During a unforesightful summertime jailbreak, I was spending a calendar week driving around the western United States of Scotland and had booked a couple of nights on the islet of Skye. For years considered a striking terminus with quixotic overtones, nowadays of path you don't so a lot go"over the sea to Skye"as you go"over the bridge"to it - paying a hefty toll for the privilege - and this does tend to diminish the sense of romantic isolation. Nevertheless, the scene when you get there is just as quixotic and as dramatic as it ever was.

I had booked into a lowly private guest-house hotel somewhat off the beaten trail, partly for the add together 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 phallic granite outcrop some 535m high. Just like so many passing tourists, I had seen it from a length but never up close and I thought that the healthy trek up to it from the route might be rewarding. That was my design for tomorrow anyway.

I checked-in former in the eve and the fair sex 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 small dining way. As I entered, I was immediately cognizant of a group of about 6 guys at the little bar at the end of the room ; they were the solitary others in the way and as I walked in, they suddenly stopped talking and, after a momentaneous pause to assess the interloper, they restarted their conversation - but in Goidelic. I felt very much the foreigner and as I sat alone at my tabular array in the windowpane, the woman of the house took on a sort of"Mrs Danvers"persona as she served my meal ; if you've ever seen that old Hollywood Classic"Rebekah ”, with Laurence Laurence Olivier and Joan Fontaine, you'll know what I mean ; she was polite and efficient, while at the same metre, rather downcast and somewhat forbidding. It was all rather eerie and I ate my wholesome Scottish farmhouse dinner alone and in an awkward secretiveness, while the locals continued their conversation in heart murmur of Gaelic, interrupted by the occasional burst of laughter and a glimpse in my direction - which just made me finger even more uncomfortable.

Afterwards, I retired to the comfort of the waiting room, after inaugural ordering a effective 20 year-old malted milk whiskey from the bar - making sure that I did not give the locals grounds for offence by adulterating it with anything like ice, even though I would take in preferred it that way ! Slumped in a deep arm-chair by the fire, filled with my meal and warmed by the Scotch whisky, I began to experience mellow and rather sleepy.

As I dozed, I became witting of the pattern of a kilted Whitney 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 knee joint. He was wearing typical upland tramp clothes : walking boots, thick woolly wind sleeve and an reserve Skye Tartan kilt, pure with a rather endure leather sporran which now lay in his lap. He had on a chunky Arran sweater and he had a tumid tumbler in his hired hand with about half-an-inch of what looked similar Scotch malt whiskey in the nates. He raised the glass to his sassing. It was Deryk - or rather, the somewhat elusive, mysterious and handsome young guy I had met months before in London and who seemed to accept assumed the role of my erstwhile fantasy younger brother from childhood.



"hello,"he said, looking directly into my oculus with his piercing regard. Then with that winning crooked smile of his he continued,"gladiolus to see we share the same tastes."

He cocked his straits on one side, winked and raised his Methedrine, as if to say a silent ‘ Slangevar'before sipping his malt whiskey appreciatively.

His eyes were recessed beneath subdued black eye-brows and against the fire radiance they seemed almost lustrous, while the blues and greens of his tartan kilt seemed to reflect in their rich blue semblance. Just as when I saw him months ago, he had the same poor, rippled black hair which flopped boyishly forward over his forehead and he had a soft facial skin color that included a carefully cultivated shadow-beard. He had lovely, kissable lips ; a petty weather-worn but plump and tasting slightly salty, I recalled, as I gazed back at him.



Of course, old age ago when I was pre-adolescent, he had been my unseasoned blood brother and was always getting into worry and scrapes from which I had to rescue him ; rescues which usually, and significantly as it turned out, involved getting his clothes off - as well as diverse other badness of childhood. In those days, he would stimulate been just a few twelvemonth 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 variety to him ! However, since the simply brother I had known was the one of my young and fertile mental imagery, the closed book of who this guy really was still eluded me. After our last skirmish in London a few months ago, he had disappeared again, leaving me none the wiser ; his reappearance now would, you might think, have provoked a deeper investigating 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 final sentence, my judgement was alert to the possibilities the night might have in store.

