During a short summer respite, I was spending a week driving around the Occident of Scotland and had booked a brace of nights on the isle of Skye. For years considered a dramatic goal with romantic overtones, present of course you don't so much go"over the sea to Skye"as you go"over the nosepiece"to it - paying a hefty toll for the privilege - and this does run to belittle the sense of romantic isolation. Nevertheless, the scenery when you get there is just as romantic and as spectacular as it ever was.

I had booked into a small common soldier guest-house hotel somewhat off the dumbfound track, partly for the summate romance of its aloofness but also for its location in the north of the island, not far from the"Old Man of Storr ”, a conspicuously priapic 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 healthy 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 adult female of the house seemed pleasant enough but when I went down to dinner an 60 minutes or so later, I detected a strange atmosphere in the small dining elbow room. As I entered, I was immediately cognisant of a mathematical group of about 6 guy rope at the little bar at the end of the elbow room ; they were the only others in the room and as I walked in, they suddenly stopped talking and, after a momentary pause to assess the trespasser, 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 charwoman of the house took on a sort of"Mrs Danvers"image as she served my meal ; if you've ever seen that old Hollywood Classic"Rebecca ”, with Laurence Olivier and Joan Fontaine, you'll know what I mean ; she was polite and efficient, while at the same time, rather gloomy and somewhat forbidding. It was all rather eerie and I ate my wholesome Scottish farmhouse dinner party alone and in an clumsy silence, while the topical anaesthetic continued their conversation in murmurs of Goidelic, interrupted by the occasional burst of laughter and a glance in my counselling - which just made me experience even more uncomfortable.

Afterwards, I retired to the quilt of the sofa, after first ordering a respectable 20 year-old malted milk whiskey from the bar - making sure enough that I did not give the topical anesthetic grounds for offence by adulterating it with anything like ice, even though I would accept preferred it that way ! Slumped in a cryptic arm-chair by the fervor, 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 number of a kilted young man half-sitting on the arm of the sofa next to me. My eyes travelled upwards over his new, slightly hairy branch and tanned bare stifle. He was wearing distinctive upland hiking clothes : walking kicking, thick woolly socks and an earmark Skye Tartan kilt, complete with a rather assume leather sporran which now lay in his lap. He had on a chunky Arran perspirer and he had a large roller in his manus with about half-an-inch of what looked like scotch in the bottom. He raised the glass to his lips. It was Deryk - or rather, the somewhat baffling, mysterious and big new guy I had met months before in London and who seemed to have assumed the role of my sometime fantasize younger brother from childhood.



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

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

His eyes were deep-set beneath soft melanize eye-brows and against the fire glow they seemed almost lustrous, while the blue and greens of his tartan kilt seemed to reflect in their rich blue colouring material. Just as when I saw him months ago, he had the Lapp short, wavy mordant hair 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 lips ; a trivial weather-worn but plump and tasting slightly salty, I recalled, as I gazed back at him.



Of grade, yr ago when I was pre-adolescent, he had been my unseasoned crony and was always getting into trouble and scrapes from which I had to rescue him ; rescues which usually, and significantly as it turned out, postulate getting his apparel off - as well as various other mischievousness of childhood. In those 24-hour interval, he would induce been just a few geezerhood youthful than me but he was now unaccountably still only in his mid-20's while I was nearly 40. Evidently, the years had been sort to him ! However, since the entirely brother I had known was the one of my new and fertile imaging, the mystery story of who this guy really was still eluded me. After our lastly encounter in British capital a few months ago, he had disappeared again, leaving me none the wiser ; his return now would, you might think, have provoked a deeply investigation on my character 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 vista of what happened concluding time, my mind was awake to the opening the Nox might consume 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 methamphetamine hydrochloride of Scotch. The warmth of the malt nectar seemed to percolate through my body, as I gazed back into his blue syndicate of delightful and forbidden 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 oculus narrowed as he screwed-up his face in an expression of make-believe embarrassment.

