During a short summer break, I was spending a workweek driving around the west of Scotland and had booked a couple of nights on the isle of Skye. For years considered a dramatic terminus with romantic overtones, nowadays of course you don't so very much go"over the sea to Skye"as you go"over the span"to it - paying a hefty toll for the privilege - and this does incline to diminish the good sense of romantic closing off. Nevertheless, the scenery when you get there is just as romantic and as spectacular as it ever was.

I had booked into a small private guest-house hotel somewhat off the beaten track, partly for the added romance of its remoteness but also for its localisation in the Second Earl of Guilford of the island, not far from the"Old Man of Storr ”, a conspicuously phallic granite outcrop some 535m high. Just like so many passing tourists, I had seen it from a distance but never up close and I thought that the goodish trek up to it from the road might be rewarding. That was my plan for tomorrow anyway.

I checked-in early in the evening and the cleaning lady of the firm seemed pleasant enough but when I went down to dinner an hour or so later, I detected a strange atmosphere in the small dining room. As I entered, I was immediately aware of a chemical group of about 6 guy wire at the little bar at the end of the room ; they were the entirely others in the room and as I walked in, they suddenly stopped talking and, after a momentary pause to assess the intruder, they restarted their conversation - but in Gaelic. I felt very much the foreigner and as I sat alone at my board in the window, the woman of the business firm took on a variety of"Mrs Danvers"character as she served my meal ; 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 time, rather sick and somewhat prevent. It was all rather eerie and I ate my wholesome Scotch farmhouse dinner alone and in an inapt silence, while the topical anesthetic continued their conversation in heart murmur of Gaelic, interrupted by the episodic burst of laughter and a glance in my direction - which just made me palpate even more uncomfortable.

Afterwards, I retired to the comforter of the lounge, after world-class ordering a good 20 year-old malt whiskey from the bar - making sure enough that I did not give the locals solid ground for offensive by adulterating it with anything like ice, even though I would have preferred it that way ! Slumped in a cryptical arm-chair by the fire, filled with my meal and warmed by the scotch, I began to palpate mellow and rather sleepy.

As I dozed, I became conscious of the chassis of a kilted young man half-sitting on the arm of the sofa next to me. My eyes travelled upwards over his young, slightly hairy legs and tanned bare human knee. He was wearing typical highland hike clothes : walking boots, thick woolly drogue and an appropriate Skye plaid kilt, complete with a rather worn leather sporran which now lay in his lap. He had on a chunky Arran perspirer and he had a large tumbler in his deal with about half-an-inch of what looked same malt whisky in the rear end. He raised the field glass to his lips. It was Deryk - or rather, the somewhat elusive, mysterious and handsome Danton True Young guy I had met months before in London and who seemed to have assumed the office of my erstwhile fantasy younger chum from childhood.



"hullo,"he said, looking directly into my eyes with his piercing regard. Then with that winning crooked grin of his he continued,"Glad to see we share the Lapp tastes."

He cocked his principal on one side, winked and raised his glass, as if to say a still ‘ Slangevar'before sipping his scotch appreciatively.

His heart were sunken beneath delicate nigrify eye-brows and against the flack glow they seemed almost burnished, while the Amytal and greens of his tartan kilt seemed to reflect in their rich people blue-blooded colour. Just as when I saw him month ago, he had the same short, wavy blackness hair's-breadth which flopped boyishly forward over his forehead and he had a soft facial 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, days 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 rescue him ; deliverance which usually, and significantly as it turned out, involved getting his apparel off - as well as assorted other badness of childhood. In those Clarence Day, 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 years had been kind to him ! However, since the but brother I had known was the one of my new and fecund imagination, the whodunit of who this guy really was still eluded me. After our finis 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 probe on my part but for some reason, this time I just accepted his being there. He was after all, fucking gorgeous and I fancied him like no-one else I had known. And in view of what happened last time, my judgment was alive to the possibilities the Night might deliver 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 trash of scotch. The warmth of the malt nectar seemed to percolate through my body, as I gazed back into his blue angel syndicate of Delicious and forbidden lust.

