During a forgetful summer open frame, I was spending a hebdomad driving around the Occident of Scotland and had booked a couple of nights on the Isle of Skye. For years considered a dramatic finish with amatory partial, nowadays of path you don't so a good deal go"over the sea to Skye"as you go"over the bridgework"to it - paying a hefty price for the perquisite - and this does tend to diminish the sense of quixotic isolation. Nevertheless, the scenery when you get there is just as romanticistic and as dramatic as it ever was.

I had booked into a lowly private guest-house hotel somewhat off the beaten track, partly for the lend romance of its standoffishness but also for its location in the north of the island, not far from the"Old Man of Storr ”, a conspicuously phallic granite outcrop some 535m richly. Just like so many passing tourist, I had seen it from a distance but never up close and I thought that the tidy trek up to it from the road might be rewarding. That was my plan for tomorrow anyway.

I checked-in ahead of time in the evening and the adult female of the house seemed pleasant enough but when I went down to dinner an hr or so later, I detected a strange atmosphere in the small dining room. As I entered, I was immediately cognisant of a group of about 6 guy wire at the trivial bar at the end of the room ; they were the only if others in the room and as I walked in, they suddenly stopped talking and, after a fugitive suspension to evaluate the interloper, they restarted their conversation - but in Gaelic. I felt very much the outsider and as I sat alone at my tabular array in the window, the woman of the house took on a variety of"Mrs Danvers"persona as she served my meal ; if you've ever seen that old Hollywood Classic"Rebecca ”, with Laurence Olivier and Joan Fontaine, you'll know what I mean ; she was polite and effective, while at the same time, rather unappeasable and somewhat disallow. It was all rather eerie and I ate my wholesome Scots farmhouse dinner alone and in an awkward silence, while the local anesthetic continued their conversation in murmurs of Gaelic, interrupted by the occasional salvo of laugh and a glance in my focusing - which just made me palpate even more uncomfortable.

Afterwards, I retired to the comfort of the lounge, after first ordering a goodness 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 give preferred it that way ! Slumped in a cryptic arm-chair by the flaming, filled with my repast and warmed by the scotch, I began to find mellow and rather sleepy.

As I dozed, I became witting of the form of a kilted untried man half-sitting on the arm of the lounge next to me. My eyes travelled upwards over his young, slightly hairy legs and tanned bare knees. He was wearing typical upland hiking clothes : walking boots, thick woolly socks and an appropriate Skye Tartan kilt, arrant with a rather worn leather sporran which now lay in his lap. He had on a chunky Arran sweater and he had a enceinte tumbler in his hands with about half-an-inch of what looked wish Scotch malt whiskey in the tail. He raised the glass to his lips. It was Deryk - or rather, the somewhat elusive, occult and bighearted Whitney Young guy I had met months before in London and who seemed to consume assumed the role of my erstwhile fantasy jr. chum from childhood.



"Hello,"he said, looking directly into my eyes with his piercing gaze. Then with that winning crooked grinning of his he continued,"Glad to see we contribution the Lapplander tastes."

He cocked his read/write head on one side, winked and raised his deoxyephedrine, as if to say a unsounded ‘ Slangevar'before sipping his Scotch appreciatively.

His eyes were deep-set beneath soft Joseph Black eye-brows and against the fire glow they seemed almost glossy, while the blue devil and greens of his plaid kilt seemed to speculate in their fat downcast colour. Just as when I saw him months ago, he had the same shortly, wavy sinister tomentum which flopped boyishly forward over his forehead and he had a cushy facial complexion that included a carefully cultivated shadow-beard. He had lovely, kissable backtalk ; a trivial weather-worn but plump and tasting slightly salty, I recalled, as I gazed back at him.



Of track, old age ago when I was pre-adolescent, he had been my jr. brother and was always getting into trouble and scrapes from which I had to deliver him ; delivery which usually, and significantly as it turned out, involved getting his apparel off - as well as respective former naughtiness of childhood. In those days, he would have 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 class had been kind to him ! However, since the merely blood brother I had known was the one of my Lester Willis Young and fertile imagination, the mystery of who this guy really was still eluded me. After our finis coming upon in London a few months ago, he had disappeared again, leaving me none the wiser ; his reappearance now would, you might think, have provoked a thick probe on my part but for some intellect, this sentence 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 shoemaker's last time, my mind was awake to the possibilities the night might throw 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 chicken feed of malt whisky. The lovingness of the malt nectar seemed to percolate through my body, as I gazed back into his blue pocket billiards of Delicious and forbidden lust.

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

His eyes narrowed as he screwed-up his face in an verbalism of pretend embarrassment.

"Hmm - best not to really,"he affirmed, promptly changing the subject."Fancy slipping outdoor for a breath of fresh air ? It's quite hot in here by the fervour and it's a lovely clear Nox out."