"Hmm - best not to really,"he affirmed, promptly changing the subject."Fancy slipping external for a hint of fresh air ? It's quite hot in here by the ardour and it's a endearing assoil night out."

I was tempted to make a input along the lines of his feeling cooler if I were to divest him of his Arran sweater and heavy kilt but I thought the ameliorate of it - for now at least. Instead, I simply nodded and got up to watch over him, as the pleat of his kilt swayed seductively from incline to side and he headed for the door.

He was right ; it was a beautifully top, romantic nighttime as we stood in the cold nighttime air, gazing up at the stars and pointing-out to each former the constellations and their major stars ; the apparent"W"of Cassiopeia high gear in the north-east ; the light of Arcturus in the west and above us, Deneb, Vega and Altair, the stars of the"summertime Triangle"; and of course, the"Wagon ”, Ursa Major, the"Great Bear"and its pointer to the Pole Star, Polaris. He seemed to agnize 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 synodic month 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 misunderstand his ambiguous address to the"Old Man of Storr"but I spoiled his effort to tease me as I went on to tell him of my own programme. He nodded his approval and persuasion 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 infantry. It's a longer trek of course but if it's sack, the view's well worth the movement - or so I was told."

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

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

The full moonlight bathed the surrounding Calluna vulgaris and the distant glen in a easygoing bluish twinkle, while our breath made little swarm of vapour against the dark air. A shooting star tore across the sky and disappeared behind the hill above the trivial 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 moment that he moved closer to me and slide his arm around my shoulder, turning me towards him and enfolding me with his other arm. Willingly, I fell against him and put my coat of arms inside his sweater to hug his warm consistence, drape 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 water, seemed to enwrap me in the base hit of a warm blanket. My side found a home against the soft 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 treat of his kilted rear. His strong hairy legs clad in chunky woollen wind sleeve disappeared into that unknown region beyond the swaying pleat of his Skye Tartan and I couldn't help wondering if it was reliable - you know - what they say……..

He waited on the landing for me to give my door and invite him in but once inside, by the visible light of the lunar month from the windowpane, we finally embraced with a rightful passion of hungriness. At last, we kissed, long and lustfully, probing with our clapper and tasting the forbidden fruit of brotherly lovemaking. His brim 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 moonshine, we were overtaken again by our lecherousness and we began frantically pulling off each others clothes. He unbuckled his sporran and it dropped to the storey as I pulled his jumper off, revealing the same"X-Men"tee-shirt he had worn the hold out time we met -"carcajou"it read. My shirt was off next, then our boots and sock, before we fell into another bosom, kissing and hugging, external respiration and panting. He sank his lips into my neck and I gasped in disco biscuit, as his stalk lightly scratched at my sensitive bare skin and he began licking and biting my ear, his warm breath sending tingles up and down my spine.

He dropped to his human knee before me, kissing the whitened, hairless skin of my stomach and pressing his face into my crotch. Gently, he unbuttoned my denim and lowered them to the floor ; and then his fount buried itself in my groin. My organ was bursting from my Cin2 legal brief by this spot, oozing pre-cum juices into the sonant 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 arm to pull off his tee-shirt, revealing his well developed chest, peppered with soft hairs, in the nitty-gritty of which hung on a leather necklace, a striking bronze medallion in the cast of a Celtic talisman. It glinted in the moonlight and when he saw me looking at it, he smiled knowingly and pressed it against my chest ; it felt surprisingly insensate, foreign but somehow fascinating.

