It was the end of the spring term again. It had been a grueling, dull semester, filled with the usual academic drama. I looked forward to my two-week trip to Scotland at the end of May. By the time I reached Scotland, I'd joined Jordan and Taylor for three spa nights at the gym. Each one was an incredible experience. Those boys really know how to have a good time. Now every time I arrive at the gym and hear Jordan say, "Good afternoon, Mr. Ferguson," my dick jumps in my shorts.
I was really intrigued by the beautiful men in Scotland. Any time I saw one in a kilt, I couldn't stop staring. But, being rather shy, and without Jordan and Taylor there to encourage me, I hadn't had any sexual encounters with a Scot. Until day five. I was hiking around a medium-sized loch in the highlands.
It was a beautiful day. A nice 64 degrees, sunny. I'd only been on the trail about half an hour, when I rounded a bend and came upon the small loch. As I approached, I could see through the gorse that there was someone up ahead of me, near the water's edge. I inched closer as quietly as I could. I didn't want to startle whoever it was. Whoever it was turned out to be one of the most gorgeous men I've ever laid eyes on.
I stood still, hidden by the scrub and a large boulder by the loch. This guy had sat his backpack down on the rocky shore and was beginning to undress. He pulled off his shirt revealing muscular pecs covered with a mat of dark fur. He sat and untied his boots, kicked them off and pulled off his socks. He stood about 6'3", was nicely proportioned with muscular arms and a flat stomach. He was handsome too. Dark wavy auburn hair, a strong chin, face covered in 2-day stubble. He unbuckled his belt, slid down his zipper, and slid his pants off, revealing a pair of well-formed hairy thighs and nice butt. Obviously, a man who spent a lot of time hiking.
As I stood there admiring him, he turned around to face me, stretched again, and gazed skyward, surveying the landscape. Then he reached down and started working the massive uncut cock, nestled in a thick dark bush. He continuously stretched his foreskin out over the tip of his cock, then pulled it back to reveal the large purple knob of his cockhead. I watched his cock lengthen and thicken until it pointed skyward. He stood there proudly, hands on his hips, smiling and enjoying the feel of the slight breeze blowing through the hair on his chest and his legs.
Making sure no one else was around, I pulled out my own semi-hard cock and began jacking. Still out of my stripper's view, I watched as he plunged into the loch. He resurfaced about twenty feet from the shore and shook the water from his face and hair. He stood in shoulder deep water, still smiling, then began swimming in a huge arc, turned and swam back toward the shore. He walked out of the loch dripping, rivulets of water darkening the hair on his chest and legs. He picked up his shirt and began toweling off with it.
Not wanting to be discovered, I stuffed my stiffy back in my pants and headed back onto the trail. I was feeling lucky to have witnessed the skinny-dipping hiker, wishing I had the courage to step up and introduce myself. Two hours later, I was sipping coffee in café in the village near the loch. When who walked in? My naked hiker. He came into the café, stood for a moment searching the room for a table, then plopped himself down at a table next to mine. We caught each other's eye and exchanged greetings.
"Wonderful day," he said.
"Yes, absolutely!" I stammered.
"You visiting?" he asked.
"Yes," I answered, "spending a couple of weeks, getting in some hiking."
"You picked a great spot," he answered. He extended his hand, "My name's Magnus," he said.
"I'm Anthony," I replied, "Anthony Ferguson." As we shook hands, he smiled at me and I locked onto his gorgeous green eyes. I thought I saw him wink at me. We chit-chatted until we both had finished our coffee and settled our bills.
Exiting the café back onto the street, Magnus turned to me and said, "Listen, if you have some free time, I have a cottage just up the road here. I'd be glad to show you maps I have of trails in the area."
"Sure," I stammered. I had nowhere else to be and my B&B was nearby.
We arrived at Magnus's cottage in short time. It was late afternoon and a chill had settled in.
"Please, make yourself at home," Magnus said. He began removing his hiking boots and I followed his example. I took a seat in a well-worn but comfortable chair and Magnus began building a fire. We chatted about travel and hiking. He told me he was a freelance mountain and trail guide. Spent his time showing locals and tourists the hidden treasures of the highlands. As he spoke about his work, I thought, "yeah, you're one of the hidden treasures of the highlands." I was enthralled by his rugged masculinity coupled with his sweet, friendly nature.
Magnus got up, poured two whiskeys, handed me one. I sipped as he threw his back in one gulp and poured another. The fire was warming the cottage nicely and I was feeling safe and comfortable. A short time later, there was a knock at the door.
