During a light summer break, I was spending a workweek driving around the west of Scotland and had booked a mates of nights on the isle of Skye. For age considered a dramatic destination with amatory overtones, nowadays of course you don't so much go"over the sea to Skye"as you go"over the bridge deck"to it - paying a hefty toll for the exclusive right - and this does tend to diminish the sensory faculty of romanticist isolation. Nevertheless, the scenery when you get there is just as romantic and as dramatic as it ever was.

I had booked into a minor individual guest-house hotel somewhat off the beaten running, partly for the sum up love affair of its withdrawnness but also for its emplacement in the due north of the island, not far from the"Old Man of Storr ”, a conspicuously phallic granite outcrop some 535m heights. Just like so many passing tourist, I had seen it from a space but never up close and I thought that the healthy trek up to it from the road might be rewarding. That was my plan for tomorrow anyway.

I checked-in former in the evening and the woman of the planetary house 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 mindful of a group of about 6 guys at the little bar at the end of the room ; they were the only others in the room and as I walked in, they suddenly stopped talking and, after a momentary pause to measure the interloper, they restarted their conversation - but in Gaelic. I felt very much the foreigner and as I sat alone at my table in the window, the char of the house took on a form of"Mrs Danvers"character 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 civilised and effective, while at the Saame sentence, rather grim and somewhat proscribe. 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 Gaelic, interrupted by the occasional flare-up of laughter and a glimpse in my focussing - which just made me feel even more uncomfortable.

Afterwards, I retired to the comfort of the sofa, after first base ordering a sound 20 year-old malt whiskey from the bar - making sure that I did not present the local grounds for offensive activity by adulterating it with anything like ice, even though I would have preferred it that way ! Slumped in a deep arm-chair by the flak, filled with my meal and warmed by the Scotch, I began to feel mellow and rather sleepy.

As I dozed, I became witting of the figure of a kilted Whitney Moore Young Jr. man half-sitting on the arm of the sofa next to me. My center travelled upwards over his vernal, slightly hairy leg and tanned bare knees. He was wearing distinctive Highland hiking clothes : walking boots, thick woolly socks and an appropriate Skye tartan kilt, complete with a rather worn leather sporran which now lay in his lap. He had on a chunky Arran jumper and he had a large tumbler in his hands with about half-an-inch of what looked like Scotch in the bottom. He raised the Methedrine to his sassing. It was Deryk - or rather, the somewhat problematic, mystic and bighearted Pres Young guy I had met months before in Greater London and who seemed to cause assumed the persona of my erstwhile illusion jr. brother from childhood.



"Hello,"he said, looking directly into my heart with his piercing gaze. Then with that winning crooked grinning of his he continued,"sword lily to see we contribution the Saame tastes."

He cocked his head on one incline, winked and raised his glass, as if to say a dumb ‘ Slangevar'before sipping his Scotch appreciatively.

His eyes were sunken beneath soft bleak eye-brows and against the fire luminescence they seemed almost bright, while the Amytal and greens of his tartan kilt seemed to reflect in their full-bodied blue colour. Just as when I saw him months ago, he had the Sami short, wavy black hair which flopped boyishly forward over his forehead and he had a flaccid facial skin color that included a carefully cultivated shadow-beard. He had lovely, kissable lips ; a little weather-worn but plump and tasting slightly salty, I recalled, as I gazed back at him.



Of row, class ago when I was pre-adolescent, he had been my young brother and was always getting into trouble and abrasion from which I had to rescue him ; deliverance which usually, and significantly as it turned out, tortuous getting his clothes off - as well as respective other badness of puerility. 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 years had been kind to him ! However, since the only buddy I had known was the one of my young and fat imagination, the closed book of who this guy really was still eluded me. After our last encounter in capital of the United Kingdom a few calendar month ago, he had disappeared again, leaving me none the wiser ; his return now would, you might think, have provoked a deeper investigation on my section 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 aspect of what happened finish metre, my psyche was alive to the possibilities the night might receive in store.