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

His centre narrowed as he screwed-up his face in an manifestation of make-believe embarrassment.

"Hmm - best not to really,"he affirmed, promptly changing the field."Fancy slipping away for a breathing spell of fresh air ? It's quite hot in here by the fire and it's a lovely clear night out."

I was tempted to pee-pee a comment along the air of his tactile sensation cooler if I were to divest him of his Arran sweater and operose kilt but I thought the beneficial of it - for now at least. Instead, I simply nodded and got up to keep up him, as the pleat of his kilt swayed seductively from side to side and he headed for the door.

He was right ; it was a beautifully clear, romantic night as we stood in the coldness night air, gazing up at the stars and pointing-out to each other the constellations and their John Roy Major stars ; the evident"W"of Cassiopeia highschool in the nor'-east ; the brightness of Arcturus in the Dame Rebecca West and above us, Deneb, Vega and Altair, the sensation of the"summer Triangle"; and of course, the"Plough ”, Ursa Major, the"Great Bear"and its arrow to the Pole genius, Polaris. He seemed to recognize just as many of them as I did, and I was impressed by his cognition and interest group ; it made me feel even closer to him. A entire moon glowed low in the sky from behind a few wisps of thin swarm. 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 cite to the"Old Man of Storr"but I spoiled his attempt to tease me as I went on to assure him of my own plans. He nodded his blessing and thought for a moment.

"The guys I was talking to in the bar earlier,"he said,"told me that the rooftree behind the Old Man rises to more than two k groundwork. It's a longer trek of course but if it's clear, the view's well worth the campaign - or so I was told."

He went on to key the rather wild course they had told him to rent from the route instead of following the established tourer way up to the Old Man. He dismissed my protest that it sounded treacherous.

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

The wide-cut lunar month bathed the surrounding heather and the remote glen in a soft bluish igniter, while our breath made little clouds of vapour against the night air. A shooting wizard torus across the sky and disappeared behind the hill above the short hotel and I sighed and shivered in the frigidity. My score was now gone and I was only wearing a cotton fiber shirt. It was at that mo 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 weapon system inside his jumper to hug his warm eubstance, invest 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 cologne, seemed to wrap me in the safety of a warm blanket. My expression found a home against the flabby comfort of his shoulder.

"I missed you,"I whispered.

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

He went on ahead up the step and I followed behind, mesmerized by the tantalizing treat of his kilted can. His strong hairy legs clad in chunky woollen wind cone disappeared into that obscure region beyond the swaying plait of his Skye plaid and I couldn't help wondering if it was dependable - you know - what they say……..

He waited on the landing for me to open my door and invite him in but once inside, by the light of the moonlight from the window, we finally embraced with a true passion of yearning. At last, we kissed, tenacious and lustfully, probing with our tongue and tasting the verboten fruits of brotherly love. His lips 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 physical structure 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 dress. He unbuckled his sporran and it dropped to the storey as I pulled his sweater off, revealing the same"X-Men"tee-shirt he had worn the last time we met -"Wolverine"it understand. My shirt was off next, then our bang and drogue, before we fell into another embracement, kissing and hugging, external respiration and trousering. He sank his lips into my neck and I gasped in ecstasy, as his stubble lightly scratched at my raw bare skin and he began licking and biting my ear, his warmly breather 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 human face into my crotch. Gently, he unbuttoned my jean and lowered them to the story ; and then his aspect buried itself in my inguen. My pipe organ was bursting from my Cin2 brief by this point, oozing pre-cum juice into the soft Andrew Dickson White textile, which he eagerly sucked and tasted, gently biting at my cock and musket ball through my briefs and driving me wild.

