During a short-circuit summer breakout, I was spending a calendar week driving around the west of Scotland and had booked a couplet of Nox on the islet of Skye. For years considered a striking goal with romantic partial tone, present of course you don't so much go"over the sea to Skye"as you go"over the bridge"to it - paying a muscular toll for the privilege - and this does tend to diminish the good sense of romantic isolation. Nevertheless, the scenery when you get there is just as amorous and as spectacular as it ever was.

I had booked into a small private guest-house hotel somewhat off the perplex track, partly for the summate romance of its remoteness but also for its fix in the compass north of the island, not far from the"Old Man of Storr ”, a conspicuously priapic granite outcrop some 535m senior high school. Just like so many passing holidaymaker, I had seen it from a distance but never up close and I thought that the salubrious trek up to it from the road might be rewarding. That was my program for tomorrow anyway.

I checked-in betimes in the evening and the char 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 belittled dining elbow room. As I entered, I was immediately aware of a group of about 6 guy rope at the little bar at the end of the room ; they were the only when others in the way and as I walked in, they suddenly stopped talking and, after a momentary interruption to assess the interloper, they restarted their conversation - but in Gaelic. I felt very much the outsider and as I sat alone at my table in the window, the adult female of the house took on a sorting of"Mrs Danvers"persona 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 Lapplander meter, rather grim and somewhat disallow. It was all rather eerie and I ate my wholesome Scottish farmhouse dinner alone and in an ill-chosen silence, while the local anaesthetic continued their conversation in murmurs of Gaelic, interrupted by the occasional burst of laughter and a coup d'oeil in my direction - which just made me feel even more uncomfortable.

Afterwards, I retired to the ease of the lounge, after first ordering a practiced 20 year-old malt liquor whiskey from the bar - making sure that I did not reach the locals earth for offence by adulterating it with anything like ice, even though I would have preferred it that way ! Slumped in a deep arm-chair by the fire, filled with my meal and warmed by the scotch, I began to feel mellowly and rather sleepy.

As I dozed, I became witting of the figure of a kilted untried man half-sitting on the arm of the sofa next to me. My oculus travelled upwards over his young, slightly hairy legs and tanned bare knees. He was wearing typical Highland hiking clothes : walking boots, thick woolly windsock and an appropriate Skye Tartan kilt, complete with a rather worn leather sporran which now lay in his lap. He had on a chunky Arran jumper and he had a declamatory tumbler in his hands with about half-an-inch of what looked like Scotch in the bed. He raised the deoxyephedrine to his back talk. It was Deryk - or rather, the somewhat elusive, occult and handsome young guy I had met calendar month before in London and who seemed to have assumed the office of my former fantasy younger brother from childhood.



"Hello,"he said, looking directly into my eyes with his piercing gaze. Then with that winning crooked grin of his he continued,"sword lily to see we plowshare the Lapp tastes."

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

His eyes were recessed beneath soft bootleg eye-brows and against the fire glow they seemed almost shining, while the blues and greens of his plaid kilt seemed to mull in their rich down in the mouth colour. Just as when I saw him months ago, he had the Saame short, crinkled blackness fuzz which flopped boyishly forward over his brow and he had a balmy seventh cranial nerve skin color that included a carefully cultivated shadow-beard. He had lovely, kissable lips ; a piddling weather-worn but plump and tasting slightly salty, I recalled, as I gazed back at him.



Of track, years ago when I was pre-adolescent, he had been my younger buddy and was always getting into trouble and scrape from which I had to deliver him ; rescues which usually, and significantly as it turned out, involved getting his clothes off - as well as various early naughtinesses of childhood. In those daytime, he would ingest been just a few long time 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 form to him ! However, since the only brother I had known was the one of my vernal and fertile imagery, the secret of who this guy really was still eluded me. After our last encounter in London a few month ago, he had disappeared again, leaving me none the wiser ; his reappearance now would, you might cerebrate, have provoked a cryptical investigation on my region 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 last sentence, my brain was live to the hypothesis the night might have 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 glass of scotch. The warmness of the malt ambrosia seemed to perk through my body, as I gazed back into his racy syndicate of toothsome 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 pretend embarrassment.

"Hmm - ripe not to really,"he affirmed, promptly changing the theme."fantasy slipping outside for a hint of fresh air ? It's quite hot in here by the fire and it's a lovely vindicated Night out."

I was tempted to clear a input along the billet of his feeling tank if I were to disinvest him of his Arran sweater and gruelling kilt but I thought the serious of it - for now at least. Instead, I simply nodded and got up to watch him, as the pleats of his kilt swayed seductively from side to side and he headed for the door.

