Date: Sun, 21 Nov 1999 18:11:53 PST
From:  <jamiescott18@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Laird's Son - Part Three

Author's note: this is part three of a love story between two teenage
Scottish boys. Erotic fiction is brand new to me and I hope that this is
okay. The boys in this story have unprotected sex. Please do not pull me up
on that - this is fiction.
     Many thanks to everyone who has e-mailed me with encouragement, and
special thanks to "Joe Camp" who has given freely of his time and of his
extensive knowledge of the genre. I only wish that I were a faster learner.

Note: a tied cottage is one that is supplied by an employer free of
charge. The employee has no rights of tenure after employment ceases;
neither do the family of a deceased employee. This is still common in
certain parts of Scotland.

Warning: this story contains scenes of graphic teenaged sex.

THE LAIRD'S SON
Part Three

     Michael woke feeling as if he hadn't slept at all. He was alone in the
bed and he panicked until he noticed Jamie's clothes were still there. He
eased out of bed and went out onto the battlements. It was still very early
in the morning and the countryside was wreathed in a ground mist, the hills
in the distance, a hazy purple against the bright horizon.
     Jamie was standing looking out and didn't seem to notice that Michael
was there. But Michael knew he did, he also knew that there was something
very wrong. He had been expecting Jamie to kick back against their fast
developing closeness, but seeing the evidence in Jamie's tense, erect
posture still came as a shock.
     Michael stood shivering in the cold morning air and waited. He
wondered if Jamie had slept at all, or had simply feigned sleep.
     "What do you see when you stand here?" Jamie asked softly.
     "The same as you - Scotland."
     Jamie turned and his eyes were full of contempt. "I doubt it."
     "Because I'm the son of a Laird? Because he's supposed to own all of
that?" He gestured. "No one can own it. It belongs to itself."
     "He owns people. He dictates their lives, just as surely as his
forefathers did - YOUR forefathers did." He shook his head. "What the fuck
am I doing here with you? I despise you. I despise everything you stand
for. Your father used to fuck my mother when I was in the next room. She
married a man she didn't love to stop it happening. And the bastard used to
doff his cap and leave the house when your father came visiting." His eyes
burned. "He came for me when I was thirteen."
     "No!" Michael cried out in agony.
     "You're fucking right! No. I told him if he wanted to see the inside
of a prison cell to go right ahead. And then what do I do? I fall for the
younger version."
     "Jamie, please. I'm not. Please..."
     Jamie pushed passed him and began to pull on his clothes.
     "Jamie, please. For God's sake, please. I love you..."
     "You don't know what love is," Jamie spat. "My biggest mistake was
listening to your mother. And to my mother." He yanked his boots on. "You
asked me how I was so experienced at sex. I'll tell you how, you bastard. I
have four little sisters and a cunt of a stepfather who drinks all that he
earns. And my mother's wages wouldn't even feed them, let alone clothe
them. I've been selling my arse to keep us since I was twelve. I left
school hoping that I might be able to get a job so I could stop. But there
aren't any fucking jobs. I don't even get the minimum rate for the work I
do get. Don't worry," he said bitterly when he saw the shock on Michael's
face. "I'm clean. If there had been the slightest doubt about that then I
would have used a condom. Your lot prefer to be caned and pissed on," he
added nastily.
     Michael winced. "Please, Jamie, I'm not..."
     Jamie pulled on his jacket and pushed Michael off balance and onto the
bed. "I fucking hate you. I hate who you are. I hate what you are. And most
of all, I hate what you've done to me over these last few days."
     "Jamie!"
     But Jamie was gone, the door shuddering against its hinges as he left.
     Michael was shaking. He curled up into a foetal position and held
himself. The fantasy world that had protected him all his life was of no
use to him now, and there was nowhere left to hide. He realised what their
respective mothers had been trying to do, and to some degree they had been
right - mutual misery should have transcended class and brought them
together. But Jamie's life wasn't miserable. It was hell.
     He could understand why Jamie took his stepfather's beatings now. If
the man needed to hit out then Jamie wasn't going to allow his mother or
his sisters to be the targets. He could understand why Kathy MacLaren
stayed with her husband too. Without him she would have no home and what
then, for a Highland woman with a clutch of bairns and no experience of
life beyond Strath? Michael had thought he had loved Jamie before, but it
paled into insignificance when compared with the feelings he had for him
now. He didn't cry; he felt he had no right to cry.