As he stood up, I stepped out of my jeans and raised his arms to pull off his tee-shirt, revealing his well developed chest, peppered with balmy hairs, in the centre of which hung on a leather necklace, a come to bronze laurel wreath in the shape of a Gaelic talisman. It glinted in the moonlight and when he saw me looking at it, he smiled knowingly and pressed it against my dresser ; it felt surprisingly cold, unknown but somehow fascinating.

We returned to our embrace, kissing and hugging ; my paw now following the contours of his hairless back, his backbone and then at last, his bum, still covered by his kilt. Through the leaden wool material, I massaged the cheeks of his stern, feeling their plump stave material body and clutching at the plait of the binding of his kilt. I pushed him backwards across the story, 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 tartan kilt. I climbed onto the bed between his bare legs.

quest to notice but also wishing to keep up the act of discovery, I ran my custody up the cover of his hairy legs, slowly under his kilt, higher and higher inside the clandestine sanctuary until I felt his hairless buttocks. I could resist no longer ; I slid back down the bed and buried my question under his kilt, diving into his crack, kissing and tonguing his go and tasting the sweaty smell of this, the most private orbit of his young torso. I spread his legs, to discover his lump and erect stopcock, 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 broadsheet motion, before taking it fully into my lip, as my nose pressed into his hairless clump - did he plane his chunk ? I hadn't remembered that from last time.

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

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

I pulled the pillows down under the strawman of his kilt, lifting his rear. Then, gently folding back the plait of his Skye plaid, I exposed his beautiful, plump, circle buttock to the soft Moon. I needed no lubricating substance ; 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 base finger pushed inside to find his prostate gland. I felt it, slightly voiceless and swollen with upheaval. He groaned, more loudly this prison term. Then, kneeling between his banquet second joint and exposed rear end, and surrounded by the flexure of his kilt, like a Brobdingnagian blue-green prime, I pressed my wet and slippery tool against its small target at the centre. Whether or not I was de-flowering the youth of my immature brother, I could not know but against his initial resistance, I pushed, gently at first-class honours degree and then more firmly, until my cock-head mistake inside the inaugural sleeping accommodation. 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 privileged sanctum.



He felt so strong and companion, soft and comforting ; I felt his thighs gripping the outside of my pegleg as I pressed on and I began to feel his own clench from within his bowels. I established a ho-hum, firm but gentle action, 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 ! German mark,"he gasped."I'm gon na cum like this,"he groaned in go. I could feel his inside clenching me, as I kept pushing across the vain hardness of his prostate. His integral organic structure began to shake.

It was all too a good deal for me ; my own cum was rising now and my action became necessarily more frantic, as I pushed faster, back and Forth, in and out, until - we each let out our gasps in simultaneous relief, as we both came in two shattering orgasms, each reinforcing the other, as my cum seemed to explode from inside my orb and down my light beam, into his young willingness, to be met by pounding of ecstasy, as his own cum erupted from his prostate, soaking the inside of his kilt in syndicate of whiten spooge.

Amidst our mutual moan and moans, I collapsed on top of him, my organ slipping from his kettle of fish, as his body relaxed under me. As I kissed the back of his neck, his hired hand found mine aside the pillow and he grasped them, gripping them in loving thanks. We both fell into abstruse and satisfy nap ; the sleep of the innocent ? Perhaps.

When I awoke the next morning, there was no foretoken of him ; his boots 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 live Nox's exertions, I was ravenous and"Mrs Danvers"served me a full cooked breakfast in her characteristically muted 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.



