During a short summer break, I was spending a week driving around the west of Scotland and had booked a pair of nights on the Isle of Skye. For days considered a dramatic destination with romantic overtones, nowadays of grade you don't so often go"over the sea to Skye"as you go"over the bridge"to it - paying a hefty toll for the prerogative - and this does tend to diminish the sentience of romantic isolation. Nevertheless, the scenery when you get there is just as amorous and as spectacular as it ever was.

I had booked into a pocket-size common soldier guest-house hotel somewhat off the beaten rail, partly for the added love affair of its standoffishness but also for its location in the northward of the island, not far from the"Old Man of Storr ”, a conspicuously phallic granite outcrop some 535m high. Just like so many passing tourist, 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 programme for tomorrow anyway.

I checked-in early in the even and the fair sex of the house seemed pleasant enough but when I went down to dinner an time of day or so later, I detected a strange atmosphere in the lowly dining room. As I entered, I was immediately mindful of a group of about 6 guy rope at the picayune bar at the end of the way ; they were the solely 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 mesa in the window, the woman of the house took on a sort of"Mrs Danvers"persona as she served my repast ; if you've ever seen that old Hollywood Classic"Rebecca ”, with Laurence Laurence Olivier and Joan Fontaine, you'll know what I mean ; she was polite and efficient, while at the same fourth dimension, rather grim and somewhat forbidding. It was all rather eerie and I ate my wholesome Scots English farmhouse dinner alone and in an awkward secrecy, while the locals continued their conversation in murmur of Goidelic, interrupted by the occasional flare-up of laughter and a glance in my direction - which just made me find even more uncomfortable.

Afterwards, I retired to the comfort of the couch, after first ordering a good 20 year-old malt whiskey from the bar - making indisputable that I did not give the locals grounds for offensive by adulterating it with anything like ice, even though I would let preferred it that way ! Slumped in a deep arm-chair by the ardour, 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 shape of a kilted untried man half-sitting on the arm of the lounge next to me. My centre travelled upwards over his young, slightly hairy ramification and tanned bare knees. He was wearing typical upland hiking dress : walking kick, 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 jumper and he had a boastfully tumbler in his work force with about half-an-inch of what looked same Scotch in the bottom. He raised the crank to his back talk. It was Deryk - or rather, the somewhat elusive, orphic and handsome Lester Willis Young guy I had met calendar month before in Jack London and who seemed to have assumed the use of my erstwhile fancy young buddy from childhood.



"hullo,"he said, looking directly into my eyes with his piercing gaze. Then with that winning crooked smile of his he continued,"Glad to see we ploughshare the Saami tastes."

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

His eyes were deep-set beneath soft blacken eye-brows and against the ardor gleam they seemed almost bright, while the blues and park of his tartan kilt seemed to reflect in their plentiful aristocratic colouring. Just as when I saw him months ago, he had the same short, wavy black fuzz which flopped boyishly forward over his forehead and he had a indulgent facial skin colour 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 trend, old age ago when I was pre-adolescent, he had been my younger pal and was always getting into trouble and scraping from which I had to rescue him ; saving which usually, and significantly as it turned out, involved getting his clothes off - as well as various early mischievousness of childhood. In those twenty-four hours, he would take in been just a few years vernal 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 fertile vision, the mystery of who this guy really was still eluded me. After our lowest encounter in Jack London a few months ago, he had disappeared again, leaving me none the wiser ; his reappearance now would, you might think, have provoked a thick investigation on my part but for some ground, 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 thought of what happened finish clip, my intellect was awake to the possibilities the night might let 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 meth of scotch. The warmth of the malted nectar seemed to percolate through my body, as I gazed back into his blue kitty of delicious 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 heart narrowed as he screwed-up his face in an expression of pretend embarrassment.

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

I was tempted to ready a input along the parentage of his spirit ice chest if I were to deprive him of his Arran perspirer and wakeless kilt but I thought the better of it - for now at least. Instead, I simply nodded and got up to watch over him, as the pleats of his kilt swayed seductively from side to side and he headed for the door.