We returned to our embrace, kissing and hugging ; my hands now following the contours of his hairless back, his vertebral column and then at finally, his bum, still covered by his kilt. Through the cloggy woolen material, I massaged the cheeks of his bottom, feeling their plump daily round figure and clutching at the plait of the backbone 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 plaid kilt. I climbed onto the bed between his bare legs.

seeking to come upon but also wishing to draw out the act of breakthrough, I ran my hands up the back of his hairy legs, slowly under his kilt, higher and higher inside the secret sanctuary until I felt his hairless prat. I could resist no longer ; I slid back down the bed and buried my head under his kilt, diving into his fissure, kissing and tonguing his crack and tasting the sweaty fragrance of this, the most common soldier area of his Young body. I spread his pegleg, to discover 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 circular apparent motion, before taking it fully into my rima oris, as my nose pressed into his hairless balls - did he shave his testicle ? 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, soft touch,"he groaned,"You know you want to ……. please."

I pulled the pillows down under the social movement of his kilt, lifting his rear. Then, gently folding back the pleats of his Skye Tartan, I exposed his beautiful, plump, round brass to the subdued Moon. I needed no lubricant ; I was oozing pre-cum for all I was Worth ! So, smearing my pre-cum in and around his anus, I first finger-fucked him gently. He gasped, as the first off fingerbreadth pushed inside to bump his prostate. I felt it, slightly hard and swollen with excitement. He groaned, more loudly this prison term. Then, kneeling between his spread thighs and exposed bottom, and surrounded by the flexure of his kilt, like a vast blue-green efflorescence, I pressed my wet and slippery tool against its small object at the centre. Whether or not I was de-flowering the youth of my new brother, I could not know but against his initial resistance, I pushed, gently at offset and then more firmly, until my cock-head skid inside the first chamber. His sharp intake of breath, followed by a slight whimpering phone, said,"Proceed ”.

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



He felt so warm and familiar, flabby and comforting ; I felt his second joint gripping the exterior of my legs as I pressed on and I began to feel his own clenches from within his gut. I established a decelerate, 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, back and forth.

"Oh ass ! Oh God ! grade,"he gasped."I'm gon na cum like this,"he groaned in ecstasy. I could experience his insides clenching me, as I kept pushing across the puff up 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 concurrent relief, as we both came in two shattering orgasm, each reinforcing the other, as my cum seemed to explode from inside my bollock and down my shaft, into his young willingness, to be met by throb of cristal, as his own cum erupted from his prostate, soaking the inside of his kilt in pool of white spooge.

Amidst our mutual groan and groan, I collapsed on top of him, my reed organ slipping from his mess, as his body relaxed under me. As I kissed the back of his cervix, his hands found mine aside the pillow and he grasped them, gripping them in loving thanks. We both fell into deeply and comforting sleep ; the rest of the innocent ? Perhaps.

When I awoke the next morning, there was no signboard of him ; his iron heel and wind sock, the X-Men tee-shirt, Arran perspirer and the kilt, were all gone."Just like last clock time,"I cursed to myself.

I showered, dressed and went down to breakfast. After go night's exertions, I was ravenous and"Mrs Danvers"served me a full cooked breakfast in her characteristically placid and efficient personal 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 obstruct 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 parking area, as per my plan. In fact, I thought I might still stand a chance of seeing him there but I didn't. I made the poor trek up through the wood and on to the sphere known as"The Sanctuary ”, where a number of bouldery volcanic chew stand majestically and somewhat mystically in the almost lunar landscape painting."The Old Man of Storr"is the handsome and most impressive of them all. I had been taking lots of movie in the break of the day illumination but the conditions deteriorated towards twelve noon, so I went back to the hotel for a late lunch.

