During a shortstop summer break, I was spending a week driving around the west of Scotland and had booked a dyad of Night on the islet of Skye. For years considered a spectacular destination with romantic overtones, nowadays of course you don't so much 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 lessen the signified of romantic closing off. Nevertheless, the scenery when you get there is just as wild-eyed and as dramatic as it ever was.

I had booked into a small individual guest-house hotel somewhat off the beaten track, partly for the added romance of its standoffishness 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 level-headed trek up to it from the route might be rewarding. That was my plan for tomorrow anyway.

I checked-in early in the evening and the charwoman 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 little dining room. As I entered, I was immediately mindful of a grouping of about 6 guys at the little bar at the end of the room ; they were the solely others in the room and as I walked in, they suddenly stopped talking and, after a momentary intermission to assess the interloper, they restarted their conversation - but in Gaelic. I felt very much the outsider and as I sat alone at my mesa in the window, the char of the house took on a sort of"Mrs Danvers"theatrical role 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 gruesome and somewhat proscribe. It was all rather eerie and I ate my wholesome Scotch farmhouse dinner party alone and in an awkward silence, while the locals continued their conversation in murmuring of Gaelic, interrupted by the occasional fusillade of laugh and a coup d'oeil in my commission - which just made me feel even more uncomfortable.

Afterwards, I retired to the comfort of the lounge, after inaugural ordering a trade good 20 year-old malt whisky from the bar - making certain that I did not give the local anesthetic grounds for criminal offense by adulterating it with anything like ice, even though I would deliver preferred it that way ! Slumped in a inscrutable arm-chair by the fire, filled with my meal and warmed by the Scotch malt whiskey, I began to find mellow and rather sleepy.

As I dozed, I became conscious of the public figure of a kilted young man half-sitting on the arm of the sofa next to me. My eyes travelled upwards over his young, slightly hairy leg and tanned bare stifle. He was wearing distinctive Highland hike clothes : walking boots, thick woolly socks and an appropriate Skye plaid kilt, double-dyed with a rather worn leather sporran which now lay in his lap. He had on a chunky Arran jumper and he had a prominent tumbler pigeon in his hands with about half-an-inch of what looked ilk Scotch in the bottom. He raised the glass to his lips. It was Deryk - or rather, the somewhat problematic, orphic and good-looking young guy I had met month before in British capital and who seemed to have assumed the use of my erstwhile fancy vernal 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,"Glad to see we part the Saami tastes."

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

His center were deep-set beneath easygoing black eye-brows and against the ardor glow they seemed almost lustrous, while the blue and Green of his tartan kilt seemed to reflect in their productive depressed colour. Just as when I saw him months ago, he had the Lapp abruptly, wavy black haircloth which flopped boyishly forward over his forehead and he had a easygoing nervus facialis complexion that included a carefully cultivated shadow-beard. He had lovely, kissable lips ; a piffling weather-worn but plump and tasting slightly salty, I recalled, as I gazed back at him.



Of course, years ago when I was pre-adolescent, he had been my younger 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, involved getting his clothes off - as well as various other badness of childhood. In those days, he would give birth 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 exclusively brother I had known was the one of my Thomas Young and fertile vision, the closed book of who this guy really was still eluded me. After our survive encounter in John Griffith Chaney a few months ago, he had disappeared again, leaving me none the wiser ; his reappearance now would, you might think, have provoked a rich investigation 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 hold out time, my mind was alert to the possibilities the dark might cause 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 methamphetamine hydrochloride of scotch. The fondness of the malted nectar seemed to pick up through my physical structure, as I gazed back into his dispirited pond of delicious and proscribed 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 centre narrowed as he screwed-up his aspect in an expression of pretend embarrassment.

"Hmm - Charles Herbert Best not to really,"he affirmed, promptly changing the subject area."Fancy slipping out-of-door for a breath of new air ? It's quite hot in here by the fire and it's a pin-up clear night out."

I was tempted to make a comment along the tune of his tactile sensation cooler if I were to divest him of his Arran sweater and expectant kilt but I thought the better of it - for now at least. Instead, I simply nodded and got up to follow 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 clear, wild-eyed night as we stood in the insensate Night air, gazing up at the maven and pointing-out to each other the constellations and their major star topology ; the unmistakable"W"of Cassiopeia high in the north-east ; the brightness of Arcturus in the due west and above us, Deneb, Lope Felix de Vega Carpio and Altair, the whiz of the"Summer trigon"; and of class, the"Wain ”, Ursa John Roy Major, the"Great Bear"and its pointer to the Pole Star, Polaris. He seemed to accredit just as many of them as I did, and I was impressed by his noesis and interest ; it made me feel even closer to him. A full moon glowed low in the sky from behind a few wisps of thin out 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 denotation to the"Old Man of Storr"but I spoiled his attempt to tease me as I went on to tell him of my own plans. He nodded his approval and sentiment 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 G feet. It's a longer trek of course but if it's bring in, the view's well worth the exploit - or so I was told."

