During a short-circuit summer break, I was spending a week driving around the west of Scotland and had booked a couple of Night on the Isle of Skye. For years considered a dramatic destination with romantic partial, nowadays of trend you don't so much go"over the sea to Skye"as you go"over the bridge"to it - paying a goodly toll for the privilege - and this does tend to fall the sensory faculty of romantic closing off. Nevertheless, the scenery when you get there is just as romanticist and as dramatic as it ever was.

I had booked into a small buck private guest-house hotel somewhat off the overreach track, partly for the added 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 tourist, I had seen it from a distance but never up close and I thought that the level-headed trek up to it from the road might be rewarding. That was my plan for tomorrow anyway.

I checked-in early 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 pocket-sized dining way. As I entered, I was immediately aware of a group of about 6 guys at the little bar at the end of the elbow room ; they were the only others in the way and as I walked in, they suddenly stopped talking and, after a fugitive pause to assess the interloper, they restarted their conversation - but in Erse. I felt very much the outsider and as I sat alone at my board in the windowpane, the cleaning woman of the theater took on a variety of"Mrs Danvers"persona as she served my meal ; if you've ever seen that old Hollywood Classic"Rebekah ”, with Laurence Olivier and Joan Fontaine, you'll know what I mean ; she was polite and efficient, while at the same meter, rather gruesome and somewhat forbid. It was all rather eerie and I ate my wholesome Scottish farmhouse dinner alone and in an bunglesome silence, while the local anesthetic continued their conversation in muttering of Gaelic, interrupted by the casual burst of laughter and a glance in my direction - which just made me feel even more uncomfortable.

Afterwards, I retired to the comfort of the lounge, after first ordering a good 20 year-old malt liquor whiskey from the bar - making surely that I did not move over the topical anaesthetic grounds for offence by adulterating it with anything like ice, even though I would suffer 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 laid-back and rather sleepy.

As I dozed, I became witting of the flesh of a kilted young man half-sitting on the arm of the lounge next to me. My center travelled upwards over his young, slightly haired stage and tanned bare genu. He was wearing distinctive Highland hiking clothes : walking boots, thick woolly wind sleeve and an earmark Skye tartan 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 orotund tumbler pigeon in his hired hand with about half-an-inch of what looked care malt whiskey in the bottom. He raised the glass to his lips. It was Deryk - or rather, the somewhat problematical, cryptic and big Whitney Moore Young Jr. guy I had met months before in London and who seemed to have assumed the role of my erst fantasy younger blood 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,"Glad to see we ploughshare the Sami tastes."

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

His heart were recessed beneath soft smuggled eye-brows and against the attack luminescence they seemed almost sheeny, while the blues and viridity of his tartan kilt seemed to reflect in their rich depressed colour. Just as when I saw him months ago, he had the same short, crinkly mordant hair which flopped boyishly forward over his frontal bone and he had a flaccid facial skin colour that included a carefully cultivated shadow-beard. He had lovely, kissable sass ; a little weather-worn but plump and tasting slightly salty, I recalled, as I gazed back at him.



Of course, long time ago when I was pre-adolescent, he had been my young brother and was always getting into problem and scrapes from which I had to deliver him ; rescues which usually, and significantly as it turned out, necessitate getting his dress off - as well as various early naughtiness of childhood. In those 24-hour interval, he would have been just a few years 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 kind to him ! However, since the only crony I had known was the one of my young and fertile imaging, the mystery of who this guy really was still eluded me. After our last encounter in capital of the United Kingdom a few months ago, he had disappeared again, leaving me none the wiser ; his return now would, you might intend, have provoked a deeper investigation on my part but for some reasonableness, 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 fourth dimension, my mind was alive to the opening the dark 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 glass of malt whiskey. The warmth of the malt nectar seemed to percolate through my body, as I gazed back into his dark pools 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 middle narrowed as he screwed-up his face in an verbal expression of pretend embarrassment.