He was right ; it was a beautifully unclutter, romantic Night as we stood in the frigid Nox air, gazing up at the stars and pointing-out to each other the constellation and their major maven ; the unmistakable"W"of Cassiopeia senior high school in the nor'-east ; the brightness of Arcturus in the west and above us, Deneb, Vega and Altair, the stars of the"summer trilateral"; and of track, the"Dipper ”, Ursa Major, the"Great Bear"and its arrow to the Pole Star, Polaris. He seemed to recognize just as many of them as I did, and I was impressed by his noesis and sake ; it made me feel even closer to him. A good moon glowed low in the sky from behind a few wisps of reduce 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 equivocal reference to the"Old Man of Storr"but I spoiled his attempt to tease apart me as I went on to tell him of my own plans. He nodded his approval and thought for a moment.

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

He went on to describe the rather hazardous path they had told him to engage from the road instead of following the established tourer itinerary 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 to the full Sun Myung Moon bathed the surrounding broom and the distant glen in a soft bluish sparkle, while our breather made little cloud of vapour against the night air. A shooting star tore across the sky and disappeared behind the hill above the piffling hotel and I sighed and shivered in the cold. My Scotch was now gone and I was only wearing a cotton wool 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 implements of war inside his sweater to hug his warm consistency, clad underneath only in a tee-shirt. Once again, I was enveloped in his masculine fragrance which, enhanced by his pernicious use of a conversant musky Koln, seemed to enfold me in the guard of a warm cover. My face found a home against the soft ease of his shoulder.

"I missed you,"I whispered.

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

He went on ahead up the stairs and I followed behind, mesmerized by the tantalizing delicacy of his kilted rear. His strong hairy legs clad in chunky woollen air-sleeve disappeared into that stranger part beyond the swaying pleat of his Skye Tartan and I couldn't help wondering if it was true - you know - what they say……..

He waited on the landing for me to open my threshold and invite him in but once inside, by the light of the Sun Myung Moon from the window, we finally embraced with a true heat of hungriness. At last, we kissed, long and lustfully, probing with our tongues and tasting the forbidden fruit of brotherly love. His lips were wax and moist, slightly salty to the taste ; the stubble of his shadow-beard felt slightly rugged and I inhaled the deep, masculinity of his torso as we remained locked in a remorseless grip.

We surfaced for air but standing in the moonlight, we were overtaken again by our luxuria and we began frantically pulling off each others dress. He unbuckled his sporran and it dropped to the floor as I pulled his jumper off, revealing the Sami"X-Men"tee-shirt he had worn the stopping point meter we met -"wolverine"it show. My shirt was off adjacent, then our thrill and sock, before we fell into another embracement, kissing and fondling, ventilation and panting. He sank his lips into my neck and I gasped in ecstasy, as his stalk lightly scratched at my sensitive bare pelt and he began licking and biting my ear, his tender breath sending tingles up and down my spine.

He dropped to his knees before me, kissing the Edward White, hairless skin of my stomach and pressing his face into my crotch. Gently, he unbuttoned my jeans and lowered them to the flooring ; and then his face buried itself in my seawall. My organ was bursting from my Cin2 briefs by this point, oozing pre-cum juice into the soft Theodore Harold 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 arms to pull off his tee-shirt, revealing his well developed breast, peppered with soft hairsbreadth, in the centre of which hung on a leather necklace, a fall bronze medallion in the shape 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 cold, unknown but in some way fascinating.

We returned to our embracement, kissing and hugging ; my men now following the shape of his hairless back, his spine and then at death, his bum, still covered by his kilt. Through the heavy woolen stuff, I massaged the cheeks of his tush, feeling their plump beat shape and clutching at the pleats of the rachis 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 front, his body now lying prone before me, clad only in his Skye tartan kilt. I climbed onto the bed between his bare legs.

seeking to reveal but also wishing to keep up the act of discovery, I ran my hands up the back of his hairy ramification, slowly under his kilt, higher and high-pitched inside the hush-hush sanctuary until I felt his hairless buttocks. I could baulk no longer ; I slid back down the bed and buried my header under his kilt, diving into his cleft, kissing and tonguing his go and tasting the sweaty scent of this, the most common soldier area of his youth torso. I spread his legs, to discover his ball and set up cock, 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 flier motion, before taking it fully into my rima oris, as my olfactory organ pressed into his hairless lump - did he knock off his orchis ? 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, Mark,"he groaned,"You know you want to ……. please."

I pulled the pillows down under the front of his kilt, lifting his rear. Then, gently folding back the pleats of his Skye Tartan, I exposed his beautiful, plump, rhythm cheeks to the soft 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 finger's breadth 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 feast thighs and exposed rear, and surrounded by the folds of his kilt, like a huge blue-green prime, I pressed my wet and slippery tool against its small objective at the core. Whether or not I was de-flowering the young person of my younger brother, I could not have sex but against his initial electric resistance, I pushed, gently at first and then more firmly, until my cock-head dislocate inside the first bedchamber. His sharp-worded inhalation of breath, followed by a slight whimpering auditory sensation, said,"Proceed ”.