He went on to discover the rather hazardous course they had told him to take from the route instead of following the established tourer path 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 full moon bathed the surrounding heather and the removed glen in a soft bluish Christ Within, while our breath made little cloud of vaporization against the Nox air. A shooting star tore across the sky and disappeared behind the hill above the lilliputian hotel and I sighed and shivered in the cold. My malt whisky was now gone and I was only wearing a cotton shirt. It was at that bit that he moved closer to me and slip his arm around my shoulder joint, turning me towards him and enfolding me with his other arm. Willingly, I fell against him and put my arms inside his perspirer to hug his warm body, enclothe underneath only in a tee-shirt. Once again, I was enveloped in his masculine smell which, enhanced by his elusive use of a familiar spirit musky cologne, seemed to envelop me in the safety of a warm blanket. My face found a home against the soft comfort of his shoulder.

"I missed you,"I whispered.

"I think it's meter 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 sock disappeared into that unknown neighborhood beyond the swaying plait of his Skye Tartan and I couldn't avail wondering if it was confessedly - 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 radiation of the moon from the window, we finally embraced with a genuine passion of longing. At final stage, we kissed, long and lustfully, probing with our tongues and tasting the tabu yield of brotherly erotic love. His brim were full and moist, slightly salty to the taste ; the stalk of his shadow-beard felt slightly rugged and I inhaled the rich, masculinity of his consistency as we remained locked in a remorseless grip.

We surfaced for air but standing in the moonlight, 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 level as I pulled his jumper off, revealing the Saame"X-Men"tee-shirt he had worn the shoemaker's last time we met -"Wolverine"it interpret. My shirt was off next, then our boots and socks, before we fell into another bosom, kissing and caressing, breathing and heaving. He sank his lip into my neck opening and I gasped in transport, as his stubble lightly scratched at my sensitive bare skin and he began licking and biting my ear, his warm up breather sending tingles up and down my spine.

He dropped to his genu before me, kissing the white, hairless skin of my breadbasket and pressing his human face into my genital organ. Gently, he unbuttoned my jeans and lowered them to the floor ; and then his typeface buried itself in my breakwater. My organ was bursting from my Cin2 briefs by this point, oozing pre-cum succus into the diffused gabardine framework, which he eagerly sucked and tasted, gently biting at my rooster and clump through my legal brief and driving me wild.

As he stood up, I stepped out of my jean and raised his arms to root for off his tee-shirt, revealing his well developed chest, peppered with soft hairs, in the nerve centre of which hung on a leather necklace, a striking bronze medallion in the chassis 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 of drawers ; it felt surprisingly cold, strange but somehow fascinating.

We returned to our embracing, kissing and hugging ; my hands now following the contours of his hairless back, his spine and then at end, his bum, still covered by his kilt. Through the gruelling woollen material, I massaged the cheeks of his nates, feeling their plump cycle physique and clutching at the pleat of the backbone 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 presence, his consistence now lying prone before me, clad only in his Skye Tartan kilt. I climbed onto the bed between his bare legs.

seeking to learn but also wishing to prolong the act of discovery, I ran my custody up the rachis of his hairy stage, slowly under his kilt, higher and gamy inside the hugger-mugger asylum until I felt his hairless buttocks. I could resist no longer ; I slid back down the bed and buried my read/write head under his kilt, diving into his crack, kissing and tonguing his crack and tasting the sweaty odor of this, the most common soldier area of his young body. I spread his legs, to discover his glob and erect prick, trapped by his kilt and pressed firmly against the bed and down between his leg. His cock-head was already exposed and moist ; I licked it in a circular motion, before taking it fully into my mouthpiece, as my nozzle pressed into his hairless balls - did he shave his bollock ? 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, scrape,"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 plait of his Skye Tartan, I exposed his beautiful, plump, rung 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 showtime finger pushed inside to find his prostate. I felt it, slightly heavy and swollen with upheaval. He groaned, more loudly this time. Then, kneeling between his spread thighs and exposed rear, and surrounded by the fold of his kilt, like a huge blue-green flower, I pressed my wet and slippery shaft against its small object at the center of attention. Whether or not I was de-flowering the youth of my younger brother, I could not know but against his initial resistance, I pushed, gently at first and then more firmly, until my cock-head slue inside the first chamber. His sharp intake of breath, followed by a slim whimpering auditory sensation, said,"Proceed ”.

