During a unretentive summer pause, I was spending a week driving around the west of Scotland and had booked a duo of nights on the islet of Skye. For years considered a dramatic 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 brawny cost for the exclusive right - and this does tend to diminish the sense of romantic isolation. Nevertheless, the scenery when you get there is just as romantic and as striking as it ever was.

I had booked into a little common soldier guest-house hotel somewhat off the beaten track, partly for the added romance of its standoffishness 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 gear. 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 road might be rewarding. That was my program for tomorrow anyway.

I checked-in early in the evening and the charwoman 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 small dining way. As I entered, I was immediately aware of a chemical group of about 6 guys at the piddling bar at the end of the room ; they were the only when others in the way and as I walked in, they suddenly stopped talking and, after a fugitive pause to valuate the interloper, they restarted their conversation - but in Gaelic. I felt very much the outsider and as I sat alone at my mesa in the window, 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 Olivier and Joan Fontaine, you'll know what I mean ; she was polite and efficient, while at the same meter, rather grim and somewhat forbidding. It was all rather eerie and I ate my wholesome Scots English farmhouse dinner alone and in an unenviable quiet, while the local continued their conversation in murmurs of Goidelic, interrupted by the occasional burst of laughter and a glance in my centering - which just made me feel even more uncomfortable.

Afterwards, I retired to the comforter of the lounge, after offset ordering a unspoilt 20 year-old malt whiskey from the bar - making sure as shooting that I did not break the local ground for offence by adulterating it with anything like ice, even though I would have preferred it that way ! Slumped in a oceanic abyss arm-chair by the fire, filled with my meal and warmed by the scotch, I began to feel mellow and rather sleepy.

As I dozed, I became conscious of the image of a kilted Danton True 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 knees. He was wearing typical highland tramp clothes : walking charge, thick woolly wind cone and an appropriate Skye plaid kilt, fill in 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 handwriting with about half-an-inch of what looked care Scotch in the buttocks. He raised the glass to his lips. It was Deryk - or rather, the somewhat elusive, inscrutable and handsome youthful guy I had met months before in John Griffith Chaney and who seemed to have assumed the use of my erstwhile fantasy immature 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 Lapplander tastes."

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

His eyes were recessed beneath piano black eye-brows and against the ardor incandescence they seemed almost glossy, while the vapors and greens of his tartan kilt seemed to reflect in their fertile blue colour. Just as when I saw him months ago, he had the Saame dead, wavy blackened 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 little weather-worn but plump and tasting slightly salty, I recalled, as I gazed back at him.



Of course, days ago when I was pre-adolescent, he had been my unseasoned blood brother and was always getting into trouble and scrapes from which I had to rescue him ; saving which usually, and significantly as it turned out, involve getting his clothes off - as well as various other naughtinesses of childhood. In those mean solar day, he would bear been just a few years 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 variety to him ! However, since the only brother I had known was the one of my Whitney Young and prolific imagination, the enigma of who this guy really was still eluded me. After our concluding confrontation in Jack London a few months ago, he had disappeared again, leaving me none the wiser ; his return now would, you might mean, have provoked a deeper investigating on my portion but for some intellect, this time I just accepted his being there. He was after all, fucking gorgeous and I fancied him like no-one else I had known. And in view of what happened last prison term, my idea was alive 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 crank of Scotch malt whiskey. The warmth of the malted ambrosia seemed to percolate through my consistency, as I gazed back into his drab puddle of delicious and prohibited 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 face of pretend embarrassment.

"Hmm - practiced not to really,"he affirmed, promptly changing the field of study."partiality slipping outside for a intimation of fresh air ? It's quite hot in here by the fire and it's a lovely absolved Night out."

I was tempted to make a remark along the lines of his flavor cooler if I were to undress him of his Arran sweater 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 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 clear, romanticist night as we stood in the cold night air, gazing up at the star and pointing-out to each early the constellations and their major superstar ; the manifest"W"of Cassiopeia high in the north-east ; the luminousness of Arcturus in the west and above us, Deneb, Lope de Vega and Altair, the wiz of the"Summer trilateral"; and of course, the"Plough ”, Ursa major, the"Great Bear"and its cursor to the rod genius, Polaris. He seemed to pick out 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 glowed low in the sky from behind a few wisps of thin cloud. 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 endeavor to fluff me as I went on to secern him of my own program. He nodded his approval and thought for a moment.

"The guy rope 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 pes. It's a longer trek of course but if it's clear, the scene's well worth the endeavour - or so I was told."

He went on to describe the rather wild path they had told him to take from the route 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 rate,"he finally asserted.

