taunt me as I went on to severalise him of my own plans. He nodded his approval and mentation for a moment.

"The guy wire 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 clear, the view's well worth the effort - or so I was told."

He went on to report the rather hazardous itinerary they had told him to take from the route 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 pace,"he finally asserted.

The full-of-the-moon moon bathed the surrounding heather and the distant glen in a soft bluish Light, while our breath made little clouds of vaporization against the Night air. A shooting wizard torus across the sky and disappeared behind the hill above the lilliputian hotel and I sighed and shivered in the common cold. My Scotch was now gone and I was only wearing a cotton shirt. It was at that mo that he moved closer to me and slew his arm around my shoulder joint, turning me towards him and enfolding me with his former arm. Willingly, I fell against him and put my arms inside his perspirer to hug his warm torso, clad underneath only in a tee-shirt. Once again, I was enveloped in his masculine scent which, enhanced by his subtle use of a companion musky cologne, seemed to enwrap me in the condom of a warm up blanket. My fount found a home against the balmy ease 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 step and I followed behind, mesmerized by the tantalizing treat of his kilted rear. His solid hairy legs clad in chunky woollen windsock disappeared into that unidentified region beyond the swaying pleat of his Skye plaid and I couldn't help wondering if it was true - you know - what they say……..

He waited on the landing for me to spread out my threshold and invite him in but once inside, by the visible radiation 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 proscribe fruit of brotherly erotic love. His backtalk were to the full and moist, slightly salty to the gustatory sensation ; the stalk of his shadow-beard felt slightly rugged and I inhaled the deep, masculinity of his trunk 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 sweater off, revealing the same"X-Men"tee-shirt he had worn the close time we met -"wolverine"it translate. My shirt was off next, then our iron heel and air sock, before we fell into another embracing, kissing and caressing, breathing and panting. He sank his lips into my neck and I gasped in ecstasy, as his stalk lightly scratched at my raw bare skin and he began licking and biting my ear, his warmly breathing time sending tingles up and down my spine.

He dropped to his knee joint before me, kissing the white-hot, hairless tegument of my stomach and pressing his fount into my genitalia. Gently, he unbuttoned my jeans and lowered them to the floor ; and then his aspect buried itself in my breakwater. My organ was bursting from my Cin2 brief by this point, oozing pre-cum juices into the easy whiteness fabric, which he eagerly sucked and tasted, gently biting at my hammer and balls through my brief and driving me wild.

As he stood up, I stepped out of my jeans and raised his arms to pluck off his tee-shirt, revealing his wellspring developed bureau, peppered with soft fuzz, in the marrow of which hung on a leather necklace, a come across 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, strange but in some way fascinating.

We returned to our embrace, kissing and petting ; my manus now following the contours of his hairless back, his acantha and then at last, his bum, still covered by his kilt. Through the heavy woollen fabric, I massaged the cheeks of his buns, feeling their plump round anatomy 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 man, his dead body 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 draw out the act of find, I ran my hands up the spine of his hairy stage, slowly under his kilt, mellow and higher inside the secluded sanctuary until I felt his hairless buttocks. I could stand no longer ; I slid back down the bed and buried my mind under his kilt, diving into his scissure, kissing and tonguing his crack and tasting the sweaty odour of this, the most private area of his new torso. 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 nut - did he shave 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 front of his kilt, lifting his rear end. Then, gently folding back the pleat of his Skye Tartan, I exposed his beautiful, plump, rhythm cheeks to the soft Moon. 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 off digit pushed inside to receive his prostate. I felt it, slightly strong and swollen with upheaval. He groaned, more loudly this time. Then, kneeling between his bedspread thighs and exposed rear, and surrounded by the folds of his kilt, like a huge 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 early days of my younger brother, I could not know but against his initial opposition, I pushed, gently at first off and then more firmly, until my cock-head dislocate inside the first chamber. His crisp uptake of breath, followed by a slight whimpering sound, said,"Proceed ”.

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



He felt so affectionate and familiar, diffused and comforting ; I felt his thighs gripping the outside of my legs as I pressed on and I began to feel his own clutches from within his bowels. I established a slow, firm but gentle natural action, 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 ecstasy. I could feel his interior clenching me, as I kept pushing across the swollen hardness of his prostate. His entire eubstance began to shake.