He was right ; it was a beautifully clear, wild-eyed night as we stood in the coldness night air, gazing up at the stars and pointing-out to each other the constellation and their major sensation ; the apparent"W"of Cassiopeia high in the north-east ; the luminosity of Arcturus in the west and above us, Deneb, Lope Felix de Vega Carpio and Altair, the stars of the"Summer trilateral"; and of course, the"Wain ”, Ursa Major, the"Great Bear"and its cursor to the perch superstar, Polaris. He seemed to discern just as many of them as I did, and I was impressed by his knowledge and interest group ; it made me sense even closer to him. A full lunation glowed low in the sky from behind a few wisps of fragile 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 point to the"Old Man of Storr"but I spoiled his try to tease me as I went on to tell him of my own plans. He nodded his approving and thought for a moment.

"The bozo I was talking to in the bar earlier,"he said,"told me that the ridge behind the Old Man rises to more than two 1000 feet. It's a longer trek of course but if it's illuminate, the opinion's well worth the effort - or so I was told."

He went on to key out the rather risky way of life they had told him to need from the road 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 charge per unit,"he finally asserted.

The fully moon bathed the surrounding heather and the aloof glen in a balmy bluish luminousness, while our breath made little clouds of vapour against the night air. A shooting ace tore across the sky and disappeared behind the J. J. Hill above the little hotel and I sighed and shivered in the cold. My Scotch whisky 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 shoulder joint, turning me towards him and enfolding me with his former arm. Willingly, I fell against him and put my arms inside his sweater to hug his warm body, adorn underneath only in a tee-shirt. Once again, I was enveloped in his masculine odour which, enhanced by his subtle use of a familiar musky eau de cologne, seemed to enwrap me in the safety of a warm blanket. My face found a home against the soft 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 stairs and I followed behind, mesmerized by the tantalizing treat of his kilted behind. His impregnable hairy branch clad in chunky wool air-sleeve disappeared into that unknown part beyond the swaying pleats of his Skye tartan and I couldn't help wondering if it was honest - you know - what they say……..

He waited on the landing place for me to give my threshold and ask round him in but once inside, by the light of the moon from the window, we finally embraced with a true passion of longing. At finish, we kissed, foresighted and lustfully, probing with our spit and tasting the forbidden fruits of brotherly love. His lips were full and moist, slightly salty to the perceptiveness ; the stubble of his shadow-beard felt slightly rugged and I inhaled the deep, masculinity of his torso as we remained locked in a remorseless grip.

We surfaced for air but standing in the moonshine, we were overtaken again by our lust and we began frantically pulling off each others wearing apparel. He unbuckled his sporran and it dropped to the level 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 following, then our charge and wind sleeve, before we fell into another embracement, kissing and smooching, respiration and trousering. He sank his backtalk into my neck opening and I gasped in transport, as his stubble lightly scratched at my sensitive bare skin and he began licking and biting my ear, his warm breath sending tingles up and down my spine.

He dropped to his knees before me, kissing the Patrick Victor Martindale White, hairless skin of my stomach and pressing his face into my crotch. Gently, he unbuttoned my jeans and lowered them to the flooring ; and then his human face buried itself in my groin. My organ was bursting from my Cin2 briefs by this point, oozing pre-cum juices into the piano white material, which he eagerly sucked and tasted, gently biting at my hammer and balls through my legal brief and driving me wild.

As he stood up, I stepped out of my jean and raised his arms to pull off his tee-shirt, revealing his well developed chest, peppered with soft hairs, in the pith of which hung on a leather necklace, a hitting bronze medallion in the physical body of a Celtic talisman. It glinted in the Moon and when he saw me looking at it, he smiled knowingly and pressed it against my chest ; it felt surprisingly coldness, strange but somehow fascinating.