"I was wondering when you were going to reappear,"I said, and returned his ‘ Slangevar'with a motion and a sip from my own crank of scotch. The fondness of the malt liquor nectar seemed to pick up through my torso, as I gazed back into his racy puddle of pleasant-tasting 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 eyes narrowed as he screwed-up his face in an expression of make-believe embarrassment.

"Hmm - unspoilt not to really,"he affirmed, promptly changing the discipline."illusion slipping remote for a breathing time of fresh air ? It's quite hot in here by the fire and it's a cover girl realize night out."

I was tempted to produce a comment along the lines of his smell tank if I were to divest him of his Arran sweater and heavy kilt but I thought the better of it - for now at least. Instead, I simply nodded and got up to follow him, as the pleats of his kilt swayed seductively from slope to side and he headed for the door.

He was right ; it was a beautifully clear, romantic night as we stood in the moth-eaten night air, gazing up at the stars and pointing-out to each early the constellations and their Major asterisk ; the unmistakable"W"of Cassiopeia high school in the northeast ; the brightness level of Arcturus in the W and above us, Deneb, Vega and Altair, the stars of the"Summer Triangulum"; and of grade, the"Plough ”, Ursa Major, the"Great Bear"and its pointer to the Pole star topology, Polaris. He seemed to acknowledge just as many of them as I did, and I was impressed by his noesis and interest group ; it made me feel even closer to him. A full moon glowed low in the sky from behind a few wisps of thin cloud. An owl hooted.

"What are you planning tomorrow ?"he asked,"Have you seen the Old Man yet ?"

He was hoping I would misunderstand his ambiguous reference to the"Old Man of Storr"but I spoiled his attempt to fluff me as I went on to tell him of my own program. He nodded his approval and thought for a moment.

"The hombre I was talking to in the bar earlier,"he said,"told me that the rooftree behind the Old Man rises to more than two thousand feet. It's a longer trek of course of instruction but if it's clear, the vista's well worth the effort - or so I was told."

He went on to account the rather hazardous way of life they had told him to shoot from the route instead of following the established tourist 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 rate,"he finally asserted.

The wax moon bathed the surrounding Calluna vulgaris and the aloof glen in a balmy bluish light, while our breath made little cloud of vapour against the night air. A shooting star tore across the sky and disappeared behind the hill above the little hotel and I sighed and shivered in the coldness. My Scotch was now gone and I was only wearing a cotton plant shirt. It was at that moment that he moved closer to me and skid 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 jumper to hug his warm body, clad underneath only in a tee-shirt. Once again, I was enveloped in his masculine aroma which, enhanced by his subtle use of a familiar musky cologne, seemed to enwrap me in the safety of a ardent cover. My human face found a home against the flabby comfort of his shoulder.

"I missed you,"I whispered.

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

He went on ahead up the stairs and I followed behind, mesmerized by the tantalizing dainty of his kilted behind. His strong hairy legs clad in chunky woolen socks disappeared into that unknown region part beyond the swaying pleat of his Skye tartan and I couldn't help wondering if it was unfeigned - you know - what they say……..

He waited on the landing for me to open my door and take in him in but once inside, by the light of the moonlight from the window, we finally embraced with a dead on target passion of longing. At last, we kissed, longsighted and lustfully, probing with our tongue and tasting the proscribed fruits of brotherly love. His lips were wide-cut and moist, slightly salty to the taste ; the stalk of his shadow-beard felt slightly rugged and I inhaled the thick, 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 lecherousness and we began frantically pulling off each others clothes. He unbuckled his sporran and it dropped to the floor as I pulled his sweater off, revealing the like"X-Men"tee-shirt he had worn the last time we met -"carcajou"it read. My shirt was off next, then our boots and socks, before we fell into another embrace, kissing and hugging, breathing and trousering. He sank his sassing into my neck and I gasped in disco biscuit, as his stubble lightly scratched at my spiritualist bare skin and he began licking and biting my ear, his warm intimation sending tingles up and down my spine.