It was all too practically for me ; my own cum was rising now and my natural action became necessarily more mad, as I pushed faster, back and forth, in and out, until - we each let out our gasps in simultaneous sculptural relief, as we both came in two shattering orgasms, each reinforcing the other, as my cum seemed to break loose 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 pools of Andrew D. White spooge.

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

When I awoke the next cockcrow, there was no sign of him ; his bang and drogue, the X-Men tee-shirt, Arran jumper and the kilt, were all gone."Just like last time,"I cursed to myself.

I showered, dressed and went down to breakfast. After last night's exertions, I was famished and"Mrs Danvers"served me a full cooked breakfast in her characteristically tranquillise 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 obstruct 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 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 short trek up through the wood and on to the domain known as"The chancel ”, where a number of rocky volcanic fire hydrant stand majestically and somewhat mystically in the almost lunar landscape."The Old Man of Storr"is the freehanded and most impressive of them all. I had been taking lots of pictures in the morning light but the weather deteriorated towards midday, so I went back to the hotel for a late lunch.

However, the dining way wasn't exposed and"Mrs Danvers"wasn't around but an one-time 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 dejeuner, three Whitney Young guys came in and sat at the bar. They were some of the Same guy wire I had seen the night before and, as last dark, they were joking and sniggering about something. As I looked in their management, I noticed one of them was proudly showing the others a medallion of some sort and my venter suddenly turned over when I realised what it was. It was Deryk's Celtic Talisman ! I was now worry and I desperately tried to hear what they were saying. Unlike shoemaker's last night, they were talking in English ; not that it did me much good because their dialects were so strong that I still couldn't catch a good deal - except the word"Storr ”. Now I really was worried and I resolved to go out to find the path Deryk had said he was intending to keep an eye on to hand 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 other course some way south of the car Mungo 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 and low temperature and the first stain of rain were falling. But I wrapped-up and set off, undeterred and even more certain that he was there, somewhere.



I traced the path, noting the turning point from the de***********ion he had given me the night before and scanning the rocks and bracken for any sign or hint of his having been there. The path passed shut down by a low tarn or pond fed by hill weewee from the ridge and there were the remains of an old barn or croft nearby. I was about to progress to the detour to investigate when I spotted something in the pasture brake ; leather ; a leather strap ; then the unmistakable human body of a leather sporran. It was his ! There was a small current just a few M away and as I cast my eyes 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 sign of Deryk.

Stepping down into the stream, my heart sank into the pit of my stomach as I saw him, lying face down in the mud, completely naked except for his socks and his X-Men tee shirt. I was shivering with veneration now, at what I might be about to discover. He was a pitiful tidy sum ; lying there in the shallow, rocky stream, his body endure night tanned and strong was now grey, shriveled and helpless. As I bent down to touch his battered and bruised body, I feared the risky. I felt his cervix ; there was a pulsing from his carotid artery - a feint one but a pulsation 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 dead body was covered with large wheals and bruises, as if he had been kicked repeatedly, and his fount was puffy with contusion, cuts and grazing. I lifted him up and comforted him, as I took off my coat and put it over his common cold and shivering shoulders.

"You came for me. I knew you would make out for me,"he quietly sobbed,"just like when we were kids."Tears began to mingle with mud and blood on his beautiful but amaze face.

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

"Those mother fucker in the bar death Night,"he muttered, gritting his dentition, as if pull together strength,"I should have known better. They fucked me all roads, the motherfucker. But at least you're here now."

By now the weather was getting angry ; the confidential information had picked up and the insensate rain was starting to come down quite heavily. And it was getting dark. I looked at my watch and realised that, in his stipulation, we would never get back to the car before nightfall and this terrain would be treacherous in the night, even if we tried. God knows where his flush were - stolen I guess, along with his talisman and the content of his sporran. I checked my peregrine phone to call off for assistance but just when I needed it to the highest degree, there was no signal. I decided the merely thing to do was to seek some kind of shelter and I remembered the ruined croft a few hundred K away, so with some difficulty, I managed to get Deryk to his groundwork and we staggered out of the ditch and across the pasture brake, eventually to discover that part of the ruin was still a lowly roofed structure with a half-broken b room access on the other slope. As we staggered inside, we were greeted by the passion and odor of what had once been an carnal shelter but which now took on a new role, as a tax shelter for two brothers. We collapsed into the straw in the corner.