"I was wondering when you were going to re-emerge,"I said, and returned his ‘ Slangevar'with a gesture and a sip from my own glass of scotch. The warmness of the malt nectar seemed to gain vigor through my body, as I gazed back into his blue pools of delicious and verboten lust.

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

His eye narrowed as he screwed-up his boldness 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 reinvigorated air ? It's quite hot in here by the fire and it's a lovely clear night out."

I was tempted to piddle a remark along the lines of his belief tank if I were to divest him of his Arran sweater and heavy kilt but I thought the ripe of it - for now at to the lowest degree. Instead, I simply nodded and got up to conform to him, as the plait of his kilt swayed seductively from side to side and he headed for the door.

He was right ; it was a beautifully top, quixotic night as we stood in the moth-eaten night air, gazing up at the star topology and pointing-out to each early the constellations and their major hotshot ; the patent"W"of Cassiopeia high school in the north-east ; the luminance of Arcturus in the west and above us, Deneb, Vega and Altair, the headliner of the"summer Triangle"; and of line, the"Plough ”, Ursa John R. Major, the"Great Bear"and its pointer to the terminal adept, Polaris. He seemed to accredit 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 full moonshine glowed low in the sky from behind a few wisps of lean 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 reference point to the"Old Man of Storr"but I spoiled his endeavour to tease me as I went on to tell him of my own design. He nodded his approval and thought for a moment.

"The guy wire 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 base. It's a longer trek of course but if it's light up, the view's well worth the feat - or so I was told."

He went on to line the rather hazardous path they had told him to aim from the route instead of following the established holidaymaker path up to the Old Man. He dismissed my protestation that it sounded treacherous.

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

The full moon bathed the surrounding ling and the distant glen in a soft bluish Christ Within, while our breath made trivial clouds of vapor against the night air. A shooting wiz torus across the sky and disappeared behind the hill above the little hotel and I sighed and shivered in the cold. My Scotch was now gone and I was only wearing a cotton shirt. It was at that mo that he moved closer to me and slid his arm around my shoulder, turning me towards him and enfolding me with his other arm. Willingly, I fell against him and put my arms inside his sweater to hug his warm body, 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 cologne, seemed to envelop me in the prophylactic of a warm mantle. My face found a habitation against the soft ease of his shoulder.

"I missed you,"I whispered.

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

He went on ahead up the stairs and I followed behind, mesmerized by the tantalizing treat of his kilted posterior. His strong hairy wooden leg clad in chunky woollen air-sleeve disappeared into that unknown region 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 for me to open my door and invite him in but once inside, by the Light of the moon from the window, we finally embraced with a lawful passion of longing. At last, we kissed, foresighted and lustfully, probing with our natural language and tasting the forbidden yield of brotherly erotic love. His lips were full and moist, slightly salty to the taste ; the straw of his shadow-beard felt slightly rugged and I inhaled the mysterious, masculinity of his body as we remained locked in a remorseless grip.

We surfaced for air but standing in the moonlight, we were overtaken again by our luxuria and we began frantically pulling off each others apparel. He unbuckled his sporran and it dropped to the storey as I pulled his sweater off, revealing the Sami"X-Men"tee-shirt he had worn the live on time we met -"Wolverine"it read. My shirt was off following, then our rush and wind cone, before we fell into another embrace, kissing and hugging, respiration and heaving. He sank his sassing into my neck and I gasped in exaltation, as his stubble lightly scratched at my sensitive bare skin and he began licking and biting my ear, his warmly breath sending tingles up and down my spine.

He dropped to his knees before me, kissing the white, hairless peel of my stomach and pressing his face into my privates. Gently, he unbuttoned my jeans and lowered them to the floor ; and then his face buried itself in my groin. My organ was bursting from my Cin2 briefs by this point, oozing pre-cum juices into the soft livid framework, which he eagerly sucked and tasted, gently biting at my rooster and orchis through my legal brief and driving me wild.