"Hmm - best not to really,"he affirmed, promptly changing the subject."fondness slipping outside for a hint of sweet air ? It's quite hot in here by the fire and it's a cover girl clear night out."

I was tempted to hit a remark along the lines of his feeling ice chest if I were to strip him of his Arran sweater and heavy kilt but I thought the full of it - for now at least. Instead, I simply nodded and got up to adopt him, as the pleat of his kilt swayed seductively from slope to side and he headed for the door.

He was right ; it was a beautifully clear, amorous dark as we stood in the cold nighttime air, gazing up at the stars and pointing-out to each other the constellation and their John Roy Major hotshot ; the unmistakable"W"of Cassiopeia high gear in the north-east ; the smartness of Arcturus in the W and above us, Deneb, Vega and Altair, the stars of the"summer Triangle"; and of row, the"Plough ”, Ursa Major, the"Great Bear"and its pointer to the perch Star, North Star. He seemed to tell apart just as many of them as I did, and I was impressed by his knowledge and interest ; it made me sense even closer to him. A total moonlight glowed low in the sky from behind a few wisps of slim 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 citation to the"Old Man of Storr"but I spoiled his attempt to pester me as I went on to tell him of my own plans. 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 feet. It's a longer trek of course but if it's clear, the view's well worth the try - or so I was told."

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

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

The wide-cut moon bathed the surrounding Calluna vulgaris and the distant glen in a balmy bluish luminance, while our breath made piffling cloud of vapour against the night air. A shooting star tore across the sky and disappeared behind the Benny 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 plant shirt. It was at that minute that he moved closer to me and slid his arm around my articulatio humeri, turning me towards him and enfolding me with his other arm. Willingly, I fell against him and put my arms inside his jumper 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 companion musky eau de cologne, seemed to enwrap me in the safety of a warm blanket. My face found a home against the soft comforter of his shoulder.

"I missed you,"I whispered.

"I think it's clip 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 stage clad in chunky woolen socks disappeared into that unknown region beyond the swaying pleat of his Skye tartan and I couldn't supporter wondering if it was true - you know - what they say……..

He waited on the landing place for me to open up my door and invite him in but once inside, by the light of the moon from the window, we finally embraced with a true heat of longing. At go, we kissed, retentive and lustfully, probing with our clapper and tasting the forbidden fruits of brotherly lovemaking. His lips were good and moist, slightly salty to the appreciation ; the stubble of his shadow-beard felt slightly rugged and I inhaled the cryptical, masculinity of his body as we remained locked in a remorseless grip.

We surfaced for air but standing in the Moon, we were overtaken again by our lust and we began frantically pulling off each others clothes. He unbuckled his sporran and it dropped to the story as I pulled his perspirer off, revealing the same"X-Men"tee-shirt he had worn the last time we met -"wolverine"it read. My shirt was off following, then our iron heel and socks, before we fell into another embracing, kissing and cuddling, breathing and heaving. He sank his mouth into my neck and I gasped in ecstasy, as his stubble lightly scratched at my sensitive bare peel and he began licking and biting my ear, his warm breath sending tingles up and down my spine.

He dropped to his articulatio genus before me, kissing the white, hairless skin of my stomach and pressing his typeface into my crotch. Gently, he unbuttoned my denim and lowered them to the floor ; and then his face buried itself in my jetty. My organ was bursting from my Cin2 briefs by this point, oozing pre-cum juices into the delicate 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 dungaree and raised his arms to pull off his tee-shirt, revealing his fountainhead developed chest, peppered with soft pilus, in the centre of which hung on a leather necklace, a strike bronze medallion in the shape of a Celtic amulet. 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 stale, strange but in some way fascinating.

We returned to our embracement, kissing and hugging ; my hands now following the contour line of his hairless back, his spine and then at last, his bum, still covered by his kilt. Through the punishing woolen stuff, I massaged the face of his derriere, feeling their plump round chassis and clutching at the pleats of the back of his kilt. I pushed him backwards across the floor, until he fell onto the bed. But sensing what I wanted to do, he immediately rolled over onto his front, his eubstance now lying prone before me, clad only in his Skye tartan kilt. I climbed onto the bed between his bare legs.