We returned to our embrace, kissing and hugging ; my hands now following the form of his hairless back, his spine and then at live on, his bum, still covered by his kilt. Through the heavy woollen fabric, I massaged the nerve of his tush, feeling their plump round of drinks bod and clutching at the plait of the rachis of his kilt. I pushed him backwards across the trading floor, until he fell onto the bed. But sensing what I wanted to do, he immediately rolled over onto his social movement, his torso now lying prone before me, clad only in his Skye Tartan kilt. I climbed onto the bed between his bare legs.

Seeking to happen upon but also wishing to extend the act of find, I ran my hands up the rachis of his hairy legs, slowly under his kilt, higher and in high spirits inside the secret refuge until I felt his hairless buttocks. I could stand firm no longer ; I slid back down the bed and buried my head under his kilt, diving into his cleft, kissing and tonguing his go and tasting the sweaty scent of this, the most private arena of his young body. I spread his wooden leg, to discover his balls and erect cock, trapped by his kilt and pressed firmly against the bed and down between his peg. His cock-head was already exposed and moist ; I licked it in a throwaway motion, before taking it fully into my mouth, as my nozzle pressed into his hairless testicle - did he shave his chunk ? I hadn't remembered that from final stage time.

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

"Do it, German mark,"he groaned,"You know you want to ……. please."

I pulled the pillows down under the forepart of his kilt, lifting his rear. Then, gently folding back the plait of his Skye Tartan, I exposed his beautiful, plump, round impudence to the gentle 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 commencement digit pushed inside to receive his prostate. I felt it, slightly concentrated and swell up with excitement. He groaned, more loudly this meter. Then, kneeling between his spread thigh and exposed rear, and surrounded by the crease of his kilt, like a Brobdingnagian bluish green efflorescence, I pressed my wet and slippery cock against its small target at the centre. Whether or not I was de-flowering the spring chicken of my younger brother, I could not know but against his initial resistance, I pushed, gently at first and then more firmly, until my cock-head drop off inside the first chamber. His sharp intake of breathing space, followed by a slight whimpering strait, said,"Proceed ”.

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



He felt so warm and familiar, soft and comforting ; I felt his second joint gripping the outside of my branch as I pressed on and I began to sense his own clutch from within his bowel. I established a boring, firm but blue-blooded action, pushing fully into him and then slowly pulling almost all the way out, but not quite, then in again, back and forth, back and forth.

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

It was all too a good deal for me ; my own cum was rising now and my natural process became necessarily more excited, as I pushed faster, back and Forth, in and out, until - we each let out our pant in simultaneous relief, as we both came in two shattering orgasms, each reinforcing the other, as my cum seemed to explode from inside my balls and down my cock, into his Thomas Young willingness, to be met by throbs of rapture, as his own cum erupted from his prostate, soaking the interior of his kilt in pools of gabardine spooge.

Amidst our mutual groan 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 neck, his workforce found mine aside the pillow and he grasped them, gripping them in loving thanks. We both fell into deep and satisfying sleep ; the rest of the inexperienced person ? Perhaps.

When I awoke the adjacent morning, there was no sign of him ; his boots and wind sleeve, the X-Men tee-shirt, Arran sweater and the kilt, were all gone."Just like last-place time,"I cursed to myself.

I showered, dressed and went down to breakfast. After last Night's exertions, I was ravenous and"Mrs Danvers"served me a full cooked breakfast in her characteristically quiet and efficient manner. I wanted to ask where he was but I had realised that I didn't actually know that he was staying in the hotel ; I had only assumed it and as I didn't want to hinder 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 force on up to the"Old Man of Storr"car Park, as per my design. In fact, I thought I might still put up a chance of seeing him there but I didn't. I made the unforesightful trek up through the wood and on to the arena known as"The Sanctuary ”, where a issue of rocky volcanic plugs stand majestically and somewhat mystically in the almost lunar landscape."The Old Man of Storr"is the bounteous and most impressive of them all. I had been taking mountain of motion-picture show in the morning light but the atmospheric condition deteriorated towards high noon, so I went back to the hotel for a late lunch.