As he stood up, I stepped out of my denim and raised his implements of war to pull off his tee-shirt, revealing his wellspring developed chest, peppered with soft hairs, in the center of which hung on a leather necklace, a striking bronze medallion 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 someways fascinating.

We returned to our embracement, kissing and caressing ; my mitt now following the contour of his hairless back, his spine and then at finale, his bum, still covered by his kilt. Through the dense woollen material, I massaged the cheeks of his derriere, feeling their plump beat shape and clutching at the pleat of the cover of his kilt. I pushed him backwards across the trading floor, until he fell onto the bed. But sensing what I wanted to do, he immediately rolled over onto his strawman, his body now lying prone before me, clad only in his Skye Tartan kilt. I climbed onto the bed between his bare legs.

Seeking to disclose but also wishing to draw out the act of discovery, I ran my hands up the spinal column of his hairy legs, slowly under his kilt, higher and higher inside the secret sanctuary until I felt his hairless buttocks. I could jib no longer ; I slid back down the bed and buried my head under his kilt, diving into his cleft, kissing and tonguing his quip and tasting the sweaty fragrance of this, the most private area of his young trunk. I spread his branch, to divulge his Ball and erect dick, 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 circular motion, before taking it fully into my oral cavity, as my nose pressed into his hairless balls - did he shave his nut ? 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 rear. Then, gently folding back the pleats of his Skye plaid, I exposed his beautiful, plump, round nerve to the delicate moonlight. I needed no lubricator ; 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 start finger pushed inside to obtain his prostate gland. I felt it, slightly surd and egotistical with excitement. He groaned, more loudly this meter. Then, kneeling between his gap thigh and exposed rear, and surrounded by the crimp of his kilt, like a huge bluish green peak, I pressed my wet and slippery cock against its pocket-size target at the centre. Whether or not I was de-flowering the youth of my youthful 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 slue inside the offset chamber. His keen intake of breathing place, followed by a flimsy whimpering phone, said,"Proceed ”.

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



He felt so warm and companion, soft and comforting ; I felt his thigh gripping the exterior of my legs as I pressed on and I began to find his own clutches from within his bowels. I established a slow, business firm but gentle military action, pushing fully into him and then slowly pulling almost all the way out, but not quite, then in again, back and forth, back and forth.

"Oh Fuck ! Oh God ! St. Mark,"he gasped."I'm gon na cum like this,"he groaned in ecstasy. I could feel his insides clenching me, as I kept pushing across the swollen rigourousness of his prostate. His entire trunk began to shake.

It was all too a great deal 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 coinciding succour, as we both came in two shattering coming, each reinforcing the other, as my cum seemed to explode from inside my ball and down my peter, into his young willingness, to be met by throbbing 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 moans, I collapsed on top of him, my organ slipping from his golf hole, as his body relaxed under me. As I kissed the spinal column of his neck, his men found mine aside the pillow and he grasped them, gripping them in loving thanks. We both fell into rich and satisfying sleep ; the sleep of the innocent ? Perhaps.

When I awoke the next good morning, there was no sign of him ; his boots and sock, the X-Men tee-shirt, Arran perspirer and the kilt, were all gone."Just like survive time,"I cursed to myself.

I showered, dressed and went down to breakfast. After last dark's effort, I was ravenous and"Mrs Danvers"served me a full cooked breakfast in her characteristically quiet and efficient manner. I wanted to ask where he was but I had realised that I didn't actually know that he was staying in the hotel ; I had only assumed it and as I didn't want to embarrass myself, I said nothing.



mentation that Deryk might grow up again, I hung around for a while near the hotel but eventually gave up and decided to labor on up to the"Old Man of Storr"car parkland, as per my plan. In fact, I thought I might still remain firm a luck of seeing him there but I didn't. I made the short trek up through the Wood and on to the region known as"The sanctuary ”, where a numeral of rocky volcanic plugs stand majestically and somewhat mystically in the almost lunar landscape."The Old Man of Storr"is the biggest and most telling of them all. I had been taking lots of word-painting in the morn light but the weather deteriorated towards noonday, so I went back to the hotel for a late lunch.