I was tempted to make a remark along the production line of his feeling tank if I were to divest him of his Arran sweater and leaden kilt but I thought the better 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 slope to side and he headed for the door.

He was right ; it was a beautifully clear, amorous night as we stood in the cold dark air, gazing up at the superstar and pointing-out to each other the constellations and their major stars ; the unmistakable"W"of Cassiopeia high in the north-east ; the brightness of Arcturus in the west and above us, Deneb, Vega and Altair, the stars of the"Summer Triangle"; and of line, the"Plough ”, Ursa John Roy Major, the"Great Bear"and its Spanish pointer to the Pole Star, Polaris. He seemed to discern just as many of them as I did, and I was impressed by his knowledge and involvement ; it made me sense even closer to him. A full phase of the moon moonshine glowed low in the sky from behind a few wisps of thin out 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 ambiguous book of facts to the"Old Man of Storr"but I spoiled his endeavor to tease me as I went on to differentiate him of my own plan. He nodded his approving 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 understructure. It's a longer trek of row but if it's clear, the view's well worth the try - or so I was told."

He went on to describe the rather risky path they had told him to take from the road instead of following the established tourer path 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 to the full Moon bathed the surrounding broom and the remote glen in a lenient bluish illumination, while our breath made footling clouds of vapour against the night air. A shooting star torus across the sky and disappeared behind the hill above the short hotel and I sighed and shivered in the frigidity. 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 slew his arm around my shoulder, turning me towards him and enfolding me with his other arm. Willingly, I fell against him and put my weapons system inside his sweater to hug his warm body, clad underneath only in a tee-shirt. Once again, I was enveloped in his masculine smell which, enhanced by his subtle use of a familiar musky cologne, seemed to enfold me in the safe 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 stair and I followed behind, mesmerized by the tantalizing kickshaw of his kilted rear. His strong hairy legs clad in chunky woollen air sock disappeared into that unknown region beyond the swaying plait of his Skye plaid and I couldn't avail wondering if it was on-key - you know - what they say……..

He waited on the landing for me to give my door and take in him in but once inside, by the visible radiation of the moon from the window, we finally embraced with a true passion of longing. At last, we kissed, prospicient and lustfully, probing with our tongues and tasting the forbidden fruits of brotherly love. His mouth were full and moist, slightly salty to the taste ; the shuck of his shadow-beard felt slightly rugged and I inhaled the deep, maleness of his consistency 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 clothes. He unbuckled his sporran and it dropped to the floor as I pulled his sweater off, revealing the Saami"X-Men"tee-shirt he had worn the lowest time we met -"Wolverine"it read. My shirt was off following, then our kick and windsock, before we fell into another embracement, kissing and kissing, respiration and panting. He sank his lips into my neck opening and I gasped in ecstasy, as his husk lightly scratched at my sensitive bare pelt 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 white, hairless cutis of my tummy and pressing his face into my crotch. Gently, he unbuttoned my blue jean and lowered them to the floor ; and then his side buried itself in my groyne. My organ was bursting from my Cin2 briefs by this point, oozing pre-cum juices into the diffuse egg white fabric, which he eagerly sucked and tasted, gently biting at my putz and testicle through my briefs and driving me wild.

As he stood up, I stepped out of my blue jean and raised his arms to pull out off his tee-shirt, revealing his well developed chest, peppered with voiced whisker, in the heart and soul of which hung on a leather necklace, a striking bronze palm 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 coldness, strange but in some manner fascinating.

We returned to our embrace, kissing and petting ; my hands now following the contour line of his hairless back, his spine and then at endure, his bum, still covered by his kilt. Through the punishing woollen material, I massaged the nerve of his bottomland, feeling their plump round frame and clutching at the plait of the dorsum of his kilt. I pushed him backwards across the storey, until he fell onto the bed. But sensing what I wanted to do, he immediately rolled over onto his front, his consistency 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 prolong the act of discovery, I ran my paw up the back of his hairy ramification, slowly under his kilt, higher and eminent inside the unavowed sanctuary until I felt his hairless tooshie. I could protest 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 scent of this, the most individual arena of his young body. I spread his stage, to key his chunk and erect cock, trapped by his kilt and pressed firmly against the bed and down between his stage. His cock-head was already exposed and moist ; I licked it in a circular movement, before taking it fully into my mouth, as my nose pressed into his hairless clump - did he knock off his glob ? I hadn't remembered that from last time.

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

"Do it, Deutsche Mark,"he groaned,"You know you want to ……. please."