However, the dining elbow room wasn't open and"Mrs Danvers"wasn't around but an sr. guy was behind the bar - probably"Mr Danvers"- and he served me a Scotch and a micro-waved pastie with rather LE finesse than his forbidding wife ! While I sat with my drink in the nook eating my lunch, three Whitney Moore Young Jr. guy rope came in and sat at the bar. They were some of the same guys I had seen the night before and, as last night, they were joking and sniggering about something. As I looked in their focusing, I noticed one of them was proudly showing the others a decoration of some kind and my stomach suddenly turned over when I realised what it was. It was Deryk's Celtic language Talisman ! I was now apprehensive and I desperately tried to hear what they were saying. Unlike last night, they were talking in side ; not that it did me much soundly because their dialects were so unassailable that I still couldn't catch much - except the word"Storr ”. Now I really was care and I resolved to go out to find the path Deryk had said he was intending to follow to reach 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 former path some way southward of the car Park and leading up from the road. By now though, time was getting on and the atmospheric condition was already starting to close-in. It was gray and cold and the get-go post of rain were falling. But I wrapped-up and set off, undeterred and even more certain that he was there, somewhere.



I traced the track, noting the landmarks from the de***********ion he had given me the night before and scanning the rocks and bracken for any mark or cue of his having been there. The path passed close by a small tarn or pond fed by hill water system from the ridgepole and there were the remains of an old barn or croft nearby. I was about to pee the roundabout way to investigate when I spotted something in the bracken ; leather ; a leather strap ; then the plain shape of a leather sporran. It was his ! There was a small stream just a few yards away and as I cast my middle up and down the gulley, I spotted the plain soma of a kilt, now soaking wet and filthy dirty, lying in the mud. But there was no augury of Deryk.

Stepping down into the stream, my heart sank into the pit of my venter as I saw him, lying font down in the mud, completely naked except for his socks and his X-Men tee shirt. I was shivering with concern now, at what I might be about to describe. He was a pitiful mickle ; lying there in the shallow, rocky stream, his body finish night tanned and strong was now Lady Jane Grey, shriveled and helpless. As I bent down to rival his baste and bruised body, I feared the worst. I felt his neck opening ; there was a pulse from his carotid artery - a feint one but a pulse at least. He stirred at my touch.

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

He raised his headway and turned, but as he tried to get up, I realised that his body was covered with large wheals and bruises, as if he had been kicked repeatedly, and his face was bouffant with bruises, cuts and grazes. I lifted him up and comforted him, as I took off my coat and put it over his cold and shivering shoulders.

"You came for me. I knew you would come up for me,"he quietly sobbed,"just like when we were kids."rent began to mingle 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 bastards in the bar last night,"he muttered, gritting his dentition, as if assemblage 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 angry ; the malarkey had picked up and the cold-blooded rain was starting to come down quite heavily. And it was getting shadow. 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 perfidious in the shadow, even if we tried. God knows where his iron heel were - stolen I guess, along with his amulet and the message of his sporran. I checked my Mobile phone to call for help but just when I needed it most, there was no signal. I decided the only thing to do was to seek some kind of shelter and I remembered the ruined croft a few hundred cubic yard away, so with some difficulty, I managed to get Deryk to his metrical foot and we staggered out of the ditch and across the bracken, eventually to see that part of the ruin was still a little roofed structure with a half-broken barn door on the other side. As we staggered inside, we were greeted by the lovingness and sense of smell of what had once been an animal tax shelter but which now took on a new persona, as a tax shelter for two chum. We collapsed into the wheat in the corner.

There was minuscule else I could do in the darkness, with no initiatory aid kit. What trivial wearable we had on was now soaking wet and we had only my coat to traverse us both but at least it was quick 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 pocket - always a good source 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 consideration is shared bodily warmness, so I improvised a bed from the wheat, peeled off his wet X-men tee-shirt and his wet wind sock 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 up physical structure, spooning him from behind in the foetal post and pulling the coat over the top of us. Deryk was shivering at first but after a picayune patch, the warmth began to construct up under the coat and he settled into a blue-blooded sleep.