However, the dining room wasn't loose 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 lupus erythematosus finesse than his forbidding married woman ! While I sat with my drink in the nook eating my lunch, three young cat came in and sat at the bar. They were some of the same guys I had seen the dark before and, as finale night, they were joking and sniggering about something. As I looked in their instruction, I noticed one of them was proudly showing the others a palm of some sort and my venter suddenly turned over when I realised what it was. It was Deryk's Celtic language amulet ! I was now care and I desperately tried to hear what they were saying. Unlike last dark, they were talking in side ; not that it did me much just because their dialects were so strong that I still couldn't arrest much - except the word"Storr ”. Now I really was worried and I resolved to go out to find the course Deryk had said he was intending to trace to reach the ridgepole. I was convinced he was out there, needing to be rescued, just like when we were kids.

With some trouble, I eventually found the other route some way south of the car park and leading up from the route. By now though, time was getting on and the weather was already starting to close-in. It was greyish and cold and the start patch of pelting were falling. But I wrapped-up and set off, undeterred 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 John Rock and bracken for any sign or clue of his having been there. The course passed close by a minor tarn or pond fed by pitcher's mound H2O from the ridge and there were the remains of an old b or croft nearby. I was about to make the roundabout way to investigate when I spotted something in the bracken ; leather ; a leather strap ; then the patent Supreme Headquarters Allied Powers Europe of a leather sporran. It was his ! There was a small flow just a few yards away and as I cast my eyes up and down the gulley, I spotted the apparent shape of a kilt, now soaking wet and filthy 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 look down in the mud, completely au naturel except for his socks and his X-Men tee shirt. I was shivering with fear now, at what I might be about to divulge. He was a pitiful mint ; lying there in the shallow, rocky stream, his trunk close Night tanned and stiff was now grey, shriveled and helpless. As I bent down to impact his beat-up and bruised consistence, I feared the worst. I felt his neck opening ; there was a pulse from his carotid artery - a feint one but a pulsing at least. He stirred at my touch.

"German mark ?"he murmured,"Is that you ?"

He raised his head and turned, but as he tried to get up, I realised that his organic structure was covered with large wheals and bruises, as if he had been kicked repeatedly, and his face was tumescent with bruise, slash and grazing. 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 for me,"he quietly sobbed,"just like when we were kids."Tears began to mingle with mud and blood on his beautiful but get face.

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

"Those bastards in the bar concluding night,"he muttered, gritting his teeth, as if meet strength,"I should birth known better. They fucked me all roads, the illegitimate child. But at least you're here now."

By now the weather was getting angry ; the winding had picked up and the cold rain was starting to do down quite heavily. And it was getting dark. I looked at my picket and realised that, in his condition, we would never get back to the car before nightfall and this terrain would be treacherous in the dark, even if we tried. God knows where his boots were - stolen I guess, along with his talisman and the contents of his sporran. I checked my mobile earphone to prognosticate for assist but just when I needed it nigh, there was no signal. I decided the merely thing to do was to attempt some kind of tax shelter and I remembered the ruined croft a few hundred thou away, so with some trouble, I managed to get Deryk to his foundation and we staggered out of the ditch and across the Pteridium esculentum, eventually to discover that region of the ruining was still a modest roofed structure with a half-broken barn door on the former side. As we staggered inside, we were greeted by the warmth and flavor of what had once been an fleshly protection but which now took on a new use, as a shelter for two brothers. We collapsed into the pale yellow in the corner.

There was picayune else I could do in the dark, with no first aid kit. What little clothing we had on was now soaking wet and we had only my coat to insure us both but at least it was affectionate and dry in our shelter, albeit rather smelly ! I had a bottle of water which I made him sip and I also had some deep brown in my pocket - always a soundly generator of muscularity 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 photograph in these circumstances is shared bodily warmness, so I improvised a bed from the straw, peeled off his wet X-men tee-shirt and his wet sock and then removed my own apparel and laid them out to dry on the chaff beside us. Now both completely defenseless, I hugged him closely against my quick physical structure, spooning him from behind in the fetal position and pulling the coat over the top of us. Deryk was shivering at first but after a slight while, the warmness began to progress up under the coating and he settled into a gentle sleep.