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



He felt so tender and familiar, subdued and comforting ; I felt his thighs gripping the outside of my legs as I pressed on and I began to find his own grip from within his bowels. I established a slow, 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 screwing ! Oh God ! Mark,"he gasped."I'm gon na cum like this,"he groaned in ecstasy. I could finger his interior clenching me, as I kept pushing across the tumesce insensibility of his prostate gland. His total body began to shake.

It was all too a good deal for me ; my own cum was rising now and my action became necessarily more mad, as I pushed faster, back and Forth, in and out, until - we each let out our gasps in coincidental relievo, as we both came in two shattering climax, each reinforcing the other, as my cum seemed to set off from inside my balls and down my gibe, 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 white spooge.

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

When I awoke the next break of the day, there was no sign of him ; his boots and air-sleeve, the X-Men tee-shirt, Arran sweater and the kilt, were all gone."Just like net clock 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 full cooked breakfast in her characteristically quiet and efficient fashion. 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 blockade myself, I said nothing.



Thinking that Deryk might turn up again, I hung around for a patch near the hotel but eventually gave up and decided to drive on up to the"Old Man of Storr"car park, as per my architectural 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 Grant Wood and on to the area known as"The Sanctuary ”, where a issue of rocky volcanic fire hydrant stand majestically and somewhat mystically in the almost lunar landscape."The Old Man of Storr"is the vainglorious and most impressive of them all. I had been taking quite a little of pictures in the sunrise luminosity but the weather deteriorated towards noonday, so I went back to the hotel for a previous lunch.

However, the dining way wasn't open up and"Mrs Danvers"wasn't around but an quondam guy was behind the bar - probably"Mr Danvers"- and he served me a Scotch whiskey and a micro-waved pastie with rather less finesse than his forbidding wife ! While I sat with my drink in the corner eating my dejeuner, three young guy cable came in and sat at the bar. They were some of the Same guys I had seen the Nox before and, as last dark, they were joking and sniggering about something. As I looked in their guidance, 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 amulet ! I was now worried and I desperately tried to hear what they were saying. Unlike last night, they were talking in side ; not that it did me much good because their dialects were so strong that I still couldn't collar practically - 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 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 path some way south of the car parking area and leading up from the road. By now though, time 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 certain that he was there, somewhere.



I traced the way of life, noting the turning point from the de***********ion he had given me the night before and scanning the rock and roll and bracken for any polarity or hint of his having been there. The path passed secretive by a small tarn or pond fed by hill water from the ridge and there were the cadaver of an old barn or croft nearby. I was about to make the detour to enquire when I spotted something in the brake ; leather ; a leather strap ; then the manifest anatomy 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 patent shape of a kilt, now soaking wet and smutty dirty, lying in the mud. But there was no star sign of Deryk.

Stepping down into the watercourse, my affectionateness sank into the pit of my stomach as I saw him, lying fount down in the mud, completely naked except for his socks and his X-Men tee shirt. I was shivering with fright now, at what I might be about to describe. He was a poor sight ; lying there in the shoal, rocky watercourse, his torso last night tanned and strong was now grey, shriveled and helpless. As I bent down to touch his battered and bruised dead body, I feared the worst. I felt his neck opening ; there was a heart rate from his carotid arteria - a feint one but a pulse at to the lowest degree. He stirred at my touch.

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

He raised his headway 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, 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 add up for me,"he quietly sobbed,"just like when we were kids."Tears began to jumble with mud and blood on his beautiful but beaten face.

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

"Those bastards in the bar concluding night,"he muttered, gritting his tooth, as if gathering strength,"I should own known better. They fucked me all roadstead, the cocksucker. But at least you're here now."

By now the conditions was getting tempestuous ; the wind had picked up and the coldness rain was starting to come down quite heavily. And it was getting dark. I looked at my lookout man and realised that, in his circumstance, we would never get back to the car before nightfall and this terrain would be treacherous in the dark, even if we tried. God knows where his boots were - stolen I guess, along with his talisman and the cognitive content of his sporran. I checked my Mobile phone to call in for help but just when I needed it most, there was no signaling. I decided the only affair to do was to attempt some sort of protection and I remembered the ruined croft a few hundred thousand 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 ruin was still a small roofed structure with a half-broken barn room access on the early English. As we staggered inside, we were greeted by the warmth and scent of what had once been an brute shelter but which now took on a new role, as a shelter for two pal. We collapsed into the straw in the corner.

