During a short summertime gaolbreak, I was spending a week driving around the west of Scotland and had booked a couplet of nights on the isle of Skye. For years considered a spectacular destination with romanticistic overtone, nowadays of course you don't so often go"over the sea to Skye"as you go"over the bridge deck"to it - paying a hefty toll for the privilege - and this does be given to decrease the sense of romantic closing off. Nevertheless, the scenery when you get there is just as romantic and as dramatic as it ever was.

I had booked into a small buck private guest-house hotel somewhat off the scramble running, partly for the tot up romance of its farawayness 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 mellow. Just like so many passing tourists, I had seen it from a length but never up close and I thought that the good for you trek up to it from the road might be rewarding. That was my plan for tomorrow anyway.

I checked-in early in the even and the adult female 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 humble dining room. As I entered, I was immediately cognisant of a group of about 6 guy cable at the short bar at the end of the room ; they were the alone others in the room and as I walked in, they suddenly stopped talking and, after a fleeting pause to value the interloper, they restarted their conversation - but in Goidelic. I felt very much the outsider and as I sat alone at my table in the window, the char of the home took on a sort of"Mrs Danvers"persona as she served my meal ; if you've ever seen that old Hollywood Classic"Rebekah ”, with Laurence Olivier and Joan Fontaine, you'll know what I mean ; she was civilized and efficient, while at the same meter, rather grim and somewhat foreclose. It was all rather eerie and I ate my wholesome Scottish farmhouse dinner alone and in an awkward silence, while the locals continued their conversation in murmurs of Erse, interrupted by the episodic burst of laughter and a coup d'oeil in my way - which just made me feel even more uncomfortable.

Afterwards, I retired to the consolation of the lounge, after start ordering a good 20 year-old malt whisky from the bar - making certainly that I did not apply the local anesthetic cause for crime by adulterating it with anything like ice, even though I would take preferred it that way ! Slumped in a deeply arm-chair by the fire, filled with my meal and warmed by the scotch, I began to sense mellow and rather sleepy.

As I dozed, I became conscious of the figure of a kilted young man half-sitting on the arm of the couch next to me. My eyes travelled upwards over his Loretta Young, slightly hairy pegleg and tanned bare articulatio genus. He was wearing typical upland hiking wearing apparel : walking boots, thick woolly socks and an appropriate Skye Tartan kilt, complete with a rather break leather sporran which now lay in his lap. He had on a chunky Arran sweater and he had a great tumbler in his hired hand with about half-an-inch of what looked ilk Scotch malt whiskey in the bottom. He raised the glass to his backtalk. It was Deryk - or rather, the somewhat baffling, mysterious and handsome vernal guy I had met months before in London and who seemed to experience assumed the function of my erstwhile fantasy younger sidekick from childhood.



"hullo,"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 ploughshare the Lapp tastes."

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

His eyes were deep-set beneath soft black eye-brows and against the fire glow they seemed almost bright, while the vapours and greens of his tartan kilt seemed to excogitate in their robust blue-blooded color. Just as when I saw him calendar month ago, he had the Lapplander short, wavy black tomentum which flopped boyishly forward over his os frontale and he had a piano seventh cranial nerve complexion that included a carefully cultivated shadow-beard. He had lovely, kissable lip ; a little weather-worn but plump and tasting slightly salty, I recalled, as I gazed back at him.



Of course, years ago when I was pre-adolescent, he had been my immature Brother and was always getting into hassle and scratching from which I had to rescue him ; rescues which usually, and significantly as it turned out, take getting his clothes off - as well as assorted other naughtinesses of childhood. In those Clarence Shepard Day Jr., he would own been just a few age jr. than me but he was now unaccountably still only in his mid-20's while I was nearly 40. Evidently, the old age had been variety to him ! However, since the alone buddy I had known was the one of my Whitney Young and fertile mental imagery, the mystery of who this guy really was still eluded me. After our last showdown in British capital a few month ago, he had disappeared again, leaving me none the wiser ; his reappearance now would, you might think, have provoked a deeper investigation on my persona 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 finally time, my mind was alive to the possibilities the night might feature 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 spyglass of scotch. The warmheartedness of the malt nectar seemed to filter through my consistency, as I gazed back into his grim puddle of delicious and foreclose lust.

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

His eyes narrowed as he screwed-up his expression in an expression of make-believe embarrassment.

"Hmm - best not to really,"he affirmed, promptly changing the subject."partiality slipping international for a hint of fresh air ? It's quite hot in here by the blast and it's a pin-up clear night out."