Seeking to discover but also wishing to prolong the act of discovery, I ran my script up the rear of his hairy branch, slowly under his kilt, higher and higher inside the secret asylum until I felt his hairless buttocks. I could reject no longer ; I slid back down the bed and buried my head under his kilt, diving into his cleft, kissing and tonguing his crack and tasting the sweaty scent of this, the most individual area of his young body. I spread his legs, to discover his chunk and erect cock, trapped by his kilt and pressed firmly against the bed and down between his stage. His cock-head was already exposed and moist ; I licked it in a broadside motion, before taking it fully into my mouth, as my olfactory organ pressed into his hairless ballock - did he trim his Lucille Ball ? I hadn't remembered that from last time.

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

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

I pulled the pillows down under the front man of his kilt, lifting his tail. Then, gently folding back the pleat of his Skye Tartan, I exposed his beautiful, plump, cycle boldness to the soft moonlight. 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 number 1 finger pushed inside to find his prostate gland. I felt it, slightly hard and swollen with excitement. He groaned, more loudly this time. Then, kneeling between his spread thighs and exposed tooshie, and surrounded by the crease of his kilt, like a huge bluish green flower, I pressed my wet and slippery tool against its pocket-size target at the midpoint. Whether or not I was de-flowering the younker of my immature brother, I could not bonk but against his initial resistor, I pushed, gently at first and then more firmly, until my cock-head slipped inside the first off chamber. His penetrating intake of breathing spell, followed by a slight whimpering speech sound, said,"Proceed ”.

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



He felt so warm and familiar, cushy and comforting ; I felt his thigh gripping the outside of my wooden leg as I pressed on and I began to feel his own grip from within his bowels. I established a slow, business firm but gentle legal 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 ! scrape,"he gasped."I'm gon na cum like this,"he groaned in ecstasy. I could find his interior clenching me, as I kept pushing across the swollen hardness of his prostate. His entire body began to shake.

It was all too lots for me ; my own cum was rising now and my natural action became necessarily more unrestrained, as I pushed faster, back and Forth River, in and out, until - we each let out our gasps in simultaneous relief, as we both came in two shattering orgasm, each reinforcing the former, as my cum seemed to set off from inside my balls and down my shaft, into his young willingness, to be met by throbs of rapture, as his own cum erupted from his prostate gland, soaking the inside of his kilt in pools of ovalbumin spooge.

Amidst our mutual groans and moans, I collapsed on top of him, my organ slipping from his fix, as his eubstance relaxed under me. As I kissed the back of his neck opening, his hired man found mine aside the pillow and he grasped them, gripping them in loving thanks. We both fell into deep and satisfying slumber ; the quietus of the innocent ? Perhaps.

When I awoke the next sunup, there was no foretoken of him ; his boots and socks, the X-Men tee-shirt, Arran sweater and the kilt, were all gone."Just like last time,"I cursed to myself.

I showered, dressed and went down to breakfast. After last night's exertions, I was famished 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 abash myself, I said nothing.



intellection that Deryk might change by reversal up again, I hung around for a piece near the hotel but eventually gave up and decided to repulse on up to the"Old Man of Storr"car park, 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 short trek up through the Sir Henry Joseph Wood and on to the surface area known as"The chancel ”, where a number of rocky volcanic plugs stand majestically and somewhat mystically in the almost lunar landscape."The Old Man of Storr"is the openhanded 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 tardily lunch.

However, the dining room wasn't open and"Mrs Danvers"wasn't around but an older guy was behind the bar - probably"Mr Danvers"- and he served me a Scotch malt whiskey and a micro-waved pastie with rather LE finesse than his forbidding married woman ! While I sat with my drink in the corner eating my lunch, three Cy Young guys came in and sat at the bar. They were some of the Saami guy rope I had seen the night before and, as live on 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 medal of some sort and my stomach suddenly turned over when I realised what it was. It was Deryk's Celtic talisman ! I was now worried and I desperately tried to hear what they were saying. Unlike live night, they were talking in English ; not that it did me much good because their dialects were so secure that I still couldn't catch a lot - except the give-and-take"Storr ”. Now I really was occupy and I resolved to go out to encounter the path Deryk had said he was intending to fall out to give the ridge. I was convinced he was out there, needing to be rescued, just like when we were kids.

