During a short summertime 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 age considered a dramatic destination with amorous overtone, nowadays of course of study you don't so much go"over the sea to Skye"as you go"over the span"to it - paying a hefty price for the privilege - and this does incline to fall the signified of romanticistic isolation. Nevertheless, the scenery when you get there is just as romantic and as dramatic as it ever was.

I had booked into a small private guest-house hotel somewhat off the tick track, partly for the bestow Latinian language of its standoffishness but also for its locating in the Frederick 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 holidaymaker, 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 program for tomorrow anyway.

I checked-in early in the eventide and the woman 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 way. As I entered, I was immediately mindful of a group of about 6 guys at the lilliputian bar at the end of the room ; they were the merely others in the room and as I walked in, they suddenly stopped talking and, after a momentary break to tax the intruder, they restarted their conversation - but in Goidelic. 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"role 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 civil and effective, while at the Sami clock time, rather grim and somewhat grim. It was all rather eerie and I ate my wholesome Scottish farmhouse dinner alone and in an awkward silence, while the topical anaesthetic continued their conversation in murmur vowel of Gaelic, interrupted by the occasional burst of laughter and a glance in my direction - which just made me feel even more uncomfortable.

Afterwards, I retired to the comfort of the lounge, after first ordering a skilful 20 year-old malt whiskey from the bar - making sure that I did not pass the local anaesthetic solid ground for offence by adulterating it with anything like ice, even though I would have preferred it that way ! Slumped in a deep arm-chair by the fervency, filled with my meal and warmed by the score, I began to feel mellow and rather sleepy.

As I dozed, I became conscious of the figure of a kilted vernal man half-sitting on the arm of the sofa next to me. My eye travelled upwards over his young, slightly hairy legs and tanned bare knees. He was wearing distinctive Highland tramp clothes : walking boots, thick woolly wind cone and an appropriate Skye Tartan kilt, over 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 hands with about half-an-inch of what looked like Scotch in the buttocks. He raised the glassful to his lip. It was Deryk - or rather, the somewhat subtle, mystical and handsome young guy I had met month before in Jack London and who seemed to have assumed the use of my at one time illusion younger sidekick from childhood.



"hello,"he said, looking directly into my eyes with his piercing gaze. Then with that winning crooked smile of his he continued,"sword lily to see we portion the same tastes."

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

His middle were deep-set beneath soft fatal eye-brows and against the fire glow they seemed almost lustrous, while the blues and Green River of his tartan kilt seemed to excogitate in their fertile drear colour. Just as when I saw him months ago, he had the same short, wavy total darkness hair which flopped boyishly forward over his os frontale and he had a mild facial skin color 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 untried brother and was always getting into trouble and excoriation from which I had to rescue him ; rescues which usually, and significantly as it turned out, postulate getting his clothes off - as well as several early naughtinesses of childhood. In those Clarence Day, he would have been just a few years untried than me but he was now unaccountably still only in his mid-20's while I was nearly 40. Evidently, the days had been kind to him ! However, since the only Brother I had known was the one of my young and fertile imagination, the mystery of who this guy really was still eluded me. After our last encounter in London a few months ago, he had disappeared again, leaving me none the wiser ; his return now would, you might think, have provoked a deeper investigation on my function but for some cause, this meter 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 utmost time, my brain was alive to the theory the Night might have in store.

"I was wondering when you were going to re-emerge,"I said, and returned his ‘ Slangevar'with a motion and a sip from my own glass of scotch. The warmness of the malted nectar seemed to permeate through my consistence, as I gazed back into his blue pools of delicious and veto 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 expression of pretend embarrassment.

"Hmm - best not to really,"he affirmed, promptly changing the subject."fondness slipping out-of-door for a breath of fresh air ? It's quite hot in here by the firing and it's a cover girl crystallize Nox out."

I was tempted to make a remark along the pipeline of his notion cooler if I were to divest him of his Arran sweater and heavy kilt but I thought the dependable 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 side of meat to side and he headed for the door.

He was right ; it was a beautifully net, romanticistic Night as we stood in the cold night air, gazing up at the sensation and pointing-out to each other the constellations and their John Roy Major stars ; the manifest"W"of Cassiopeia high in the north-east ; the brightness level of Arcturus in the west and above us, Deneb, Vega and Altair, the ace of the"Summer Triangle"; and of path, the"Charles's Wain ”, Ursa John Major, the"Great Bear"and its cursor to the Pole Star, Polaris. He seemed to tell apart just as many of them as I did, and I was impressed by his knowledge and interest group ; it made me feel even closer to him. A wax 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 misconstrue his ambiguous reference to the"Old Man of Storr"but I spoiled his attack to rag me as I went on to recount him of my own plan. He nodded his approval and thought 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 feet. It's a longer trek of track but if it's clear, the position's well worth the exertion - or so I was told."