     He saw Jamie. For the rest of the summer, he saw him - in the village,
working for one of the local farmers, in his mind. And not even in
Michael's mind did Jamie acknowledge him. Michael still went up to the
battlements but when he stalked now, it was as a caged animal.
    Michael's mother tried to comfort him but he shut her out.
     "I'm The Laird's Son!" he shouted at her when she pushed.
     "You're Michael," she told him. "And Jamie has seen that, however hard
he might be fighting against it now."
     He could barely look at his father and was openly rude to him in the
hope of a confrontation but, much to his surprise, his father backed
off. Even when he accepted an invitation from a boy in his year to spend
Christmas with him and his family, there was no outburst from home.
     And just before the Easter break, Jamie's stepfather was killed.
     "Don't come home," Michael's mother told him over the telephone.
     "What sort of an accident?" Michael asked. "What's going to happen to
the family?  They live in a tied cottage. Is my father going to throw them
onto the street? If he does, I'll..."
     "A car accident. The man was driving while he was drunk. Thank God no
one else was involved." His mother cut in, brusquely. "And no one is going
to be thrown anywhere. Just don't come home, Michael. Jamie's pride is
going to be difficult enough to deal with without your presence."
    Michael didn't understand why she thought his presence would make the
slightest difference to Jamie, but he did what he was told and spent a
cosseted Easter with his maternal grandmother.

     The next news Michael received was when his mother came to take him
out of school on his 17th birthday.
     "Your father sends his apologies," she told him coldly as they got in
her car. "He wanted to come but there was some business that required his
attention."
     This was a side of his mother that Michael had never seen before. He
had always considered her soft and weak and he was surprised by how
daunting she looked. He knew she was annoyed with him because he hadn't
answered any of his father's letters - she'd already said as much in her
own correspondence. But he hadn't expected her to be angry.  And she was
angry. Bugger it, he thought, and was glad he had been able to put his
father off coming.
     "I thought we might go for a picnic," she said.
     "It's freezing."
     "Then we shall freeze."
     He looked at her stony face and realised that he really didn't know
her at all. He also realised for the first time how beautiful she was. She
was thirty-seven, but looked much younger. "Go into Glen Esk, then. We can
walk by the river."
     He had never seen her drive and was embarrassed that her skilfulness
surprised him.  She parked the car and they got out and began to walk.
     "The MacLaren family are fine," she told him. "It turned out that John
MacLaren had life insurance through working on the estate, and Kathy has
been able to buy Rowan Cottage. A much nicer place than their old one as
I'm sure you'll agree." Michael started to speak but she held up her
hand. "Kathy has also accepted the position of housekeeper with Archie
Donald, which pays well and fits in with her family commitments. He has
asked her to work for him before but her husband wouldn't hear of her
looking after another man."
     Michael bit back a comment on his father having been welcomed by the
man. "There was no life insurance," he said instead. "Not through working
for my father."
     "Kathy is my friend, Michael," she said. "She is probably my only true
friend, and I was not about to insult her, or risk our friendship, by
offering her charity. And all that the villagers know is that her husband
was insured. Kathy doesn't discuss her business."
     "What did Jamie have to say about it?" he asked, knowing that he
wouldn't have been fooled.
     She smiled slightly. "He was offensive. Like most men, he likes to
think he can take care of everything without help." She turned to face
him. "But unlike most men, he wasn't cussed enough not to listen. Kathy is
totally unaware of my gift, and I trust you will keep it that way."
     He nodded. "And my father just agreed to all of this, did he?" he
asked sarcastically.
     "It was my money, not your father's. And he has accepted that Kathy
and I are friends."
     "How can you stay with him?" he asked bitterly. "He fucks everything
that moves. He even fucked your best friend."
     Her eyes blazed and she slapped his face.
     He flexed his jaw and rubbed his cheek reflectively before following
her along the riverbank. She was standing looking into the river and didn't
turn.
     "You will not speak to me about your father in such terms," she told
him. "And you will stop treating him in the way you have been. You are his
only son and he loves you.  And whatever you may think of him, he has
always tried to do his best for you."
     "He's a shit," Michael said, making sure he was out of range.
     She didn't move. "I'm not asking you to change your opinions. I'm
telling you that you will treat him with respect."
     Michael leaned against a tree and folded his arms. "I can't do that."
     She turned to look at him. "Because a piece of rough from the village
gives you a hard-on?"
     He pushed himself off the tree. "Don't you dare..."
     "Speak about Jamie like that? No, it isn't pleasant, is it? I'll tell
you something else: if Jamie slept with someone different every night of
the week, you would still welcome him back."
     "I..." Michael stopped. He was flustered and shaky. There was too much
to this, not least the fact that his homosexuality was being openly
acknowledged.
    "You love Jamie? Yes, I know. And I love your father. I will not have
you abusing him, Michael."
     "Jamie despises me," he said quietly, and rubbed furiously at the
tears that had sprung into his eyes.
     "Oh, darling..." She softened and took him into her arms.
     "No, don't," he said and tried to pull away.
     "Hush," she told him, and held him tightly until he relaxed against
her. "Jamie attacked you because you got too close to him. He may despise
your father, but he certainly doesn't despise you."
     "You weren't there."
     She held him at arms length and looked at him. "I didn't need to be,
Michael. I've seen what he has done to people he despises. And sexual
humiliation is a potent weapon."  She loosened her grip and turned to walk
again.
     "If you're talking about my father, then he got what he
deserved. Jamie was thirteen years old when my father tried to..."
     "Jamie was thirteen years old when HE seduced your father and then
exacted a rather thorough revenge." She cut in. "Your father may have had
certain experiences at boarding school, but he certainly doesn't chase
boys. And I am not discussing your father."
     She sighed. "Jamie likes you, Michael. I don't know if it will ever be
any more than that. I don't even know if Jamie is really gay - his
relationships with girls are certainly not platonic. But I do know that he
likes you. Kathy told me that he was extremely unhappy about what happened,
even though he did try to hide it."
     It was so long since Michael had felt hope that it struck him like a
blow and he stopped for a moment, staring into the rushing grey river.
     "How is he?" he asked. "What's he doing?"
     "Horses," she said. "Schooling, breaking, a little freelance
teaching. There's stabling and some acreage at Rowan and he rents the use
of the indoor arena at Bridge End when he needs it. His charges are
exorbitant but there are no shortage of clients."
     "Don't tell me - young women."
    "Oh, Michael..." She stopped to look at him and he shrugged, ashamed of
how deeply jealous he had sounded.
     "I doubt if he has the time for anything like that," she told him. "He
isn't just working with the horses, he's gone back to school."
     "What!"
     She smiled. "The Headmaster was glad to have him. He got straight 1's
in his standard grades before he left, and Mr Renfrew doesn't see why he
shouldn't pull it off again with his higher's - or find a place a place at
university."
     "Jamie wants to go to university?" he asked, stunned at the
information he was being given.
     "Mm, and don't tease him. He's the first member of his family ever to
have chosen this path and he's sensitive about it."
     "I wouldn't tease him," Michael protested. "I think it's great. What
does he want to study?"
     "He won't say, won't discuss school at all, actually. He's working
terribly hard to catch up, though. Goodness knows when he sleeps. I wish he
would ease up with the horses but he won't of course."