I was tempted to make a input along the assembly line of his feeling tank if I were to deprive him of his Arran sweater and fleshy 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 elucidate, romantic night as we stood in the cold night air, gazing up at the superstar and pointing-out to each other the configuration and their major lead ; the unmistakable"W"of Cassiopeia high in the north-east ; the luminousness of Arcturus in the west and above us, Deneb, Vega and Altair, the asterisk of the"summertime Triangle"; and of course, the"Plough ”, Ursa major, the"Great Bear"and its cursor to the Pole Star, Polaris. He seemed to know just as many of them as I did, and I was impressed by his knowledge and interest ; it made me feel even closer to him. A broad 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 work to the"Old Man of Storr"but I spoiled his attempt to razz me as I went on to tell him of my own plans. He nodded his commendation and thought for a moment.

"The guys I was talking to in the bar earlier,"he said,"told me that the ridgeline behind the Old Man rises to more than two grand feet. It's a longer trek of course of study but if it's clear, the opinion's well worth the endeavor - or so I was told."

He went on to describe the rather hazardous path they had told him to exact from the road instead of following the established tourist 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 wide moon bathed the surrounding Scots heather and the upstage glen in a cushy bluish lighting, while our breath made minuscule clouds of vapour against the night air. A shooting star tore across the sky and disappeared behind the hill above the picayune 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 mo that he moved closer to me and skid his arm around my articulatio humeri, 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 trunk, clad underneath only in a tee-shirt. Once again, I was enveloped in his masculine scent which, enhanced by his subtle use of a familiar musky eau de cologne, seemed to wrap me in the safety of a warm blanket. My case found a home against the indulgent comfort of his shoulder.

"I missed you,"I whispered.

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

He went on ahead up the stairs and I followed behind, mesmerized by the tantalizing treat of his kilted posterior. His strong hairy pegleg clad in chunky wool air sock disappeared into that unknown neighborhood beyond the swaying pleat of his Skye tartan and I couldn't assistance wondering if it was straight - you know - what they say……..

He waited on the landing for me to open my door and ask in him in but once inside, by the Light of the synodic month from the windowpane, we finally embraced with a true passion of longing. At last, we kissed, long and lustfully, probing with our clapper and tasting the forbidden fruit of brotherly love. His sass were full and moist, slightly salty to the taste ; the stubble of his shadow-beard felt slightly rugged and I inhaled the deep, masculinity of his consistency as we remained locked in a remorseless grip.

We surfaced for air but standing in the Moon, we were overtaken again by our lust and we began frantically pulling off each others clothes. He unbuckled his sporran and it dropped to the floor as I pulled his sweater off, revealing the Same"X-Men"tee-shirt he had worn the last time we met -"Michigander"it take. My shirt was off next, then our kick and wind sock, before we fell into another embracing, kissing and hugging, external respiration and trousering. He sank his lips into my cervix and I gasped in ecstasy, as his stubble lightly scratched at my sensitive bare peel 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 gabardine, hairless skin of my tum and pressing his face into my crotch. Gently, he unbuttoned my denim and lowered them to the floor ; and then his face buried itself in my jetty. My reed organ was bursting from my Cin2 briefs by this point, oozing pre-cum juice into the soft white fabric, which he eagerly sucked and tasted, gently biting at my cock and balls through my briefs and driving me wild.

As he stood up, I stepped out of my jeans and raised his arms to pull off his tee-shirt, revealing his well developed chest of drawers, peppered with soft pilus, in the centre of which hung on a leather necklace, a come upon bronze medallion in the cast of a Celtic amulet. It glinted in the moonlight and when he saw me looking at it, he smiled knowingly and pressed it against my chest ; it felt surprisingly cold, unusual but somehow fascinating.

We returned to our embrace, kissing and hugging ; my hands now following the contour line of his hairless back, his spinal column and then at last, his bum, still covered by his kilt. Through the heavy woollen textile, I massaged the cheeks of his derriere, feeling their plump round form 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, his physical structure now lying prone before me, clad only in his Skye Tartan kilt. I climbed onto the bed between his bare legs.

Seeking to strike but also wishing to protract the act of breakthrough, I ran my bridge player up the vertebral column of his hairy legs, slowly under his kilt, eminent and higher inside the private sanctuary until I felt his hairless buttocks. I could resist no longer ; I slid back down the bed and buried my head under his kilt, diving into his cleft, kissing and tonguing his offer and tasting the sweaty scent of this, the most private area of his young body. I spread his legs, to let on 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 round motion, before taking it fully into my lip, as my nose pressed into his hairless clump - did he shave his orb ? I hadn't remembered that from finale time.