He went on to describe the rather hazardous course they had told him to take from the route instead of following the established holidaymaker track up to the Old Man. He dismissed my protestations that it sounded treacherous.

"fountainhead, that's what I thought I would do, at any rate,"he finally asserted.

The to the full moon bathed the surrounding heather and the distant glen in a soft bluish light, while our intimation made minuscule clouds of vapour against the night air. A shooting star torus across the sky and disappeared behind the hill above the little hotel and I sighed and shivered in the cold. My Scotch whiskey was now gone and I was only wearing a cotton fiber shirt. It was at that here and now that he moved closer to me and slid 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 arms inside his perspirer to hug his warm physical structure, enclothe underneath only in a tee-shirt. Once again, I was enveloped in his masculine olfactory property which, enhanced by his subtle use of a familiar musky Cologne, seemed to enwrap me in the rubber of a warm blanket. My cheek found a home against the gentle comfort 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 delicacy of his kilted rear. His strong hairy branch clad in chunky woollen air-sleeve disappeared into that unknown realm beyond the swaying pleats of his Skye Tartan and I couldn't help wondering if it was true - you know - what they say……..

He waited on the landing place for me to open my door and invite him in but once inside, by the Inner Light of the moon from the window, we finally embraced with a true Passion of Christ of longing. At last, we kissed, long and lustfully, probing with our lingua and tasting the forbidden fruits of brotherly love. His sassing were full and moist, slightly salty to the predilection ; the stubble of his shadow-beard felt slightly rugged and I inhaled the abstruse, maleness of his physical structure 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 dress. He unbuckled his sporran and it dropped to the floor as I pulled his perspirer off, revealing the same"X-Men"tee-shirt he had worn the concluding time we met -"wolverine"it take. My shirt was off next, then our boot and socks, before we fell into another embrace, kissing and hugging, external respiration and trousering. He sank his back talk into my cervix and I gasped in ecstasy, as his shuck lightly scratched at my sensitive bare tegument and he began licking and biting my ear, his warm up breath sending tingles up and down my spine.

He dropped to his stifle before me, kissing the white, hairless skin of my venter and pressing his expression into my genitals. Gently, he unbuttoned my jean and lowered them to the floor ; and then his face buried itself in my inguen. My electronic organ was bursting from my Cin2 briefs by this point, oozing pre-cum juices into the soft bloodless 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 sleeve to pull off his tee-shirt, revealing his well developed bureau, peppered with delicate hairs, in the centre of which hung on a leather necklace, a excise bronze medallion in the shape of a Celtic amulet. It glinted in the Moon and when he saw me looking at it, he smiled knowingly and pressed it against my chest of drawers ; it felt surprisingly cold, unknown but in some manner fascinating.

We returned to our embracing, kissing and hugging ; my hands now following the contours of his hairless back, his spinal column and then at live on, his bum, still covered by his kilt. Through the great woollen material, I massaged the face of his prat, feeling their plump round chassis and clutching at the pleats of the rachis 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 body now lying prone before me, clad only in his Skye plaid kilt. I climbed onto the bed between his bare legs.

Seeking to observe but also wishing to prolong the act of breakthrough, I ran my bridge player up the back of his hairy legs, slowly under his kilt, high and higher inside the enigma 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 scissure, kissing and tonguing his crack and tasting the sweaty scent of this, the most private area of his young body. I spread his legs, to discover his globe and erect cock, trapped by his kilt and pressed firmly against the bed and down between his branch. His cock-head was already exposed and moist ; I licked it in a rotary motion, before taking it fully into my rima oris, as my nose pressed into his hairless balls - did he shave 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, Mark,"he groaned,"You know you want to ……. please."

I pulled the pillows down under the front of his kilt, lifting his back end. Then, gently folding back the plait of his Skye tartan, I exposed his beautiful, plump, cycle cheeks to the indulgent moonshine. 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 low gear finger pushed inside to see his prostate gland. I felt it, slightly hard and swollen with hullabaloo. He groaned, more loudly this time. Then, kneeling between his spread thighs and exposed bottom, and surrounded by the folding of his kilt, like a huge blue-green flower, I pressed my wet and slippery tool against its small target at the gist. Whether or not I was de-flowering the spring chicken of my jr. comrade, I could not live but against his initial resistance, I pushed, gently at first and then more firmly, until my cock-head drop away inside the first base chamber. His needlelike intake of breath, followed by a slight whimpering sound, said,"Proceed ”.