He dropped to his knee before me, kissing the white, hairless skin of my tum and pressing his look into my fork. Gently, he unbuttoned my dungaree and lowered them to the floor ; and then his side buried itself in my inguen. My organ was bursting from my Cin2 briefs by this full stop, oozing pre-cum juices into the cushy ovalbumin cloth, which he eagerly sucked and tasted, gently biting at my putz and orchis 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 soft whisker, in the inwardness of which hung on a leather necklace, a contact bronze palm in the conformation of a Gaelic Talisman. It glinted in the Moon and when he saw me looking at it, he smiled knowingly and pressed it against my thorax ; it felt surprisingly inhuman, foreign but somehow fascinating.

We returned to our embracing, kissing and hugging ; my handwriting now following the contours of his hairless back, his spine and then at in conclusion, his bum, still covered by his kilt. Through the lowering woollen material, I massaged the cheek of his bottom, feeling their plump rhythm shape and clutching at the plait of the back of his kilt. I pushed him backwards across the base, until he fell onto the bed. But sensing what I wanted to do, he immediately rolled over onto his movement, his eubstance now lying prone before me, clad only in his Skye Tartan kilt. I climbed onto the bed between his bare legs.

quest to discover but also wishing to sustain the act of discovery, I ran my hired man up the spine of his hairy wooden leg, slowly under his kilt, higher and higher inside the secret sanctuary until I felt his hairless buttocks. I could dissent no longer ; I slid back down the bed and buried my school principal under his kilt, diving into his cleft, kissing and tonguing his crack and tasting the sweaty odor of this, the most private sphere of his Edward Young body. I spread his pegleg, to discover his balls and set up 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 bill motility, before taking it fully into my mouth, as my nozzle pressed into his hairless orchis - did he shave his balls ? 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, score,"he groaned,"You know you want to ……. please."

I pulled the pillows down under the front of his kilt, lifting his buttocks. Then, gently folding back the pleats of his Skye tartan, I exposed his beautiful, plump, round cheeks to the soft 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 first digit pushed inside to find his prostate gland. I felt it, slightly tough and swollen with excitement. He groaned, more loudly this fourth dimension. Then, kneeling between his spread thighs and exposed tush, and surrounded by the flock of his kilt, like a huge blue-green flower, I pressed my wet and slippery instrument against its minuscule target at the centre. Whether or not I was de-flowering the youth of my younger brother, I could not know but against his initial electrical resistance, I pushed, gently at first and then more firmly, until my cock-head slip one's mind inside the maiden sleeping accommodation. His acute intake of breath, followed by a little whimpering sound, said,"Proceed ”.

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



He felt so warm and companion, balmy and comforting ; I felt his thighs gripping the exterior of my legs as I pressed on and I began to experience his own clench from within his bowels. I established a wearisome, 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 Fuck ! Oh God ! 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 self-conceited hardness of his prostate. His integral consistence 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 concurrent easing, as we both came in two shattering coming, each reinforcing the other, as my cum seemed to detonate from inside my ballock and down my pecker, into his untested willingness, to be met by throbs of transport, as his own cum erupted from his prostate, soaking the inside of his kilt in pools of Andrew D. White spooge.

Amidst our mutual groan and groan, I collapsed on top of him, my organ slipping from his hole, as his organic structure relaxed under me. As I kissed the back of his neck opening, his hands found mine aside the pillow and he grasped them, gripping them in loving thanks. We both fell into rich and substantial sleep ; the sleep of the inexperienced person ? Perhaps.

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

I showered, dressed and went down to breakfast. After end dark's exertions, I was voracious and"Mrs Danvers"served me a full cooked breakfast in her characteristically calm down and effective 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.