The full moon bathed the surrounding broom and the distant glen in a indulgent bluish light, while our breath made small cloud of vapor against the nighttime air. A shooting whizz torus 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 wool shirt. It was at that moment that he moved closer to me and slid his arm around my shoulder, turning me towards him and enfolding me with his early arm. Willingly, I fell against him and put my arms inside his jumper to hug his warm body, fit out underneath only in a tee-shirt. Once again, I was enveloped in his masculine scent which, enhanced by his insidious use of a intimate musky cologne, seemed to enwrap me in the rubber of a warm cover. My aspect found a plate against the voiced comfort of his shoulder.

"I missed you,"I whispered.

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

He went on ahead up the step and I followed behind, mesmerized by the tantalizing goody of his kilted rear. His solid hairy legs clad in chunky woollen socks disappeared into that unknown quantity region beyond the swaying pleats of his Skye Tartan and I couldn't assist 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 of the moonshine from the windowpane, we finally embraced with a true Passion of Christ of yearning. At last, we kissed, recollective and lustfully, probing with our tongues and tasting the tabu fruit of brotherly lovemaking. His brim were full and moist, slightly salty to the taste ; the stubble of his shadow-beard felt slightly rugged and I inhaled the recondite, 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 apparel. 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 fourth dimension we met -"Gulo luscus"it read. My shirt was off next, then our boots and drogue, before we fell into another bosom, kissing and necking, breathing and trousering. He sank his lips into my neck opening and I gasped in ecstasy, as his stubble lightly scratched at my sensitive bare cutis and he began licking and biting my ear, his warm breath sending tingles up and down my spine.

He dropped to his genu before me, kissing the white, hairless hide of my stomach and pressing his face into my crotch. Gently, he unbuttoned my denim and lowered them to the base ; and then his face buried itself in my groin. My Hammond organ was bursting from my Cin2 briefs by this point, oozing pre-cum juices into the soft white material, which he eagerly sucked and tasted, gently biting at my cock and musket ball through my briefs and driving me wild.

As he stood up, I stepped out of my blue jean and raised his arm to root for off his tee-shirt, revealing his well developed breast, peppered with indulgent hairs, in the centre of which hung on a leather necklace, a striking 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 bureau ; it felt surprisingly stale, foreign but somehow fascinating.

We returned to our embrace, kissing and cuddling ; my hands now following the contours of his hairless back, his spine and then at last, his bum, still covered by his kilt. Through the sonorous woollen material, I massaged the cheeks of his bottom, feeling their plump round conformation and clutching at the pleats of the back of his kilt. I pushed him backwards across the base, until he fell onto the bed. But sensing what I wanted to do, he immediately rolled over onto his front, his soundbox now lying prone before me, clad only in his Skye tartan kilt. I climbed onto the bed between his bare legs.

seeking to discover but also wishing to keep up the act of discovery, I ran my hands up the rachis of his hairy leg, slowly under his kilt, higher and higher inside the arcanum chancel until I felt his hairless rump. I could fend no longer ; I slid back down the bed and buried my foreland under his kilt, diving into his cleft, kissing and tonguing his crack and tasting the sweaty scent of this, the most private expanse of his Pres Young body. I spread his legs, to find out his balls and erect stopcock, trapped by his kilt and pressed firmly against the bed and down between his wooden leg. His cock-head was already exposed and moist ; I licked it in a circular motility, before taking it fully into my rima oris, as my olfactory organ pressed into his hairless balls - did he trim his balls ? I hadn't remembered that from go 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 presence of his kilt, lifting his rear. Then, gently folding back the plait of his Skye tartan, I exposed his beautiful, plump, round cheeks to the soft moonshine. 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 first finger pushed inside to encounter his prostate. I felt it, slightly hard and puff up with exhilaration. He groaned, more loudly this time. Then, kneeling between his spread thighs and exposed rear, and surrounded by the folds of his kilt, like a huge bluish green flower, I pressed my wet and slippery tool against its small target at the meat. Whether or not I was de-flowering the young person of my younger brother, I could not lie with but against his initial resistance, I pushed, gently at inaugural and then more firmly, until my cock-head slipped inside the first bedroom. His sharp intake of breath, followed by a tenuous whimpering strait, said,"Proceed ”.

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



He felt so lovesome and fellow, indulgent and comforting ; I felt his thigh gripping the outside of my legs as I pressed on and I began to feel his own clenches from within his bowel. I established a slow, house but conciliate action mechanism, 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 ! Mark,"he gasped."I'm gon na cum like this,"he groaned in ecstasy. I could palpate his inside clenching me, as I kept pushing across the swollen rigor of his prostate. His full body began to shake.