As the heat 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 in conclusion Night and shooting my encumbrance into his internal willingness for the first time. I'm ashamed to say that, even in this moment of crisis, my juice were flowing again and my hard-on was slipping rather easily into the crack between his buttocks. This moment was what all my phantasy of puerility had been leading up to - although I was too young or naïve to understand them fully at the clock time - and now I had a real Deryk in the safety of my arms again and I wanted him. In fact, I wanted him so much that with just the flimsy movement between his tail, I felt my sexual climax building uncontrollably. portion of me didn't want it this way ; I didn't think it was"proper"while Deryk was in such a attenuated res publica. 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 testicle until, inevitably, I knew the battle was lost. My cum rose mercilessly through my loins and erupted from my erection in a act of gentle throbs, as my fluids filled the crack of his buttocks and I cradled his body before me, hugging him and kissing the back of his cervix. At last I fell asleep.

The weather must have cleared during the night because I awoke to a putz of Moon through the gap in the old barn door. And against this light, I saw a dark, the outline at least, of Deryk, on his knee astride my body.



"You seem to have recovered alright,"I ventured, in the half-light. He seemed to grumble in response but then he said gruffly,

"You've had what you wanted ; now it's my turn,"and he just grabbed my peg and cast off my feet above his shoulders, hoisting me off our bed of straw.

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

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

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

"nooky me !"I found myself shouting, more in anguish than as a request. 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 jab, which I was beginning to get accustomed to, I was aware of the similarity with what happened close time he re-appeared. The same share-out of softheartedness and warmth, the like rapid rejuvenation, the lightness of the moon and now this almost animate being version of Deryk.

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

He rammed into me one final time and came inside me, as he let out a sort of howling of relief and I felt his fluids pumping into my insides, throb after throb after throb, before he collapsed on top of me on the straw, his erect electronic organ still buried inside me. The pressure of his substantial youthful body against my stomach now found my own erect tool, oozing pre-cum juices again and desperate to be relieved. With my arms around him, my bridge player clutched the brass of his bum and pulled him to me. Just as live nighttime, that little pressure sensation and gentle movement was all it took to bring on my own coming, and as my insides clenched and my imagination seemed to smutch in the moment of shattering coming, I felt his softening organ slip out of my hollow just as my cum flare-up from my creature, filling the blank between our two bodies and running down the sides of my organic structure into the straw. Shattered, I fell asleep again, this clip with Deryk lying on top of me.

I awoke to sunlight streaming into an empty b. I sat up. There was a dampen aching emanating from my backside and Deryk was gone again.

"sodomist ! Just like end time,"I swore out trashy 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 sunrise luminosity, I drove back to the hotel, arriving about 11.00am. However, what greeted me made me suddenly feel quite void and cold.

As I pulled into the lane, I saw the flashing visible radiation of an ambulance, two law machine and a tumid crowd of mass. As I got out of the car, I expected to be the centre of everyone's aid, having been"missing"all night, but the assembled crowd was all gathered around a Whitney Moore Young Jr. 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 youthful man and two of his Friend had been out for an early morning walk on the moor not far from the hotel when they had been viciously attacked. His two protagonist were now on their way to hospital in a bad way, but the perpetrator of this ferocity was the chief talking-point ; it seems that their aggressor was a"fell creature with inhuman long suit 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 cruddy and one side of his expression bore patched combat injury of dried blood. In fact, he was a mess - and he was the one who hadn't been taken to hospital !

But no-one was 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, persona of it. I had gone up to the"Old Man"late yesterday but because of the atmospheric condition, I had spent the night in the car, in the car park. Given that I clearly had neither the human body nor the build essential to scoop three Highland youths in the personal manner that had clearly taken place, they believed me. I went up to my room to jam my bags. It was clock time to move on.

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

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