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 plan. In fact, I thought I might still support a chance of seeing him there but I didn't. I made the short trek up through the woodwind instrument and on to the area known as"The Sanctuary ”, where a identification number of jumpy volcanic ballyhoo stand majestically and somewhat mystically in the almost lunar landscape."The Old Man of Storr"is the biggest and most impressive of them all. I had been taking lots of photo in the aurora light but the weather deteriorated towards midday, so I went back to the hotel for a tardy lunch.

However, the dining room wasn't open up 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 finesse than his forbidding wife ! While I sat with my drink in the box eating my lunch, three young bozo came in and sat at the bar. They were some of the Sami bozo I had seen the night before and, as finally Nox, 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 stomach suddenly turned over when I realised what it was. It was Deryk's Celtic language Talisman ! I was now worry 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 dialect 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 find the path Deryk had said he was intending to come after 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 path some way South 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 moth-eaten and the first musca volitans of pelting were falling. But I wrapped-up and set off, undiscouraged and even more certain that he was there, somewhere.



I traced the path, noting the watershed from the de***********ion he had given me the night before and scanning the rocks and bracken for any sign or clew of his having been there. The path passed faithful by a lowly tarn or pond fed by Hill water from the rooftree 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 plain conformation of a leather sporran. It was his ! There was a small stream just a few thou away and as I cast my eyes up and down the gulley, I spotted the unmistakable frame of a kilt, now soaking wet and filthy dirty, lying in the mud. But there was no polarity of Deryk.

Stepping down into the stream, my pith sank into the pit of my abdomen 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 fear now, at what I might be about to discover. He was a pitiful sight ; lying there in the shoal, bouldered stream, his body last night tanned and strong was now grizzly, shriveled and helpless. As I bent down to bear on his battered and bruised body, I feared the worst. I felt his neck ; there was a heartbeat from his carotid artery - a feint one but a pulse at least. He stirred at my touch.

"bell ringer ?"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 contusion, as if he had been kicked repeatedly, and his face was tumescent with bruises, cuts 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."binge began to mix with mud and ancestry on his beautiful but amaze face.

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

"Those bastards in the bar last dark,"he muttered, gritting his teeth, as if gathering military strength,"I should have known better. They fucked me all road, the illegitimate. But at least you're here now."

By now the weather was getting angry ; the idle words had picked up and the coldness rain was starting to come 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 wickedness, even if we tried. God knows where his boot were - stolen I guess, along with his talisman and the contents of his sporran. I checked my Mobile phone to call for help but just when I needed it most, there was no signal. I decided the simply thing to do was to seek some variety of shelter and I remembered the ruined croft a few C G away, so with some difficulty, I managed to get Deryk to his substructure and we staggered out of the ditch and across the bracken, eventually to see that part of the downfall was still a pocket-sized roofed structure with a half-broken barn door on the other side. As we staggered inside, we were greeted by the fondness and olfactory sensation of what had once been an animal shelter but which now took on a new role, as a protection for two brothers. We collapsed into the drinking straw in the corner.

There was little else I could do in the dark, with no first gear aid kit. What little article of clothing we had on was now soaking wet and we had only my coat to cover us both but at least it was warm and dry in our protection, albeit rather smelly ! I had a bottle of water which I made him sip and I also had some burnt umber in my sac - always a trade good author of energy and nutrition, so I gave him that to eat. His jaw was aching from his bruising but at least it wasn't broken.



The only early remediation for exposure in these destiny is shared bodily lovingness, so I improvised a bed from the straw, peeled off his wet X-men tee-shirt and his wet air sock 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 warmly consistency, spooning him from behind in the fetal stead and pulling the coat over the top of us. Deryk was shivering at first but after a trivial piece, the warmth began to build up under the coat and he settled into a ennoble sleep.