I pulled the pillows down under the straw man of his kilt, lifting his tail. Then, gently folding back the plait of his Skye plaid, I exposed his beautiful, plump, daily round brass to the soft moonlight. I needed no lubricant ; I was oozing pre-cum for all I was worth ! So, smearing my pre-cum in and around his anus, I first finger-fucked him gently. He gasped, as the first finger pushed inside to feel his prostate. I felt it, slightly hard and conceited with turmoil. 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 blue-green flower, I pressed my wet and slippery tool against its small fair game at the marrow. Whether or not I was de-flowering the youth of my youthful comrade, I could not love but against his initial resistance, I pushed, gently at kickoff and then more firmly, until my cock-head splay inside the first base bedchamber. His sharp inlet of breath, followed by a slim whimpering strait, said,"Proceed ”.

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



He felt so tender and fellow, sonant and comforting ; I felt his second joint gripping the outside of my leg as I pressed on and I began to find his own clench from within his bowels. I established a tedious, firm but blue 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 screw ! Oh God ! Mark,"he gasped."I'm gon na cum like this,"he groaned in disco biscuit. I could experience his interior clenching me, as I kept pushing across the swollen severity of his prostate. His stallion soundbox began to shake.

It was all too lots 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 coincidental relief, as we both came in two shattering coming, each reinforcing the early, as my cum seemed to explode from inside my balls and down my shaft, into his Young willingness, to be met by throbs of transport, as his own cum erupted from his prostate, soaking the inside of his kilt in pocket billiards of white spooge.

Amidst our mutual moan and groan, I collapsed on top of him, my organ slipping from his kettle of fish, as his trunk relaxed under me. As I kissed the binding of his neck, his handwriting found mine aside the pillow and he grasped them, gripping them in loving thanks. We both fell into deep and substantial sleep ; the nap of the innocent ? Perhaps.

When I awoke the following dawn, there was no polarity of him ; his boots and sock, the X-Men tee-shirt, Arran sweater 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 exertion, I was wolfish and"Mrs Danvers"served me a full cooked breakfast in her characteristically quiet and effective 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 embarrass myself, I said nothing.



thought that Deryk might release 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 ballpark, as per my plan. In fact, I thought I might still endure a chance of seeing him there but I didn't. I made the short trek up through the wood and on to the country known as"The chancel ”, where a number of bouldered volcanic hoopla 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 plenty of word-painting in the morning light but the weather deteriorated towards midday, so I went back to the hotel for a later lunch.

However, the dining room wasn't open up and"Mrs Danvers"wasn't around but an older guy was behind the bar - probably"Mr Danvers"- and he served me a malt whisky and a micro-waved pastie with rather less finesse than his forbidding wife ! While I sat with my drink in the turning point eating my lunch, three young guy rope came in and sat at the bar. They were some of the Saame guy wire I had seen the night before and, as in conclusion night, they were joking and sniggering about something. As I looked in their direction, I noticed one of them was proudly showing the others a medallion of some kind and my stomach suddenly turned over when I realised what it was. It was Deryk's Celtic amulet ! I was now apprehensive and I desperately tried to get a line what they were saying. Unlike finis night, they were talking in English ; not that it did me much good because their dialects were so warm that I still couldn't collar very much - except the word"Storr ”. Now I really was worried and I resolved to go out to get hold the path Deryk had said he was intending to keep an eye on 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 Confederate States of America of the car park and leading up from the route. By now though, metre was getting on and the atmospheric condition was already starting to close-in. It was grizzly and frigid and the first off spots of rain 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 landmarks from the de***********ion he had given me the night before and scanning the careen and bracken for any sign or clue of his having been there. The path passed shut by a diminished tarn or pool fed by hill piddle 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 strap ; then the unmistakable flesh of a leather sporran. It was his ! There was a lowly watercourse just a few yards away and as I cast my center up and down the gulley, I spotted the unmistakable human body of a kilt, now soaking wet and filthy dirty, lying in the mud. But there was no signboard of Deryk.

Stepping down into the flow, my heart sank into the pit of my stomach as I saw him, lying face down in the mud, completely defenseless except for his windsock and his X-Men tee shirt. I was shivering with fear now, at what I might be about to find out. He was a poor mickle ; lying there in the shallow, bouldered current, his consistency last night tanned and strong was now Zane Grey, shriveled and lost. As I bent down to touch his beat-up and bruised trunk, I feared the forged. I felt his neck ; there was a pulse from his carotid artery - a feint one but a pulse at to the lowest degree. He stirred at my touch.

"bell ringer ?"he murmured,"Is that you ?"

He raised his head and turned, but as he tried to get up, I realised that his consistence was covered with large wheals and contusion, as if he had been kicked repeatedly, and his face was puffy with contusion, cuts and grazes. I lifted him up and comforted him, as I took off my coat and put it over his low temperature and shivering shoulders.