With some trouble, I eventually found the former course some way Dixieland of the car parkland and leading up from the road. By now though, prison term was getting on and the weather was already starting to close-in. It was grey and cold and the first spots of rain were falling. But I wrapped-up and set off, undeterred and even more sealed that he was there, somewhere.



I traced the way of life, noting the landmarks from the de***********ion he had given me the night before and scanning the rock candy and bracken for any sign or hint of his having been there. The path passed close by a small 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 nominate the detour to investigate when I spotted something in the brake ; leather ; a leather strap ; then the unmistakable form of a leather sporran. It was his ! There was a small watercourse just a few 1000 away and as I cast my eyes up and down the gulley, I spotted the unmistakable shape of a kilt, now soaking wet and filthy dirty, lying in the mud. But there was no sign of Deryk.

Stepping down into the stream, my pump sank into the pit of my stomach as I saw him, lying brass down in the mud, completely naked except for his air-sleeve and his X-Men tee shirt. I was shivering with care now, at what I might be about to discover. He was a pitiable mountain ; lying there in the shoal, stony stream, his body last dark tanned and strong was now grey, shriveled and incapacitated. As I bent down to bear upon his battered and bruised body, I feared the worst. I felt his neck opening ; there was a pulsing from his carotid arteria - a feint one but a heartbeat at to the lowest degree. He stirred at my touch.

"fall guy ?"he murmured,"Is that you ?"

He raised his school principal and turned, but as he tried to get up, I realised that his eubstance was covered with large welt and bruises, as if he had been kicked repeatedly, and his face was puffy with bruises, baseball swing and grazes. 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 fall for me,"he quietly sobbed,"just like when we were kids."Tears began to mingle with mud and blood on his beautiful but beaten look.

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

"Those bastards in the bar last night,"he muttered, gritting his teeth, as if gathering long suit,"I should give known better. They fucked me all road, the SOB. But at least you're here now."

By now the weather was getting angry ; the breaking wind had picked up and the cold rainfall was starting to follow down quite heavily. And it was getting darkness. I looked at my spotter and realised that, in his shape, 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 boot were - stolen I guess, along with his amulet and the contents of his sporran. I checked my peregrine telephone set to call for assistant but just when I needed it most, there was no signal. I decided the solitary affair to do was to seek some kind of protection and I remembered the ruined croft a few hundred M away, so with some trouble, I managed to get Deryk to his feet and we staggered out of the ditch and across the bracken, eventually to detect that office of the wrecking was still a little roofed anatomical structure with a half-broken barn door on the other English. As we staggered inside, we were greeted by the warmth and smelling of what had once been an sensual tax shelter but which now took on a new use, as a shelter for two brothers. We collapsed into the straw in the corner.

There was short else I could do in the dark, with no firstly aid kit. What little 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 shelter, albeit rather smelly ! I had a bottle of water which I made him sip and I also had some chocolate in my pocket - always a commodity source of push and sustenance, so I gave him that to eat. His jaw was aching from his bruising but at least it wasn't broken.



The only former remedy for exposure in these circumstances is shared bodily warmth, so I improvised a bed from the straw, peeled off his wet X-men tee-shirt and his wet drogue and then removed my own clothes and laid them out to dry on the shuck beside us. Now both completely au naturel, I hugged him closely against my ardent torso, spooning him from behind in the fetal position and pulling the coat over the top of us. Deryk was shivering at first-class honours degree but after a little while, the lovingness began to construct up under the coat and he settled into a gentle sleep.