However, the dining way 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 malt whisky and a micro-waved pastie with rather less diplomacy than his forbidding wife ! While I sat with my deglutition in the turning point eating my lunch, three Whitney Moore Young Jr. guys came in and sat at the bar. They were some of the same guys I had seen the night before and, as last night, they were joking and sniggering about something. As I looked in their direction, I noticed one of them was proudly showing the others a medallion of some sort and my breadbasket suddenly turned over when I realised what it was. It was Deryk's Celtic language talisman ! I was now worried and I desperately tried to hear what they were saying. Unlike go night, they were talking in English ; not that it did me much good because their dialects were so strong that I still couldn't catch a lot - except the word"Storr ”. Now I really was worried and I resolved to go out to notice the way 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 track some way Dixieland of the car park and leading up from the road. By now though, time was getting on and the weather condition was already starting to close-in. It was grey and cold and the first spots of rainwater were falling. But I wrapped-up and set off, undeterred and even more sealed 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 rocks and bracken for any sign or cue of his having been there. The track passed tight by a minuscule tarn or pond fed by Benny Hill water from the ridge and there were the corpse of an old b or croft nearby. I was about to make the roundabout way to investigate when I spotted something in the pasture brake ; leather ; a leather strap ; then the apparent shape of a leather sporran. It was his ! There was a small stream just a few yards away and as I cast my eyes up and down the gulley, I spotted the unmistakable soma of a kilt, now soaking wet and filthy dirty, lying in the mud. But there was no preindication of Deryk.

Stepping down into the stream, my philia sank into the pit of my stomach as I saw him, lying face down in the mud, completely naked except for his socks and his X-Men tee shirt. I was shivering with concern now, at what I might be about to discover. He was a miserable survey ; lying there in the shallow, jumpy stream, his torso finale night tanned and strong was now gray-haired, shriveled and lost. As I bent down to touch his battered and bruised consistency, I feared the worst. I felt his neck opening ; there was a pulse from his carotid artery - a feint one but a pulse at least. He stirred at my touch.

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

He raised his pass and turned, but as he tried to get up, I realised that his trunk was covered with large wheal and bruise, as if he had been kicked repeatedly, and his font was puffy with bruises, baseball swing 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 arrive for me,"he quietly sobbed,"just like when we were kids."crying began to mingle with mud and blood on his beautiful but vex face.

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

"Those love child in the bar final stage night,"he muttered, gritting his teeth, as if gathering specialty,"I should have known better. They fucked me all roads, the dickhead. But at least you're here now."

By now the weather was getting angry ; the wind had picked up and the cold rain was starting to come down quite heavily. And it was getting dark. I looked at my ticker and realised that, in his term, 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 amulet and the contents of his sporran. I checked my mobile phone to anticipate for help but just when I needed it most, there was no signal. I decided the simply affair to do was to attempt some kind of shelter and I remembered the ruined croft a few century grand away, so with some difficulty, I managed to get Deryk to his invertebrate foot and we staggered out of the ditch and across the pasture brake, eventually to discover that voice of the ruin was still a small roofed social organization with a half-broken barn door on the other side. As we staggered inside, we were greeted by the warmth and smelling of what had once been an animal shelter but which now took on a new theatrical role, as a shelter for two brothers. We collapsed into the pale yellow in the corner.

There was little else I could do in the wickedness, with no first aid kit. What little habiliment we had on was now soaking wet and we had only my coat to cover us both but at to the lowest degree it was tender and dry in our shelter, albeit rather smelly ! I had a nursing bottle of water which I made him sip and I also had some chocolate in my pocket - always a good 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 remedy for exposure in these destiny is shared bodily warmness, 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 wearing apparel and laid them out to dry on the stubble beside us. Now both completely naked, I hugged him closely against my warm dead body, spooning him from behind in the fetal position and pulling the coat over the top of us. Deryk was shivering at first gear but after a little patch, the passion began to build up up under the pelage and he settled into a easy sleep.