As the warmth built up, I started to get horny with my arms around him and my cock nestled in the cleft below his behind. I was thinking about last night and shooting my shipment into his internal willingness for the initiative meter. I'm ashamed to say that, even in this moment of crisis, my juice were flowing again and my erection was slipping rather easily into the crack between his derriere. This mo was what all my fantasy of childhood had been leading up to - although I was too young or naïve to understand them fully at the metre - and now I had a really Deryk in the prophylactic of my arms again and I wanted him. In fact, I wanted him so much that with just the slightest movement between his tail end, 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 vitiated commonwealth. 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 balls until, inevitably, I knew the struggle was lost. My cum rose mercilessly through my loin and erupted from my erecting in a number of gentle throbbing, as my fluids filled the whirl of his buttocks and I cradled his body before me, hugging him and kissing the back of his cervix. At hold up I fell asleep.

The weather must have 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 schema at least, of Deryk, on his knees astride my body.



"You seem to own 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 leg and threw my ft above his articulatio humeri, hoisting me off our bed of straw.

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

"Good Shepherd !"I yelled out,"Go easy - 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 clip, I felt his egg slap my backside. Suddenly, there was no motivation for shared bodily warmth, as I was shedding travail by the bucket-load !

"Fuck me !"I found myself shouting, more in anguish than as a request. But he quickly fired back, in calendar method of birth control 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 cognisant of the similarities with what happened lowest time he re-appeared. The same sharing of tenderness and lovingness, the Lapp rapid rejuvenation, the Light of the moon and now this almost animal translation of Deryk.

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

He rammed into me one final prison term and came inside me, as he let out a kind of howling of relief 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 erect Hammond organ still buried inside me. The pressing of his hard young consistence against my stomach now found my own erect rooster, oozing pre-cum juices again and desperate to be relieved. With my weapon system around him, my hands clutched the cheek of his bum and pulled him to me. Just as last night, that niggling pressure and blue movement was all it took to add on my own coming, and as my inside clenched and my sight seemed to blur in the moment of shattering climax, I felt his softening harmonium slip out of my hole just as my cum burst from my shaft, filling the distance between our two bodies and running down the English of my organic structure into the straw. Shattered, I fell asleep again, this sentence with Deryk lying on top of me.

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

"Bugger ! Just like survive clip,"I swore out loud to myself.

I looked at my watch. It was 9.30 already. My clothes were now dry, so I quickly put them on and set off back down the lead to the car which, thankfully, was still parked where I had left it. In the cool morning sparkle, 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 luminousness of an ambulance, two police automobile and a boastfully crew of the great unwashed. As I got out of the car, I expected to be the centre of everyone's attention, having been"missing"all night, but the gather crowd was all gathered around a Cy Young man with a blanket over his shoulders, sitting on the bulwark and being attended to by the paramedical and being questioned by the law. 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 protagonist had been out for an betimes 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 violence was the main talking-point ; it seems that their attacker was a"vicious beast with inhuman strength and chela to couple ”. Certainly, the young man in the blanket looked as if he had been heavily beaten and scratched. His clothes, or what remained of them, were torn and cruddy and one side of his font bore patched wounds of dried bloodline. In fact, he was a mess - and he was the one who hadn't been taken to hospital !

But no-one was interested in me ; the Police spoke to me briefly but only to install that I hadn't seen anything. I told them the truth - or at least, part of it. I had gone up to the"Old Man"late yesterday but because of the conditions, I had spent the night in the car, in the car park. Given that I clearly had neither the physical body nor the ramp up necessary to best three Highland youthfulness in the manner that had clearly taken place, they believed me. I went up to my room to pack my bags. It was time to prompt on.

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

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