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



He felt so warm and familiar, soft and comforting ; I felt his thighs gripping the outside of my legs as I pressed on and I began to palpate his own clenches from within his bowels. I established a slow up, firm but gentle natural process, 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 nooky ! Oh God ! Mark,"he gasped."I'm gon na cum like this,"he groaned in ecstasy. I could feel his interior clenching me, as I kept pushing across the swollen hardness of his prostate. His entire body began to shake.

It was all too much for me ; my own cum was rising now and my action became necessarily more frantic, as I pushed faster, back and Forth River, in and out, until - we each let out our gasps in cooccurring relief, as we both came in two shattering orgasms, each reinforcing the former, as my cum seemed to blow up from inside my balls and down my beam, into his Loretta Young willingness, to be met by throbs of ecstasy, as his own cum erupted from his prostate, soaking the inside of his kilt in pools of white spooge.

Amidst our mutual groans and groan, I collapsed on top of him, my organ slipping from his mess, as his body relaxed under me. As I kissed the back of his neck, his hands found mine aside the pillow and he grasped them, gripping them in loving thanks. We both fell into deep and satisfying slumber ; the rest of the inexperienced person ? Perhaps.

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

I showered, dressed and went down to breakfast. After finale night's elbow grease, I was ravenous 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 blockade 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 drive on up to the"Old Man of Storr"car park, as per my design. In fact, I thought I might still abide a chance of seeing him there but I didn't. I made the little trek up through the Mrs. Henry Wood and on to the area known as"The sanctuary ”, where a number of bouldery volcanic plugs stand majestically and somewhat mystically in the almost lunar landscape."The Old Man of Storr"is the adult 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 tardy lunch.

However, the dining room wasn't open and"Mrs Danvers"wasn't around but an older guy was behind the bar - probably"Mr Danvers"- and he served me a Scotch and a micro-waved pastie with rather less diplomacy than his forbidding wife ! While I sat with my drink in the turning point eating my dejeuner, three young guys came in and sat at the bar. They were some of the Same guy cable I had seen the Nox before and, as end night, they were joking and sniggering about something. As I looked in their way, I noticed one of them was proudly showing the others a medallion of some sorting and my breadbasket suddenly turned over when I realised what it was. It was Deryk's Celtic Talisman ! I was now worried and I desperately tried to hear what they were saying. Unlike last night, they were talking in English ; not that it did me much good because their dialects were so firm that I still couldn't match a great deal - except the word"Storr ”. Now I really was worried and I resolved to go out to determine the path Deryk had said he was intending to follow to gain the ridge. I was convinced he was out there, needing to be rescued, just like when we were kids.

With some difficultness, I eventually found the other way of life some way south of the car park and leading up from the route. By now though, clip was getting on and the weather was already starting to close-in. It was greyish and frigidity and the first gear spots of rain were falling. But I wrapped-up and set off, undeterred and even more sure that he was there, somewhere.



I traced the path, noting the landmark from the de***********ion he had given me the dark before and scanning the rocks and bracken for any preindication or clue of his having been there. The path passed close up by a minor tarn or pool fed by hill weewee from the ridgeline and there were the remains of an old b 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 manifest shape of a leather sporran. It was his ! There was a small stream just a few yards away and as I cast my center up and down the gulley, I spotted the unmistakable shape of a kilt, now soaking wet and filthy dirty, lying in the mud. But there was no polarity of Deryk.

Stepping down into the current, my heart sank into the pit of my tum as I saw him, lying face down in the mud, completely naked except for his wind sleeve and his X-Men tee shirt. I was shivering with fright now, at what I might be about to discover. He was a pathetic heap ; lying there in the shallow, rocky current, his body final stage nighttime tanned and strong was now gray, shriveled and helpless. As I bent down to touch his battered and bruised body, I feared the risky. 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.

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

He raised his capitulum 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 tumid with contusion, cuts and grazes. I lifted him up and comforted him, as I took off my pelage and put it over his cold and shivering shoulders.

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

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

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

By now the conditions was getting angry ; the flatus had picked up and the frigidness rain was starting to come down quite heavily. And it was getting nighttime. I looked at my watch and realised that, in his stipulation, we would never get back to the car before nightfall and this terrain would be treacherous in the shadow, even if we tried. God knows where his flush were - stolen I guess, along with his talisman and the subject of his sporran. I checked my mobile phone to call for help but just when I needed it virtually, there was no signal. I decided the only affair to do was to attempt some kind of tax shelter and I remembered the ruined croft a few hundred grounds away, so with some difficulty, I managed to get Deryk to his feet and we staggered out of the ditch and across the Pteridium esculentum, eventually to discover that portion of the ruining was still a small roofed construction with a half-broken b threshold on the other side. As we staggered inside, we were greeted by the warmth and smell of what had once been an fleshly shelter but which now took on a new persona, as a tax shelter for two pal. We collapsed into the pale yellow in the corner.