As the warmth built up, I started to get horny with my arms around him and my tool nestled in the cleft below his behind. I was thinking about hold up Nox and shooting my load into his privileged willingness for the first metre. I'm ashamed to say that, even in this minute of crisis, my juices were flowing again and my erection was slipping rather easily into the crack between his buttocks. This moment was what all my fantasies of childhood had been leading up to - although I was too young or naïve to see them fully at the sentence - and now I had a real Deryk in the safety of my arm again and I wanted him. In fact, I wanted him so much that with just the slightest movement between his bottom, I felt my climax building uncontrollably. component of me didn't want it this way ; I didn't think it was"right"while Deryk was in such a step down nation. 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 formal until, inevitably, I knew the conflict was lost. My cum rose mercilessly through my loins and erupted from my erecting in a act of docile throbs, as my fluids filled the scissure of his nates and I cradled his body before me, hugging him and kissing the back of his neck. At terminal I fell asleep.

The atmospheric condition must birth cleared during the night because I awoke to a diaphysis 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 stifle astride my body.



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

"You've had what you wanted ; now it's my turn,"and he just grabbed my ramification and hold my animal foot above his shoulders, hoisting me off our bed of straw.

Before I knew it, I felt the companion slipperiness of his erect organ directly against my muddle and with one thrust and a noncompliant grunt, he rammed into me, all the way.

"Jesus Christ !"I yelled out,"Go well-to-do - please !"

"It's the only way you're gon na get it, Oncorhynchus keta,"he barked, as he pulled back and rammed hard into me again. This time, I felt his balls slap my backside. Suddenly, there was no 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 pain of his jabbing, which I was beginning to get accustomed to, I was mindful of the similarities with what happened last time he re-appeared. The Saame share-out of tenderheartedness and warmheartedness, the Sami rapid rejuvenation, the luminosity of the moon and now this almost fleshly version of Deryk.

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

He rammed into me one final exam time and came inside me, as he let out a kind of howl of relief and I felt his fluids pumping into my inside, throb after throb after throbbing, before he collapsed on top of me on the straw, his erect organ still buried inside me. The pressure of his hard young consistency against my stomach now found my own erect peter, oozing pre-cum succus again and desperate to be relieved. With my arms around him, my bridge player clutched the buttock of his bum and pulled him to me. Just as last night, that little pressure and gentle movement was all it took to make for on my own orgasm, and as my insides clenched and my vision seemed to smear in the moment of shattering climax, I felt his softening organ slip out of my hole just as my cum flare-up from my tool, filling the spaces between our two bodies and running down the side of my physical structure into the straw. Shattered, I fell asleep again, this meter with Deryk lying on top of me.

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

"Bugger ! Just like last fourth dimension,"I swore out trashy 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 track to the car which, thankfully, was still parked where I had left it. In the cool break of day light, 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 ignitor of an ambulance, two police elevator car and a prominent crew of people. As I got out of the car, I expected to be the centre of everyone's attention, having been"missing"all night, but the assembled gang was all gathered around a Brigham Young man with a cover over his shoulder, sitting on the wall and being attended to by the paramedic and being questioned by the police force. 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 Quaker had been out for an too soon forenoon walk on the Moor not far from the hotel when they had been viciously attacked. His two protagonist were now on their way to hospital in a bad way, but the perpetrator of this ferocity was the main talking-point ; it seems that their aggressor was a"barbarous creature with inhuman strength and claws to equal ”. Certainly, the young man in the cover 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 side bore patched wounds of dry out blood. In fact, he was a mess - and he was the one who hadn't been taken to hospital !

But no-one was concern in me ; the constabulary spoke to me briefly but only to plant that I hadn't seen anything. I told them the truth - or at to the lowest degree, parting of it. I had gone up to the"Old Man"late yesterday but because of the weather, I had spent the Nox in the car, in the car green. Given that I clearly had neither the physique nor the build necessary to best three upland youths 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 move on.

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

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