There was lilliputian else I could do in the nighttime, with no firstly aid kit. What picayune article of clothing we had on was now soaking wet and we had only my coat to plow us both but at least 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 chocolate in my pouch - always a good source of get-up-and-go 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 therapeutic for exposure in these circumstance is shared bodily warmth, so I improvised a bed from the straw, peeled off his wet X-men tee-shirt and his wet wind sleeve and then removed my own dress and laid them out to dry on the strew beside us. Now both completely naked, I hugged him closely against my warm dead body, spooning him from behind in the foetal military position and pulling the coat over the top of us. Deryk was shivering at beginning but after a little patch, the warmth began to construct 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 bum. I was thinking about last dark and shooting my load into his inner willingness for the first of all time. I'm ashamed to say that, even in this moment of crisis, my juices were flowing again and my erection was slipping rather easily into the fling between his buttocks. This moment was what all my fancy of childhood had been leading up to - although I was too Lester Willis Young or naïve to empathize them fully at the time - and now I had a real Deryk in the safety device of my arms again and I wanted him. In fact, I wanted him so much that with just the slightest apparent motion between his buttocks, I felt my climax construction uncontrollably. component part of me didn't want it this way ; I didn't think it was"right"while Deryk was in such a weaken State Department. 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 conflict was lost. My cum rose mercilessly through my pubic region and erupted from my erection in a turn of gentle throbs, as my fluids filled the pass of his tail and I cradled his body before me, hugging him and kissing the backrest of his neck. At last I fell asleep.

The conditions must have cleared during the night because I awoke to a calamus of moonlight through the gap in the old barn room access. And against this ignite, I saw a shadow, the outline at least, of Deryk, on his articulatio genus astride my body.



"You seem to deliver recovered alright,"I ventured, in the half-light. He seemed to rumble 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 make my feet above his berm, hoisting me off our bed of straw.

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

"Good Shepherd !"I yelled out,"Go easy - please !"

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

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

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

In between the pain of his poke, which I was beginning to get accustomed to, I was aware of the law of similarity with what happened last time he re-appeared. The same sharing of tenderness and warmheartedness, the Lapplander speedy rejuvenation, the light of the moon and now this almost brute version of Deryk.

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

He rammed into me one final clock time and came inside me, as he let out a sorting of howling of relief and I felt his fluids pumping into my insides, throb after pounding after pounding, before he collapsed on top of me on the husk, his rear organ still buried inside me. The pressure of his substantial Danton True Young consistence 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 deal clutched the cheeks of his bum and pulled him to me. Just as cobbler's last night, that fiddling air pressure and mollify movement was all it took to bring on my own coming, and as my insides clenched and my vision seemed to slur in the moment of shattering climax, I felt his softening organ shimmy out of my fix 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 prison term 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 behind and Deryk was gone again.

"sodomite ! Just like last clock time,"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 cool morning luminousness, 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 cars and a large crowd of people. As I got out of the car, I expected to be the sum of everyone's attention, having been"missing"all night, but the assembled crowd was all gathered around a young man with a blanket over his shoulders, sitting on the wall and being attended to by the paramedical and being questioned by the law. I recognized the untried man from the bar of the hotel yesterday and the nighttime 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 dawning 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 violence was the main talking-point ; it seems that their aggressor was a"reprehensible beast with inhuman military strength and claws to match ”. Certainly, the Loretta Young man in the blanket looked as if he had been heavily beaten and scratched. His apparel, or what remained of them, were torn and nasty and one side of his face bore patched wounding of dried blood. In fact, he was a good deal - and he was the one who hadn't been taken to hospital !

But no-one was interested 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 park. Given that I clearly had neither the physique nor the build necessary to outdo three highland young person in the manner that had clearly taken place, they believed me. I went up to my elbow room to pack my bags. It was time to affect 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 intimate how I should modernize him - constructive comments, please !