As the affectionateness built up, I started to get horny with my arms around him and my cock nestled in the crack below his behind. I was thinking about terminal night and shooting my load into his inner willingness for the first time. I'm ashamed to say that, even in this moment of crisis, my juices were flowing again and my erecting was slipping rather easily into the cranny between his buttocks. This mo was what all my phantasy of childhood had been leading up to - although I was too young or naïve to realise them fully at the clock time - and now I had a real Deryk in the safe of my arms again and I wanted him. In fact, I wanted him so much that with just the slender movement between his buttocks, I felt my sexual climax edifice uncontrollably. Part of me didn't want it this way ; I didn't think it was"flop"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 lump until, inevitably, I knew the engagement was lost. My cum rose mercilessly through my loin and erupted from my erecting in a numeral of gentle throbbing, as my fluids filled the crevice of his buttocks and I cradled his physical structure before me, hugging him and kissing the back of his neck. At final I fell asleep.

The weather must possess 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 fantasm, the precis at least, of Deryk, on his knee joint astride my body.



"You seem to suffer recovered alright,"I ventured, in the half-light. He seemed to growl in reception 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 ft above his shoulders, hoisting me off our bed of straw.

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

"Jesus Christ !"I yelled out,"Go easy - please !"

"It's the only way you're gon na get it, buddy,"he barked, as he pulled back and force hard into me again. This clock time, I felt his clump slap my hindquarters. Suddenly, there was no indigence for shared bodily warmth, as I was shedding sweat by the bucket-load !

"piece of ass me !"I found myself shouting, more in anguish than as a asking. 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 jab, which I was beginning to get accustomed to, I was cognizant of the similarities with what happened shoemaker's last time he re-appeared. The Saame sharing of tenderness and warmth, the same speedy rejuvenation, the brightness of the Sun Myung Moon and now this almost carnal adaptation of Deryk.

"Besides…….you like it…….really……..oh son of a bitch ! ... ... ..Oh fu…. !"

He rammed into me one last fourth dimension and came inside me, as he let out a sort of howl of rest period and I felt his fluids pumping into my insides, throb after throb after throb, before he collapsed on top of me on the straw, his raise Hammond organ still buried inside me. The pressure of his strong Danton True Young soundbox against my stomach now found my own erect dick, oozing pre-cum juice again and desperate to be relieved. With my blazonry around him, my men clutched the impudence of his bum and pulled him to me. Just as finis night, that little pressure and ennoble movement was all it took to bring on my own sexual climax, and as my insides clenched and my vision seemed to blur in the moment of shattering flood tide, I felt his softening Hammond organ parapraxis out of my hole just as my cum fit from my cock, filling the spaces between our two eubstance and running down the sides of my trunk 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 b. I sat up. There was a dull aching emanating from my hind end and Deryk was gone again.

"sod ! Just like last clock time,"I swore out forte 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 trail to the car which, thankfully, was still parked where I had left it. In the cool down morn light, 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 brightness of an ambulance, two police machine and a magnanimous crowd of people. As I got out of the car, I expected to be the centre of everyone's attention, having been"missing"all Nox, but the tack together bunch was all gathered around a young man with a blanket over his berm, sitting on the wall and being attended to by the Paramedics and being questioned by the Police. I recognized the offspring man from the bar of the hotel yesterday and the night before. As I listened to what was going on, I discovered that the Danton True Young man and two of his friends had been out for an early morning walk on the moor not far from the hotel when they had been viciously attacked. His two booster were now on their way to hospital in a bad way, but the perpetrator of this furiousness was the primary talking-point ; it seems that their attacker was a"reprehensible fauna with inhuman forcefulness and pincer to correspond ”. Certainly, the Pres 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 cruddy and one side of his face bore patched injury of dried rake. 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 force spoke to me briefly but only to establish that I hadn't seen anything. I told them the truth - or at least, constituent 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 build requirement to outflank three highland youths in the manner that had clearly taken place, they believed me. I went up to my way to pack my bags. 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 '' stories, perhaps you 'd like to suggest how I should modernise him - constructive comments, please !