Author's note: As with any story in several chapters, it will help you follow this if you have read Chapters 1-3. I hope you will find it worth the reading.
1.
Sandy turned restlessly, glanced at his alarm. Six-thirty. He buried his head under the bedclothes and tried to get back to sleep, but he knew as he did so that it wasn't going to work. Red's holiday proposal was churning through his brain and he couldn't switch it off. There was no reason in principle why he shouldn't go with her. She had booked him for another two days tour-guiding, then she had planned to hire a car and tour herself.
He had clients booked for three days after that; a couple of middle-aged American women. His dairy was thereafter flexible until Red's flight back to Toronto. He had a few things to work on, but if he decided to go with Red, he could take his laptop and deal with his business whilst they were on holiday.
His engagement the previous evening had gone smoothly. It had been a dinner with his agent and publisher, to discuss the new book he was near to completing. This was a pretty arcane piece of literary history, as his few previous publications had been; in this case a reappraisal of the Scots novelist Neil Gunn. It had taken him two years so far, and would of course never be a big-selling volume. But he was pleased with it; and so, more importantly, were his agent and publisher. It was high time Gunn got his place back in the literary firmament, and Sandy hoped his book would help that rehabilitation along. The long-dead man deserved it, he was an amazing writer.
Sandy really relished the opportunity of Red's company for another two weeks or so. Too much, that was the problem. She wasn't just a casual fuck for him, whatever he might be for her. She was getting under his skin and he knew it could never work out. He knew himself well enough to understand he was heading for a hard fall.
On the other hand, he reasoned, she was already under his skin. He couldn't undo that. To turn down her holiday proposal would just be a bit of harsh self-denial. He liked her, loved her vivacious company. And her delicious sex. So why not go with her? He wasn't rich, but he could afford to take an unplanned break. And she was obviously keen for him to be with her.
He touched his cock. He resisted the temptation to masturbate: he knew that whatever they did today – they had made no firm plans – they would have sex somewhere. He was pushing sixty and didn't have the sexual stamina he'd once enjoyed. And he most certainly didn't want to disappoint her.
So, smiling, he got out of bed and peeked through the curtains. It looked like another lovely day. He showered, dressed, and made a pot of Darjeeling. He'd do a bit of work for an hour or so, picking up on a couple of points that had arisen over dinner last night. Then think about a programme for the day with Red, whilst he made breakfast.
He met Red at Ma Docherty's at nine sharp and they hugged warmly on the doorstep. So tourguide, what delights have you lined up for me today? she asked, gently biting his earlobe.
Mm, he squirmed: It's a gorgeous morning and the forecast's good. Another day in the country maybe? I packed a picnic, just in case. He ushered her to the driver's door. If you're OK driving, madam?
Yeah, I'm getting the feel of it, that's fine, and she turned to him as he climbed in. He melted under her smile. Red, you just have no idea what you do to me, he murmured, leaning to kiss her. Now, I thought we might head northwest a bit, have a look at Loch Lomond, and maybe a mansion by Charles Rennie Mackintosh. How does that sound lassie?
She hugged him and licked his throat: Sounds great Sandy. But I have something terrible to tell you...
His face clouded: What darling? The word was out before he realised it. Shit, he hadn't intended to use that endearment.
She kissed him softly and fingered his cock through the kilt: I'm real horny today, goof. Horny for you. And I expect you to deal with it sometime soon. Client's instructions!
He returned her kiss, fingers stroking her breast: I think I can deal with that OK; lass. So let's get moving, I can't do it here. Unless you want to visit my flat first?
Mmm, tempting...But hey! It's a lovely morning, let's go al fresco again, huh?
As she drove, they gave each other edited versions of their adventures the previous evening. Presently they were out of the city and leaving leafy suburbs behind, moving up into rolling sheep-clad hills As the car neared a wooded summit Sandy said: There's a viewpoint here Red: the Queen's View. Bear left into the carpark.
Once she parked she could concentrate on the stunning view ahead: rolling moorland down to an island-studded lake (loch! she reminded herself), with high mountains around and beyond. At this time on a weekday morning, no other cars were parked here.
Hey Sandy, that's some view!
It's called Queen's View because allegedly it was a favourite of Queen Victoria, he said. That's Loch Lomond down there, and the start of the Highlands beyond. Fancy a wee walk? He glanced at her shoes. Today she was wearing jeans, a t-shirt, and trainers.
Uh, yeah. Where're we going? He pointed to where a path led up a gentle hillside to their left: Just up to that wee summit to get a better view, he said: Are you game? It's only half-a-mile. Better grab your jacket, it might get windy.
Hey, old guy, you sure you can make it? He slapped her knee lightly: I'm at least as fit as you are girl, now come on! They climbed a stile over a stone dyke and wandered up the path. Scots bluebells studded the lower reaches of the path.
He put his arm companionably round her waist. Course I do want you to get a better view from up there, he said, but I have an ulterior motive. He pulled her to him for a kiss, hands firmly on her arse. His fingers massaged her muscles.
As their lips parted she asked innocently: Oh Sandy! An ulterior motive? Now what could that be honey? He kissed her again, with uncharacteristic aggression, and bit her lobe not-so-gently.
I have something to tell you Red. When we get to the right spot. Now, let's get up this brae, and he took her hand and strode up quickly. She almost fell as he pulled, but caught her balance and moved fast till she was leading him. Turned and blocked his way, looked coyly at him from under her eyebrows: Have you decided if we're going to have a holiday together Sandy?
He put his hand under her shirt and pinched her left nipple: You'll find out in due course Red. The other hand went to her jean-clad groin, roughly. This was a new Sandy, or at least one she hadn't seen before. Now, he growled, come on. I need to fuck you. Soon.
A few minutes later they breasted the summit. He waited whilst she took photos. Now girl, we're going down here, and he pulled her off the path, down a rough heather-strewn slope, into a wee valley. He was clearly going somewhere in particular and she followed, getting aroused now.
She knew what this was about. The twig-like heather scratched her through her jeans and he pointed as a big rabbit rose before them, a strangely-coloured one. It louped lazily off out of sight. Mountain hare, he turned and said: Just moving from winter white coat to summer blue. They're rare this far south, we're lucky to have seen it.
He moved behind an outcrop of rock and she followed. A patch of sunlit grass lay beside a stream. It was so sheltered that not a leaf stirred. She was sweating from the walk and felt the sun on her face.