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

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

I pulled the pillows down under the nominal head of his kilt, lifting his rear. Then, gently folding back the pleat of his Skye Tartan, I exposed his beautiful, plump, cycle cheeks to the soft moonlight. I needed no lubricant ; I was oozing pre-cum for all I was deserving ! So, smearing my pre-cum in and around his anus, I first finger-fucked him gently. He gasped, as the number 1 finger pushed inside to determine his prostate. I felt it, slightly hard and swollen with exhilaration. He groaned, more loudly this meter. Then, kneeling between his spread thigh and exposed ass, and surrounded by the folds of his kilt, like a huge blue-green flower, I pressed my wet and slippery putz against its small target at the centre. Whether or not I was de-flowering the youth of my vernal brother, I could not know but against his initial resistance, I pushed, gently at kickoff and then more firmly, until my cock-head mistake inside the first chamber. His sharp consumption of intimation, followed by a flimsy whimpering sound, said,"Proceed ”.

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



He felt so warm and familiar, easy 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 bowels. I established a slow, firm but lenify natural process, 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 ! marking,"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 well hardness of his prostate. His intact body began to shake.

It was all too much for me ; my own cum was rising now and my action became necessarily more excited, as I pushed faster, back and Forth, in and out, until - we each let out our gasps in simultaneous succor, as we both came in two shattering orgasms, each reinforcing the other, as my cum seemed to set off from inside my balls and down my shaft, into his Loretta Young willingness, to be met by pounding 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 reciprocal moan and moans, I collapsed on top of him, my organ slipping from his pickle, as his body relaxed under me. As I kissed the rachis of his neck opening, his work force found mine aside the pillow and he grasped them, gripping them in loving thanks. We both fell into deeply and meet rest ; the rest of the innocent ? Perhaps.

When I awoke the next 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 terminal clock time,"I cursed to myself.

I showered, dressed and went down to breakfast. After last night's exertions, I was starved and"Mrs Danvers"served me a to the full cooked breakfast in her characteristically tranquility and efficient fashion. I wanted to ask where he was but I had realised that I didn't actually know that he was staying in the hotel ; I had only assumed it and as I didn't want to embarrass 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 plan. In fact, I thought I might still place upright a luck of seeing him there but I didn't. I made the short trek up through the Wood and on to the area known as"The refuge ”, where a numeral of bouldered volcanic quid 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 pot of ikon in the good morning light but the weather deteriorated towards midday, so I went back to the hotel for a late lunch.

However, the dining room wasn't assailable 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 LE finesse than his forbidding married woman ! While I sat with my drinking in the corner eating my luncheon, three young guys came in and sat at the bar. They were some of the same guys I had seen the night before and, as finish 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 laurel wreath 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 find out what they were saying. Unlike last nighttime, they were talking in side ; not that it did me much full because their accent were so strong that I still couldn't catch practically - except the Good Book"Storr ”. Now I really was apprehensive and I resolved to go out to find the route 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 other way of life some way south of the car ballpark and leading up from the road. By now though, time was getting on and the conditions was already starting to close-in. It was grey and cold-blooded and the world-class spots of rain were falling. But I wrapped-up and set off, undeterred and even more certain that he was there, somewhere.



I traced the way, noting the landmarks from the de***********ion he had given me the night before and scanning the rock and roll and bracken for any mark or clue of his having been there. The path passed close by a small tarn or pond fed by hill water from the ridge and there were the clay of an old barn or croft nearby. I was about to micturate the detour to inquire when I spotted something in the bracken ; leather ; a leather strap ; then the unmistakable Supreme Headquarters Allied Powers Europe of a leather sporran. It was his ! There was a modest stream just a few M away and as I cast my eyes up and down the gulley, I spotted the apparent shape of a kilt, now soaking wet and nasty dirty, lying in the mud. But there was no mark of Deryk.

Stepping down into the stream, my heart sank into the pit of my abdomen as I saw him, lying human face down in the mud, completely naked except for his wind sleeve and his X-Men tee shirt. I was shivering with awe now, at what I might be about to break. He was a wretched sight ; lying there in the shallow, rocky stream, his body last Nox tanned and secure was now grey, shriveled and incapacitated. As I bent down to adjoin his battered and bruised body, I feared the worst. I felt his neck ; there was a pulse from his carotid artery - a feint one but a pulse at least. He stirred at my touch.

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

He raised his head and turned, but as he tried to get up, I realised that his trunk was covered with orotund wheal and bruises, as if he had been kicked repeatedly, and his face was puffy with bruises, cutting off and Graz. 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."rip began to mix with mud and blood on his beautiful but quiver face.

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

"Those bastards in the bar death night,"he muttered, gritting his dentition, as if gathering strong point,"I should experience known better. They fucked me all roads, the dickhead. But at least you're here now."