As the warmth built up, I started to get horny with my arms around him and my dick nestled in the scissure below his behind. I was thinking about last night and shooting my load into his privileged willingness for the first of all time. I'm ashamed to say that, even in this present moment of crisis, my juices were flowing again and my erection was slipping rather easily into the fling between his prat. This mo was what all my phantasy of childhood had been leading up to - although I was too young or naïve to translate them fully at the prison term - and now I had a genuine Deryk in the condom of my coat of arms again and I wanted him. In fact, I wanted him so much that with just the svelte cause between his buttocks, I felt my orgasm construction uncontrollably. share of me didn't want it this way ; I didn't think it was"properly"while Deryk was in such a de-escalate state. But I didn't enter him though ; I couldn't - I shouldn't - do that ; not here, not now. Even so, my climax was still rising in my balls until, inevitably, I knew the engagement was lost. My cum rose mercilessly through my loins and erupted from my erection in a number of gentle throbbing, as my fluids filled the snap of his buttocks and I cradled his physical structure before me, hugging him and kissing the dorsum of his cervix. At last I fell asleep.

The weather must feature cleared during the Night because I awoke to a irradiation of moonlight through the gap in the old barn door. And against this igniter, I saw a phantasm, the outline at to the lowest degree, of Deryk, on his knees astride my body.



"You seem to give 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 threw my feet above his shoulders, hoisting me off our bed of straw.

Before I knew it, I felt the intimate slickness of his erect Hammond organ directly against my muddle and with one jab and a defiant oink, he rammed into me, all the way.

"Saviour !"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 jampack hard into me again. This time, I felt his balls slap my rear end. Suddenly, there was no need for shared bodily warmth, as I was shedding sweat by the bucket-load !

"Fuck me !"I found myself shouting, more in anguish than as a request. But he quickly fired back, in rhythm to his ramming into me,

"That's…..exactly……what I'm……..doing !"

In between the hurting of his poke, which I was beginning to get accustomed to, I was cognizant of the similarities with what happened shoemaker's last prison term he re-appeared. The same communion of warmness and warmth, the Lapplander rapid rejuvenation, the light of the moon and now this almost animal version of Deryk.

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

He rammed into me one final time and came inside me, as he let out a sorting of howling of relief and I felt his fluids pumping into my insides, pounding after throbbing after throb, before he collapsed on top of me on the pale yellow, his erect organ still buried inside me. The pressure of his warm Brigham Young body against my stomach now found my own erect cock, oozing pre-cum juices again and desperate to be relieved. With my implements of war around him, my handwriting clutched the nerve of his bum and pulled him to me. Just as last dark, that little pressure and gentle movement was all it took to bring on my own orgasm, and as my inside clenched and my visual modality seemed to smutch in the mo of shattering climax, I felt his softening reed organ slip out of my hole just as my cum outburst from my cock, filling the space between our two bodies and running down the sides of my soundbox into the husk. Shattered, I fell asleep again, this clock time with Deryk lying on top of me.

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

"Bugger ! Just like close time,"I swore out loud to myself.

I looked at my lookout man. 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 chill morning luminance, 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 of an ambulance, two police cars and a large crowd of multitude. As I got out of the car, I expected to be the nub of everyone's aid, having been"missing"all Night, but the tack together gang was all gathered around a young man with a blanket over his shoulders, sitting on the paries and being attended to by the Paramedics and being questioned by the constabulary. I recognized the young man from the bar of the hotel yesterday and the nighttime before. As I listened to what was going on, I discovered that the Thomas Young man and two of his friends had been out for an early morning pass on the moor not far from the hotel when they had been viciously attacked. His two supporter were now on their way to hospital in a bad way, but the culprit of this fierceness was the principal talking-point ; it seems that their attacker was a"vicious fauna with inhuman strength and hook to match ”. Certainly, the young man in the mantle looked as if he had been heavily beaten and scratched. His clothes, or what remained of them, were torn and lousy and one side of meat of his expression bore patched wounds of dried blood. In fact, he was a deal - and he was the one who hadn't been taken to hospital !

But no-one was occupy in me ; the law spoke to me briefly but only to ground that I hadn't seen anything. I told them the truth - or at least, contribution 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 form nor the figure necessary to best three Highland juvenility in the fashion that had clearly taken place, they believed me. I went up to my room to carry my pocketbook. It was fourth dimension to go on.

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

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