There was footling else I could do in the wickedness, with no first aid kit. What small clothing we had on was now soaking wet and we had only my coating to cover us both but at least it was warmly and dry in our shelter, albeit rather smelly ! I had a bottle of body of water which I made him sip and I also had some hot chocolate in my pocket - always a practiced source 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 former redress for exposure in these circumstances is shared bodily warmth, so I improvised a bed from the wheat, peeled off his wet X-men tee-shirt and his wet air-sleeve 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 body, spooning him from behind in the foetal stead and pulling the coat over the top of us. Deryk was shivering at maiden but after a lilliputian piece, the warmth began to build up under the coat and he settled into a easy sleep.

As the heat built up, I started to get horny with my arms around him and my turncock nestled in the fissure below his behind. I was thinking about go night and shooting my loading into his inner willingness for the first fourth dimension. I'm ashamed to say that, even in this moment of crisis, my juices were flowing again and my erection was slipping rather easily into the crack between his buttocks. This bit was what all my phantasy of childhood had been leading up to - although I was too untested or naïve to empathise them fully at the sentence - and now I had a real Deryk in the refuge of my weapons system again and I wanted him. In fact, I wanted him so much that with just the thin movement between his derriere, I felt my orgasm building uncontrollably. Part of me didn't want it this way ; I didn't think it was"right"while Deryk was in such a weakened state. But I didn't enter him though ; I couldn't - I shouldn't - do that ; not here, not now. Even so, my coming was still rising in my balls until, inevitably, I knew the battle was lost. My cum rose mercilessly through my loins and erupted from my hard-on in a number of gentle throbbing, as my fluids filled the gap of his buttock and I cradled his body before me, hugging him and kissing the back of his neck. At last I fell asleep.

The weather must have cleared during the night because I awoke to a shaft of Moon through the gap in the old barn door. And against this light, I saw a shadow, the outline at least, of Deryk, on his knee joint astride my body.



"You seem to let 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 routine,"and he just grabbed my leg and make my feet above his shoulders, hoisting me off our bed of straw.

Before I knew it, I felt the fellow slipperiness of his vertical harmonium directly against my hollow and with one thrust and a noncompliant grunt, he rammed into me, all the way.

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

"It's the but way you're gon na get it, chum,"he barked, as he pulled back and rammed hard into me again. This sentence, I felt his orb slap my buns. Suddenly, there was no need for shared bodily warmth, as I was shedding sweat by the bucket-load !

"roll in the hay 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 thrust, which I was beginning to get accustomed to, I was aware of the similarities with what happened last time he re-appeared. The same sharing of tenderness and warmness, the same rapid greening, the light of the moon and now this almost animal version of Deryk.

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

He rammed into me one final time and came inside me, as he let out a sort of howl of relief and I felt his fluids pumping into my insides, throbbing after throb after pounding, before he collapsed on top of me on the straw, his erect organ still buried inside me. The press of his stiff young eubstance against my stomach now found my own erect peter, oozing pre-cum juice again and desperate to be relieved. With my sleeve around him, my hands clutched the brass of his bum and pulled him to me. Just as last night, that little insistence and gentle movement was all it took to bring on my own climax, and as my insides clenched and my vision seemed to blur in the moment of shattering climax, I felt his softening organ slip out of my golf hole just as my cum flare-up from my tool, filling the spaces between our two bodies and running down the side of my body into the stalk. Shattered, I fell asleep again, this time with Deryk lying on top of me.

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

"sodomist ! Just like live clip,"I swore out brassy to myself.

I looked at my watch. It was 9.30 already. My clothes were now dry, so I quickly put them on and set off back down the lead to the car which, thankfully, was still parked where I had left it. In the cool morning light, I drove back to the hotel, arriving about 11.00am. However, what greeted me made me suddenly feel quite empty-bellied and cold.

As I pulled into the lane, I saw the flashing twinkle of an ambulance, two police cars and a large bunch of people. As I got out of the car, I expected to be the centre of everyone's attending, having been"missing"all night, but the piece crowd was all gathered around a Young man with a mantle over his berm, sitting on the wall and being attended to by the paramedical and being questioned by the police. I recognized the young man from the bar of the hotel yesterday and the Nox before. As I listened to what was going on, I discovered that the Lester Willis Young man and two of his ally had been out for an early morning base on balls on the moor not far from the hotel when they had been viciously attacked. His two admirer 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 attacker was a"vicious brute with insensate enduringness and claws to agree ”. Certainly, the young man in the blanket looked as if he had been heavily beaten and scratched. His wearing apparel, or what remained of them, were torn and filthy and one side of his face bore patched injury of dried lineage. In fact, he was a mess - and he was the one who hadn't been taken to hospital !

But no-one was concerned 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, piece 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 physique nor the build essential to best three upland youths in the fashion that had clearly taken place, they believed me. I went up to my way to compact my bags. It was time to locomote on.

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

( PS ) If anyone out there likes my `` Deryk '' storey, perhaps you 'd like to indicate how I should recrudesce him - constructive gossip, please !