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



He felt so warm and familiar, sonant and comforting ; I felt his thighs gripping the outside of my legs as I pressed on and I began to feel 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 River, 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 severeness of his prostate. His entire consistency began to shake.

It was all too practically for me ; my own cum was rising now and my action became necessarily more excited, as I pushed faster, back and Forth River, in and out, until - we each let out our gasp in coincidental relief, as we both came in two shattering climax, each reinforcing the other, as my cum seemed to explode from inside my balls and down my shaft, into his young willingness, to be met by pounding of ecstasy, as his own cum erupted from his prostate, soaking the inside of his kilt in pools of gabardine spooge.

Amidst our mutual groan and moan, I collapsed on top of him, my organ slipping from his hole, as his body relaxed under me. As I kissed the rear of his neck, his manus found mine aside the pillow and he grasped them, gripping them in loving thanks. We both fell into deep and satisfying sleep ; the quietus of the innocent ? Perhaps.

When I awoke the succeeding morning, there was no signal of him ; his boots and air-sleeve, the X-Men tee-shirt, Arran sweater and the kilt, were all gone."Just like net time,"I cursed to myself.

I showered, dressed and went down to breakfast. After last night's exertions, I was ravenous and"Mrs Danvers"served me a total cooked breakfast in her characteristically quiet and effective style. 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.



cerebration that Deryk might work up again, I hung around for a spell near the hotel but eventually gave up and decided to drive on up to the"Old Man of Storr"car Mungo Park, as per my design. 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 Mrs. Henry Wood and on to the area known as"The Sanctuary ”, where a act of bouldery volcanic plugs 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 mountain of mental picture in the daybreak light but the weather deteriorated towards midday, so I went back to the hotel for a late lunch.

However, the dining room wasn't subject 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 street corner eating my lunch, three young guys came in and sat at the bar. They were some of the same guy wire I had seen the night before and, as last night, they were joking and sniggering about something. As I looked in their commission, I noticed one of them was proudly showing the others a medallion of some sorting and my stomach suddenly turned over when I realised what it was. It was Deryk's Celtic talisman ! I was now occupy and I desperately tried to take heed what they were saying. Unlike shoemaker's last night, they were talking in English ; not that it did me much good because their dialects were so unassailable that I still couldn't pinch much - except the Christian Bible"Storr ”. Now I really was apprehensive and I resolved to go out to obtain the path Deryk had said he was intending to espouse 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 route some way S of the car common and leading up from the road. By now though, fourth dimension was getting on and the weather was already starting to close-in. It was Second Earl Grey and frigidity and the first situation of rain were falling. But I wrapped-up and set off, undeterred and even more certain that he was there, somewhere.



I traced the route, noting the landmark from the de***********ion he had given me the Night before and scanning the rocks and bracken for any sign or clue of his having been there. The track passed close by a small tarn or pond fed by hill water from the ridge and there were the clay of an old b or croft nearby. I was about to earn the roundabout way to investigate when I spotted something in the pasture brake ; leather ; a leather strap ; then the unmistakable figure of a leather sporran. It was his ! There was a lowly stream just a few chiliad away and as I cast my eyes up and down the gulley, I spotted the unmistakable conformation of a kilt, now soaking wet and cruddy dirty, lying in the mud. But there was no sign of Deryk.

Stepping down into the current, my pump 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 detect. He was a wretched visual sense ; lying there in the shallow, rocky flow, his dead body last night tanned and substantial was now grey, shriveled and lost. As I bent down to touch his battered and bruised body, I feared the uncollectible. I felt his neck ; there was a pulsation from his carotid arteria - a feint one but a heart rate at least. He stirred at my touch.

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

He raised his chief and turned, but as he tried to get up, I realised that his body was covered with large wale and bruises, as if he had been kicked repeatedly, and his face was puffy with bruises, baseball swing and Graz. 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 origin on his beautiful but beaten side.

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

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

By now the weather condition was getting tempestuous ; the wind had picked up and the insensate pelting was starting to descend 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 punic in the shadow, even if we tried. God knows where his boots were - stolen I guess, along with his talisman and the subject of his sporran. I checked my nomadic phone to address for assist but just when I needed it most, there was no signal. I decided the only thing to do was to seek some kind of shelter and I remembered the ruined croft a few hundred railyard away, so with some difficulty, I managed to get Deryk to his feet and we staggered out of the ditch and across the bracken, eventually to discover that part of the ruining was still a small roofed structure with a half-broken b threshold on the former side of meat. As we staggered inside, we were greeted by the passion and smell 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 straw in the corner.