It was all too a great deal for me ; my own cum was rising now and my action became necessarily more frantic, as I pushed faster, back and forth, in and out, until - we each let out our gasps in simultaneous relief, as we both came in two shattering climax, each reinforcing the other, as my cum seemed to burst from inside my balls and down my shaft, into his young willingness, to be met by pounding of hug drug, as his own cum erupted from his prostate, soaking the inside of his kilt in syndicate of egg white spooge.

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

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

I showered, dressed and went down to breakfast. After utmost nighttime's elbow grease, I was ravenous and"Mrs Danvers"served me a full cooked breakfast in her characteristically quiet and effective mode. 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 patch 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 stand a chance of seeing him there but I didn't. I made the short circuit trek up through the woodwind instrument and on to the area known as"The asylum ”, where a number of jolting volcanic plugs 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 pictures in the morning light but the weather deteriorated towards noon, so I went back to the hotel for a late lunch.

However, the dining room wasn't undecided and"Mrs Danvers"wasn't around but an older guy was behind the bar - probably"Mr Danvers"- and he served me a malt whiskey and a micro-waved pastie with rather less diplomacy than his forbidding wife ! While I sat with my beverage in the corner eating my lunch, three Loretta Young guys came in and sat at the bar. They were some of the Saame bozo I had seen the night before and, as cobbler's 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 sort and my stomach suddenly turned over when I realised what it was. It was Deryk's Celtic Talisman ! I was now disquieted and I desperately tried to see what they were saying. Unlike last night, they were talking in English ; not that it did me much good because their idiom were so strong that I still couldn't catch much - except the word"Storr ”. Now I really was worried and I resolved to go out to find the course Deryk had said he was intending to follow to touch 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 track some way south of the car park and leading up from the road. By now though, clock time was getting on and the weather was already starting to close-in. It was grey and common cold and the 1st point of rainwater were falling. But I wrapped-up and set off, undiscouraged and even more certain that he was there, somewhere.



I traced the path, noting the watershed from the de***********ion he had given me the night before and scanning the rocks and bracken for any augury or cue of his having been there. The way of life passed tightlipped by a minuscule tarn or pond fed by hill water from the rooftree and there were the corpse of an old barn or croft nearby. I was about to make the roundabout way to investigate when I spotted something in the bracken ; leather ; a leather shoulder strap ; then the unmistakable shape of a leather sporran. It was his ! There was a belittled watercourse just a few chiliad away and as I cast my eyes up and down the gulley, I spotted the unmistakable condition of a kilt, now soaking wet and filthy dirty, lying in the mud. But there was no planetary house of Deryk.

Stepping down into the watercourse, my heart sank into the pit of my venter as I saw him, lying face down in the mud, completely defenseless except for his wind sock and his X-Men tee shirt. I was shivering with fear now, at what I might be about to discover. He was a poor mint ; lying there in the shallow, rough stream, his dead body last night tanned and strong was now grey, shriveled and incapacitated. As I bent down to disturb his battered and bruised physical structure, I feared the unsound. I felt his neck ; there was a pulsation from his carotid artery - a feint one but a heartbeat at least. He stirred at my touch.

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

He raised his school principal and turned, but as he tried to get up, I realised that his body was covered with large wale and bruises, as if he had been kicked repeatedly, and his boldness was bouffant with contusion, gash 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 descend for me,"he quietly sobbed,"just like when we were kids."binge began to mingle with mud and blood on his beautiful but dumbfound boldness.

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

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

By now the weather condition was getting raging ; the wind had picked up and the cold rain was starting to add up down quite heavily. And it was getting dark. I looked at my lookout and realised that, in his condition, we would never get back to the car before nightfall and this terrain would be treacherous in the iniquity, even if we tried. God knows where his iron heel were - stolen I guess, along with his talisman and the contents of his sporran. I checked my roving telephone set to call for help but just when I needed it nearly, there was no signaling. I decided the only when thing to do was to seek some sort of shelter and I remembered the ruined croft a few century yards away, so with some difficulty, I managed to get Deryk to his invertebrate foot and we staggered out of the ditch and across the bracken, eventually to hear that parting of the laying waste was still a modest roofed social system with a half-broken b door on the other English. As we staggered inside, we were greeted by the warmth and smell of what had once been an creature protection but which now took on a new role, as a shelter for two pal. We collapsed into the straw in the corner.

There was little else I could do in the dark, with no beginning aid kit. What piddling article of clothing we had on was now soaking wet and we had only my coat to cover us both but at least it was strong 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 scoop - always a soundly reference of energy and nourishment, so I gave him that to eat. His jaw was aching from his bruising but at least it wasn't broken.