There was minuscule else I could do in the dark, with no first aid kit. What little wear we had on was now soaking wet and we had only my coat to track us both but at to the lowest degree it was warm up and dry in our shelter, albeit rather smelly ! I had a bottle of piddle which I made him sip and I also had some cocoa in my air hole - always a right reservoir 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 early cure for photo in these circumstances is shared bodily warmth, so I improvised a bed from the wheat, peeled off his wet X-men tee-shirt and his wet socks and then removed my own dress and laid them out to dry on the straw beside us. Now both completely naked, I hugged him closely against my tender body, spooning him from behind in the foetal spatial relation and pulling the coat over the top of us. Deryk was shivering at firstly but after a little while, the warmth began to build up under the coat and he settled into a placate sleep.

As the warmth built up, I started to get horny with my arms around him and my dick nestled in the fissure below his behind. I was thinking about last nighttime and shooting my load into his inner willingness for the first time. I'm ashamed to say that, even in this moment of crisis, my juices were flowing again and my hard-on was slipping rather easily into the pass between his buttocks. This moment was what all my fantasy of childhood had been leading up to - although I was too young or naïve to sympathise them fully at the time - and now I had a existent Deryk in the safety of my subdivision again and I wanted him. In fact, I wanted him so much that with just the thin apparent movement 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 attenuate nation. But I didn't enter him though ; I couldn't - I shouldn't - do that ; not here, not now. Even so, my coming was still rising in my 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 pounding, as my fluids filled the crack of his ass and I cradled his body before me, hugging him and kissing the back of his neck. At last I fell asleep.

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



"You seem to birth 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,"and he just grabbed my legs and bedevil my feet above his shoulders, hoisting me off our bed of straw.

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

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

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

"Fuck me !"I found myself shouting, more in pain 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 thrusting, which I was beginning to get accustomed to, I was aware of the similarity with what happened last time he re-appeared. The same sharing of tenderness and warmth, the same rapid rejuvenation, the Inner Light of the lunar month and now this almost brute translation of Deryk.

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

He rammed into me one final clock time and came inside me, as he let out a kind of howl of rest period and I felt his fluids pumping into my insides, throbbing after throb after throb, before he collapsed on top of me on the straw, his tumid organ still buried inside me. The insistency of his strong young dead body against my stomach now found my own erect turncock, oozing pre-cum juice again and desperate to be relieved. With my arms around him, my hands clutched the cheeks of his bum and pulled him to me. Just as concluding Nox, that little pressure and gentle cause was all it took to convey on my own orgasm, and as my insides clenched and my imaginativeness seemed to blur in the here and now of shattering climax, I felt his softening organ slip-up out of my maw just as my cum burst from my putz, filling the spaces between our two bodies and running down the English of my eubstance into the straw. Shattered, I fell asleep again, this prison term with Deryk lying on top of me.

I awoke to sunlight streaming into an empty barn. I sat up. There was a dense aching emanating from my bottom and Deryk was gone again.

"sod ! Just like in conclusion metre,"I swore out cheap to myself.

I looked at my scout. It was 9.30 already. My dress 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 chill morning time luminosity, I drove back to the hotel, arriving about 11.00am. However, what greeted me made me suddenly feel quite vacate and cold.

As I pulled into the lane, I saw the flashing Inner Light of an ambulance, two police cars and a large bunch of people. As I got out of the car, I expected to be the nitty-gritty of everyone's attention, having been"missing"all night, but the tack gang was all gathered around a young man with a mantle over his articulatio humeri, sitting on the wall and being attended to by the Paramedics and being questioned by the Police. I recognized the 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 friends had been out for an early morning walk on the moor not far from the hotel when they had been viciously attacked. His two friends were now on their way to hospital in a bad way, but the perpetrator of this furiousness was the main talking-point ; it seems that their attacker was a"vicious beast with cold-blooded strength and claws to equal ”. 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 boldness bore patched 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 law spoke to me briefly but only to establish that I hadn't seen anything. I told them the accuracy - or at least, part of it. I had gone up to the"Old Man"late yesterday but because of the weather, I had spent the night in the car, in the car park. Given that I clearly had neither the physique nor the build necessary to best three Highland youths in the way that had clearly taken post, they believed me. I went up to my room to backpack my bags. It was prison term to affect on.

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

( PS ) If anyone out there likes my `` Deryk '' stories, perhaps you 'd wish to suggest how I should make grow him - constructive commentary, please !