By now the atmospheric condition was getting furious ; the wind had picked up and the cold pelting was starting to arrive down quite heavily. And it was getting dark. I looked at my spotter and realised that, in his status, we would never get back to the car before nightfall and this terrain would be perfidious in the darkness, even if we tried. God knows where his kick were - stolen I guess, along with his amulet and the contents of his sporran. I checked my mobile phone to scream for helper but just when I needed it most, there was no signal. I decided the only matter to do was to seek some kind of shelter and I remembered the ruined croft a few hundred curtilage away, so with some difficulty, I managed to get Deryk to his foundation and we staggered out of the ditch and across the Pteridium esculentum, eventually to light upon that part of the ruin was still a small roofed social organization with a half-broken barn room access on the other side. As we staggered inside, we were greeted by the heat and smell of what had once been an brute tax shelter but which now took on a new role, as a shelter for two brothers. We collapsed into the straw in the corner.

There was little else I could do in the dark, with no foremost aid kit. What piffling wearable we had on was now soaking wet and we had only my coat to cover us both but at least it was affectionate and dry in our protection, albeit rather smelly ! I had a bottleful of water which I made him sip and I also had some chocolate in my air hole - always a unspoilt source of push 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 warmness, so I improvised a bed from the wheat, peeled off his wet X-men tee-shirt and his wet air-sleeve and then removed my own clothes and laid them out to dry on the strew beside us. Now both completely naked, I hugged him closely against my warm body, spooning him from behind in the foetal position and pulling the coat over the top of us. Deryk was shivering at low gear but after a little while, the warmth began to work up up under the coating and he settled into a gentle sleep.

As the warmth built up, I started to get horny with my blazonry around him and my rooster nestled in the cleft below his rear end. I was thinking about last Night and shooting my loading into his interior willingness for the low gear time. I'm ashamed to say that, even in this moment of crisis, my juice were flowing again and my erecting was slipping rather easily into the cracking 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 translate them fully at the 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 slightest bm between his buttocks, 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 hurt 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 telephone number of assuage pounding, as my fluids filled the crack of his buttocks and I cradled his body before me, hugging him and kissing the binding of his neck. At in conclusion I fell asleep.

The weather must accept cleared during the nighttime because I awoke to a shaft of moonlight through the gap in the old barn door. And against this light, I saw a shadow, the abstract at least, of Deryk, on his knee joint astride my body.



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

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

Before I knew it, I felt the familiar slickness of his set up organ directly against my kettle of fish and with one thrusting and a defiant oink, he rammed into me, all the way.

"Redeemer !"I yelled out,"Go slow - please !"

"It's the solely way you're gon na get it, crony,"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 pauperism for shared bodily warmth, as I was shedding sweat by the bucket-load !

"Fuck me !"I found myself shouting, more in hurt 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 similarities with what happened last prison term he re-appeared. The same share-out of philia and lovingness, the same rapid greening, the illumination of the Moon and now this almost animal translation of Deryk.

"Besides…….you like it…….really……..oh tinker's dam ! ... ... ..Oh fu…. !"

He rammed into me one final exam meter and came inside me, as he let out a sort of howl of relief and I felt his fluids pumping into my inside, throbbing after throb after throb, before he collapsed on top of me on the straw, his erect organ still buried inside me. The insistence of his strong young torso against my belly now found my own erect hammer, oozing pre-cum juice again and desperate to be relieved. With my arms around him, my hands clutched the impertinence of his bum and pulled him to me. Just as in conclusion night, that little pressure and gentle movement was all it took to impart on my own coming, and as my inside clenched and my vision seemed to blur in the moment of shattering climax, I felt his softening organ slip out of my trap just as my cum burst from my tool, filling the infinite between our two bodies and running down the sides of my soundbox into the pale yellow. Shattered, I fell asleep again, this time with Deryk lying on top of me.

I awoke to sunlight streaming into an discharge barn. I sat up. There was a dull ache emanating from my backside and Deryk was gone again.

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

I looked at my sentinel. 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 forenoon Light Within, 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 light source of an ambulance, two law cars and a boastfully crowd of people. As I got out of the car, I expected to be the centre of everyone's tending, having been"missing"all nighttime, but the assembled crowd was all gathered around a youth man with a cover over his shoulders, sitting on the wall and being attended to by the paramedical and being questioned by the Police. I recognized the Lester Willis 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 young man and two of his champion had been out for an early sunup paseo 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 fierceness was the chief talking-point ; it seems that their aggressor was a"fell beast with cold force and pincer to oppose ”. Certainly, the untried man in the mantle looked as if he had been heavily beaten and scratched. His dress, or what remained of them, were torn and filthy and one side of his brass bore patched wounds of dried line. In fact, he was a passel - and he was the one who hadn't been taken to hospital !

But no-one was concern in me ; the Police spoke to me briefly but only to launch that I hadn't seen anything. I told them the trueness - or at least, share of it. I had gone up to the"Old Man"late yesterday but because of the weather, I had spent the Nox in the car, in the car parking area. Given that I clearly had neither the physique nor the progress necessary to trump three Highland early days in the manner that had clearly taken place, they believed me. I went up to my room to jam my bags. It was clip to move on.

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

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