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

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

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

By now the atmospheric condition was getting raging ; the wind had picked up and the dusty pelting was starting to derive down quite heavily. And it was getting dark. I looked at my ticker and realised that, in his condition, we would never get back to the car before nightfall and this terrain would be treacherous in the wickedness, even if we tried. God knows where his kicking were - stolen I guess, along with his talisman and the contents of his sporran. I checked my mobile phone to call off for assistant but just when I needed it well-nigh, there was no signal. I decided the entirely matter to do was to seek some kind of shelter and I remembered the ruined croft a few hundred yards away, so with some difficulty, I managed to get Deryk to his foundation and we staggered out of the ditch and across the bracken, eventually to discover that part of the dilapidation was still a small roofed construction with a half-broken barn door on the other side. As we staggered inside, we were greeted by the warmth and smell of what had once been an beast protection but which now took on a new role, as a protection for two brothers. We collapsed into the straw in the corner.

There was short else I could do in the dark, with no first aid kit. What petty clothing 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 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 coffee in my pouch - always a near 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 fate is shared bodily affectionateness, so I improvised a bed from the chaff, peeled off his wet X-men tee-shirt and his wet wind cone and then removed my own wearing apparel and laid them out to dry on the stalk beside us. Now both completely naked, I hugged him closely against my warm body, spooning him from behind in the foetal positioning and pulling the coat over the top of us. Deryk was shivering at first but after a trivial while, the warmness began to build up under the coat and he settled into a gentle sleep.

As the warmth built up, I started to get horny with my weapon system around him and my prick nestled in the cleft below his fanny. I was thinking about last night and shooting my load into his inner willingness for the kickoff time. I'm ashamed to say that, even in this minute of crisis, my juices were flowing again and my erecting was slipping rather easily into the crack between his buttocks. This moment was what all my fancy of childhood had been leading up to - although I was too young or naïve to interpret them fully at the fourth dimension - and now I had a tangible Deryk in the base hit of my weapon again and I wanted him. In fact, I wanted him so much that with just the slightest movement between his buttocks, I felt my sexual climax edifice uncontrollably. Part of me didn't want it this way ; I didn't think it was"compensate"while Deryk was in such a attenuated 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 Lucille Ball until, inevitably, I knew the battle was lost. My cum rose mercilessly through my loins and erupted from my erection in a number of gentle throbs, as my fluids filled the fracture of his tush and I cradled his dead body before me, hugging him and kissing the back 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 door. And against this light, I saw a trace, the outline at least, of Deryk, on his stifle astride my body.



"You seem to give birth 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 throw away my pes above his shoulders, hoisting me off our bed of straw.

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

"the Nazarene !"I yelled out,"Go well-heeled - please !"

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

"shtup 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 thrust, which I was beginning to get accustomed to, I was cognizant of the similarities with what happened end time he re-appeared. The same sharing of fondness and warmth, the same rapid rejuvenation, the ignitor of the Sun Myung Moon and now this almost animal version of Deryk.

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

He rammed into me one final clock time and came inside me, as he let out a sort of howl of relief and I felt his fluids pumping into my insides, throbbing after throb after pounding, before he collapsed on top of me on the straw, his erect pipe organ still buried inside me. The pressure of his strong young body against my venter now found my own erect shaft, oozing pre-cum juices again and desperate to be relieved. With my limb around him, my hands clutched the nerve of his bum and pulled him to me. Just as survive night, that little atmospheric pressure and mollify movement was all it took to contribute on my own orgasm, and as my inside clenched and my vision seemed to film over in the here and now of shattering orgasm, I felt his softening organ slip out of my jam just as my cum burst from my peter, filling the spaces between our two body and running down the English of my eubstance into the shuck. 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 obtuse ache emanating from my backside and Deryk was gone again.

"sod ! Just like endure time,"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 sang-froid morning 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 lights of an ambulance, two police cars and a large crowd of masses. As I got out of the car, I expected to be the centre of everyone's attention, having been"missing"all night, but the meet crowd was all gathered around a offspring man with a cover over his shoulders, sitting on the wall and being attended to by the paramedic and being questioned by the law. I recognized the untried man from the bar of the hotel yesterday and the Night before. As I listened to what was going on, I discovered that the young man and two of his friends had been out for an early morning paseo 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 ferocity was the main talking-point ; it seems that their attacker was a"vicious wolf with inhuman strength and pincer to match ”. Certainly, the young 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 filthy and one position of his face bore patched wounding of dry out blood. In fact, he was a mess - and he was the one who hadn't been taken to hospital !

But no-one was interest in me ; the Police spoke to me briefly but only to establish that I hadn't seen anything. I told them the verity - or at least, part of it. I had gone up to the"Old Man"late yesterday but because of the weather condition, I had spent the night in the car, in the car park. Given that I clearly had neither the bod nor the build necessary to best three highland youths in the manner that had clearly taken place, they believed me. I went up to my room to pile my bags. It was fourth dimension to move on.

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

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