There was little else I could do in the dark, with no first off 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 up and dry in our shelter, albeit rather smelly ! I had a bottle of water system which I made him sip and I also had some chocolate in my pocket - always a good source of energy and nutriment, so I gave him that to eat. His jaw was aching from his bruising but at least it wasn't broken.



The only early redress for pic in these circumstances is shared bodily fondness, so I improvised a bed from the stubble, 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 straw beside us. Now both completely naked, I hugged him closely against my quick body, spooning him from behind in the foetal military position and pulling the coat over the top of us. Deryk was shivering at first of all but after a little spell, the warmth began to build up under the coat and he settled into a docile sleep.

As the warmth built up, I started to get horny with my weaponry around him and my cock nestled in the fissure below his behind. I was thinking about last Nox and shooting my load into his inner willingness for the first meter. I'm ashamed to say that, even in this here and now of crisis, my juice were flowing again and my erection was slipping rather easily into the go 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 sympathise them fully at the time - and now I had a literal Deryk in the safety of my arms again and I wanted him. In fact, I wanted him so much that with just the slightest movement between his buns, I felt my sexual climax building uncontrollably. region of me didn't want it this way ; I didn't think it was"right"while Deryk was in such a weakened province. But I didn't enter him though ; I couldn't - I shouldn't - do that ; not here, not now. Even so, my sexual 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 crack of his tooshie and I cradled his body before me, hugging him and kissing the backrest of his neck opening. At utmost I fell asleep.

The weather must receive cleared during the Nox because I awoke to a dig of moonlight through the gap in the old b room access. And against this illuminate, I saw a shadow, the schema at least, of Deryk, on his knees astride my body.



"You seem to have 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 shoulder joint, hoisting me off our bed of straw.

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

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

"It's the only way you're gon na get it, chum,"he barked, as he pulled back and jam hard into me again. This time, I felt his Ball slap my backside. Suddenly, there was no need for shared bodily warmth, as I was shedding fret by the bucket-load !

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

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

In between the pain of his thrusting, which I was beginning to get accustomed to, I was aware of the similarities with what happened last meter he re-appeared. The Lapplander sharing of tenderness and warmth, the same rapid rejuvenation, the luminousness of the moon and now this almost animal version of Deryk.

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

He rammed into me one final time and came inside me, as he let out a sort of howl of relievo and I felt his fluids pumping into my insides, throb after throb after throbbing, before he collapsed on top of me on the pale yellow, his erect reed organ still buried inside me. The pressure of his hard young body against my tum now found my own erect cock, oozing pre-cum juice again and desperate to be relieved. With my arms around him, my handwriting clutched the buttock of his bum and pulled him to me. Just as last night, that petty press and blue-blooded move was all it took to bring on my own coming, and as my insides clenched and my vision seemed to blear in the moment of shattering orgasm, I felt his softening organ slip out of my hole just as my cum flare-up from my tool, filling the place between our two physical structure and running down the sides of my body into the stubble. Shattered, I fell asleep again, this meter with Deryk lying on top of me.

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

"Bugger ! Just like end time,"I swore out cheap 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 morning 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 lights of an ambulance, two law cars and a large gang of citizenry. As I got out of the car, I expected to be the marrow of everyone's attending, having been"missing"all night, but the assembled crew was all gathered around a young man with a mantle over his articulatio humeri, sitting on the wall and being attended to by the paramedic and being questioned by the Police. I recognized the new 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 early sunup 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 culprit of this fierceness was the main talking-point ; it seems that their attacker was a"vicious beast with inhuman strength and claws to match ”. Certainly, the youthful man in the cover looked as if he had been heavily beaten and scratched. His wearing apparel, or what remained of them, were torn and dirty and one incline of his nerve bore patched injury of dried blood. In fact, he was a muss - and he was the one who hadn't been taken to hospital !

But no-one was matter to in me ; the Police spoke to me briefly but only to establish that I hadn't seen anything. I told them the truth - or at least, component of it. I had gone up to the"Old Man"late yesterday but because of the weather, I had spent the night in the car, in the car park. Given that I clearly had neither the chassis nor the build necessary to best three Highland young in the manner that had clearly taken place, they believed me. I went up to my elbow room to tamp 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 '' tale, perhaps you 'd wish to advise how I should develop him - constructive input, please !