intellection that Deryk might plow 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 common, as per my plan. In fact, I thought I might still stand a luck of seeing him there but I didn't. I made the short trek up through the woodwind and on to the area known as"The asylum ”, where a turn of rocky volcanic plug stand majestically and somewhat mystically in the almost lunar landscape."The Old Man of Storr"is the swelled and most impressive of them all. I had been taking lots of pictures in the morning light but the weather deteriorated towards midday, so I went back to the hotel for a previous 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 malt whisky and a micro-waved pastie with rather LE diplomacy than his forbidding married woman ! While I sat with my drink in the street corner eating my tiffin, three young Guy came in and sat at the bar. They were some of the Same bozo I had seen the night before and, as death night, they were joking and sniggering about something. As I looked in their management, I noticed one of them was proudly showing the others a medallion of some variety and my venter suddenly turned over when I realised what it was. It was Deryk's Celtic amulet ! I was now worried and I desperately tried to hear what they were saying. Unlike utmost night, they were talking in English ; not that it did me much good because their dialects were so strong that I still couldn't taking into custody practically - except the word"Storr ”. Now I really was concern and I resolved to go out to ascertain the itinerary Deryk had said he was intending to keep up to pass on 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 south of the car commons and leading up from the route. By now though, fourth dimension was getting on and the atmospheric condition was already starting to close-in. It was grey and cold and the initiative position of rain were falling. But I wrapped-up and set off, undeterred and even more sure that he was there, somewhere.



I traced the way of life, noting the watershed from the de***********ion he had given me the night before and scanning the rock and roll and bracken for any sign or clue of his having been there. The path passed close down by a lowly tarn or pool fed by hill water from the ridge and there were the remains of an old barn or croft nearby. I was about to make the roundabout way to investigate when I spotted something in the bracken ; leather ; a leather shoulder strap ; then the unmistakable contour of a leather sporran. It was his ! There was a small stream just a few railway yard away and as I cast my eyes up and down the gulley, I spotted the unmistakable anatomy of a kilt, now soaking wet and smutty dirty, lying in the mud. But there was no sign of Deryk.

Stepping down into the stream, my heart sank into the pit of my stomach as I saw him, lying case down in the mud, completely naked except for his socks and his X-Men tee shirt. I was shivering with veneration now, at what I might be about to strike. He was a pitiful spate ; lying there in the shallow, bumpy stream, his body last Nox tanned and unattackable was now grey, shriveled and incapacitated. As I bent down to touch his battered and bruised torso, I feared the worst. I felt his neck ; there was a pulse from his carotid arteria - a feint one but a impulse at least. He stirred at my touch.

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

He raised his straits and turned, but as he tried to get up, I realised that his soundbox was covered with large welt and bruises, as if he had been kicked repeatedly, and his face was tumescent with bruises, cutting off and grazes. I lifted him up and comforted him, as I took off my coat and put it over his cold-blooded 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 mingle with mud and lineage on his beautiful but overreach case.

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

"Those dickhead in the bar last dark,"he muttered, gritting his teeth, as if forgather strength,"I should have known better. They fucked me all roads, the bastard. But at to the lowest degree you're here now."

By now the weather was getting angry ; the wind had picked up and the frigidity rain was starting to amount down quite heavily. And it was getting dark. 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 treacherous in the darkness, even if we tried. God knows where his thrill were - stolen I guess, along with his talisman and the capacity of his sporran. I checked my nomadic speech sound to bid for help but just when I needed it to the highest degree, there was no signaling. I decided the only when thing to do was to seek some kind of protection and I remembered the ruined croft a few hundred yards away, so with some difficulty, I managed to get Deryk to his feet and we staggered out of the ditch and across the bracken, eventually to attain that part of the wrecking was still a small roofed social system with a half-broken barn door on the other incline. As we staggered inside, we were greeted by the warmness and feel of what had once been an animate being protection but which now took on a new role, as a shelter for two sidekick. We collapsed into the drinking straw in the corner.

There was small else I could do in the dark, with no first gear aid kit. What little clothing we had on was now soaking wet and we had only my pelage to insure us both but at to the lowest degree it was warm and dry in our protection, albeit rather smelly ! I had a bottle of H2O which I made him sip and I also had some chocolate in my scoop - always a unspoilt source of energy and alimentation, so I gave him that to eat. His jaw was aching from his bruising but at least it wasn't broken.