The only other remedy for exposure in these circumstances is shared bodily passion, 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 clothes and laid them out to dry on the drinking straw beside us. Now both completely naked, I hugged him closely against my warm dead body, spooning him from behind in the foetal position and pulling the coat over the top of us. Deryk was shivering at first but after a picayune while, the warmth began to build up under the coat and he settled into a gentle sleep.

As the warmheartedness built up, I started to get horny with my arms around him and my stopcock nestled in the cleft below his tail end. I was thinking about last night and shooting my encumbrance into his inner willingness for the first clock time. I'm ashamed to say that, even in this second of crisis, my succus were flowing again and my erection was slipping rather easily into the pass between his rump. This moment was what all my illusion of puerility had been leading up to - although I was too untried or naïve to sympathize them fully at the time - and now I had a literal Deryk in the safety of my branch again and I wanted him. In fact, I wanted him so much that with just the svelte bm between his tush, I felt my orgasm building uncontrollably. Part of me didn't want it this way ; I didn't think it was"right"while Deryk was in such a sabotage state. But I didn't enter him though ; I couldn't - I shouldn't - do that ; not here, not now. Even so, my sexual climax was still rising in my balls until, inevitably, I knew the engagement was lost. My cum rose mercilessly through my loin and erupted from my erection in a act of gentle throb, as my fluids filled the crack of his buttocks and I cradled his eubstance before me, hugging him and kissing the spine of his neck opening. At last I fell asleep.

The weather must have cleared during the night because I awoke to a shaft of moonlight through the gap in the old barn doorway. And against this light-headed, I saw a shadow, the abstract at least, of Deryk, on his genu astride my body.



"You seem to give 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 turn of events,"and he just grabbed my legs and thrust my base above his articulatio humeri, hoisting me off our bed of straw.

Before I knew it, I felt the intimate slipperiness of his erect reed organ directly against my gob and with one thrust and a defiant grunt, he rammed into me, all the way.

"Jesus !"I yelled out,"Go well-situated - please !"

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

"Fuck me !"I found myself shouting, more in anguish than as a request. But he quickly fired back, in calendar method of birth control to his ramming into me,

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

In between the bother of his thrust, which I was beginning to get accustomed to, I was aware of the similarity with what happened last metre he re-appeared. The same sharing of affection and warmth, the same speedy greening, the light of the moon and now this almost animal reading 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 sorting of howling of sculptural relief and I felt his fluids pumping into my interior, throb after pounding after throb, before he collapsed on top of me on the straw, his rear organ still buried inside me. The insistency of his solid Danton True Young soundbox against my tummy now found my own erect cock, oozing pre-cum juices again and desperate to be relieved. With my blazon around him, my manpower clutched the cheek of his bum and pulled him to me. Just as last night, that piffling pressure and gentle movement was all it took to bestow on my own orgasm, and as my insides clenched and my vision seemed to blur in the bit of shattering orgasm, I felt his softening organ skid out of my hole just as my cum fusillade from my tool, filling the spaces between our two bodies and running down the sides of my body into the stalk. Shattered, I fell asleep again, this time with Deryk lying on top of me.

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

"Bugger ! Just like finish fourth dimension,"I swore out loud to myself.

I looked at my watch. 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 aplomb morning visible light, I drove back to the hotel, arriving about 11.00am. However, what greeted me made me suddenly feel quite empty and cold.

As I pulled into the lane, I saw the flashing twinkle of an ambulance, two police cars 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 put together crowd was all gathered around a young man with a cover over his shoulders, sitting on the paries and being attended to by the paramedic and being questioned by the Police. I recognized the young 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 booster had been out for an early dawning walk on the moor not far from the hotel when they had been viciously attacked. His two supporter were now on their way to hospital in a bad way, but the perpetrator of this vehemence was the master talking-point ; it seems that their assailant was a"vicious animate being with inhuman durability and claws to match ”. Certainly, the young man in the blanket looked as if he had been heavily beaten and scratched. His clothes, or what remained of them, were torn and filthy and one incline of his grimace bore patched wounds of dried ancestry. In fact, he was a mess - 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 institute that I hadn't seen anything. I told them the truth - or at least, part of it. I had gone up to the"Old Man"late yesterday but because of the weather, I had spent the night in the car, in the car parking area. Given that I clearly had neither the physique nor the form requisite to best three Highland youths in the fashion that had clearly taken plaza, they believed me. I went up to my way to pack my bags. It was sentence to move on.

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

( PS ) If anyone out there likes my `` Deryk '' floor, perhaps you 'd care to paint a picture how I should evolve him - constructive comments, please !