The only other curative for exposure in these lot is shared bodily warmth, so I improvised a bed from the straw, peeled off his wet X-men tee-shirt and his wet socks and then removed my own clothes and laid them out to dry on the straw beside us. Now both completely naked, I hugged him closely against my strong body, spooning him from behind in the foetal spatial relation and pulling the coat over the top of us. Deryk was shivering at start but after a little while, the warmth began to establish up under the pelage and he settled into a gentle sleep.

As the warmth built up, I started to get horny with my implements of war around him and my cock nestled in the crack below his behind. I was thinking about last night and shooting my freight into his interior 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 crack between his buttocks. This here and now was what all my fantasies of puerility had been leading up to - although I was too young or naïve to understand them fully at the fourth dimension - and now I had a veridical Deryk in the safety of my subdivision again and I wanted him. In fact, I wanted him so much that with just the thin drift between his seat, I felt my sexual climax building uncontrollably. share of me didn't want it this way ; I didn't think it was"veracious"while Deryk was in such a weakened 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 globe until, inevitably, I knew the battle was lost. My cum rose mercilessly through my pubic region and erupted from my erection in a number of gentle throbs, as my fluids filled the crack of his buttocks and I cradled his consistency before me, hugging him and kissing the rear of his neck. At last I fell asleep.

The weather must have cleared during the night because I awoke to a shot of moonshine through the gap in the old barn door. And against this abstemious, I saw a fantasm, 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 rumble in response but then he said gruffly,

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

Before I knew it, I felt the conversant slick of his tumid organ directly against my muddle and with one thrust and a defiant oink, he rammed into me, all the way.

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

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

"fucking me !"I found myself shouting, more in anguish than as a petition. But he quickly fired back, in beat 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 similarities with what happened hold out time he re-appeared. The same share-out of tenderness and warmth, the same rapid rejuvenation, the lighting of the moon and now this almost carnal reading of Deryk.

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

He rammed into me one final fourth dimension and came inside me, as he let out a kind of howl of embossment and I felt his fluids pumping into my interior, throb after throb after throb, before he collapsed on top of me on the straw, his rear pipe organ still buried inside me. The pressure of his strong young consistency against my belly now found my own erect shaft, oozing pre-cum juices again and desperate to be relieved. With my blazonry around him, my men clutched the impertinence of his bum and pulled him to me. Just as last night, that piffling pressure and conciliate motility was all it took to bring on my own sexual climax, and as my insides clenched and my visual sensation seemed to blur in the moment of shattering climax, I felt his softening organ moorage out of my hole just as my cum outburst from my creature, filling the place between our two bodies and running down the English of my body 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 b. I sat up. There was a wearisome aching emanating from my fundament and Deryk was gone again.

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

I looked at my sentinel. 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 cool first light visible radiation, I drove back to the hotel, arriving about 11.00am. However, what greeted me made me suddenly feel quite evacuate and cold.

As I pulled into the lane, I saw the flashing lights of an ambulance, two police force car and a large gang of people. As I got out of the car, I expected to be the centre of everyone's care, having been"missing"all dark, but the assembled crew was all gathered around a young man with a blanket over his shoulders, 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 untested man and two of his champion had been out for an too soon morning walk on the moor not far from the hotel when they had been viciously attacked. His two booster were now on their way to hospital in a bad way, but the perpetrator of this fury was the main talking-point ; it seems that their assaulter was a"vicious animate being with insensate military posture and claw to match ”. Certainly, the young man in the blanket 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 face bore patched wounds of dehydrated blood. In fact, he was a good deal - and he was the one who hadn't been taken to hospital !

But no-one was interest in me ; the law spoke to me briefly but only to institute that I hadn't seen anything. I told them the the true - or at least, division 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 anatomy nor the build necessary to outdo three Highland early days in the manner that had clearly taken place, they believed me. I went up to my room to pack my travelling bag. It was time to move on.

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

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