     By the time Michael was back at school his hope had evaporated. The
way his mother had spoken had allowed him to believe that he and Jamie
could at least be friends, but the more he thought about it, the less
likely it seemed. His mother had a place in Jamie's life because of her
friendship with his mother, but there was no such place for him - Jamie had
made that abundantly clear. He also reasoned that if Jamie had let him off
lightly then that was because of their mothers too. He was relieved that
things had improved for him. More than anything he wanted Jamie to be
happy.
     He couldn't stop loving him, but he wished he could stop thinking
about him.

     The summer break came, along with many apprehensions. After his
mother's visit, he had resumed answering his father's letters, and if they
were no more than coldly polite missives, he reflected that they had never
been much more than that in the first place. His father was still nervous
of him when they met, and Michael accepted with distaste that, however
undemonstrative he had been towards him, the man did love him.
     "Thank you," his mother said after the first meeting.
     "For what, for not hurting him? What would that achieve?"
     "You're growing up," she said and laid her hand against his cheek.
     "How's Jamie?"
     She sighed. "He's growing up too." She met his eyes. "A year is a long
time at your age, Michael. "You might find that your feelings have changed
when you see him."
     He'd been thinking about that, had infact been thinking about it for
some time. He was still considered straight at school, but Jamie had
instilled needs that a solitary wank could not fulfil, and he had indulged
in more than one bout of furtive sex with a boy in the year below him. He
still loved Jamie, but the fumbled inexpert sex with the boy had made him
feel good in a way that Jamie's intensity never had.
     When he thought about his time with Jamie now, it was how gauche and
nervous he had been that was in the forefront of his mind, and he didn't
want to feel like that again.  His mother was right, he was growing up.
     It took him four days to pluck up the courage to pass by Rowan
Cottage. Jamie was lunging a young horse in the paddock and Michael was
rooted to the spot.
     The stallion was sweating; its ears cocked towards Jamie as it pushed
itself to obey him. Jamie was sweating too and his hard, slender body was
rippling under his T-shirt and breeches. Michael watched mesmerised and
learned the language: whip up and step forward to increase pace, whip
horizontal - keep going and stay out, whip down to decrease speed,
accompanied by the same seductive tones Jamie used when he made love - "Do
you like me buggering you like this, Michael? Do you think of me and do it
to yourself?..."
     Michael swallowed. His prick was swelling and straining against his
jeans and he didn't know where to look. He had thought that Jamie was
beautiful at sixteen but at seventeen, Jamie's lithe body had matured into
a sensual fluidity that made Michael gasp.
     Jamie was half-hard, the outline of his cock and balls outlined
against the tight breeches. He brought the horse to a halt and crossed the
distance between them to give physical praise. And even his walk had
changed. Instead of the assertive, almost aggressive, stride that Michael
was used to, Jamie moved like a cat, his muscles tensing and relaxing with
easy grace. Jamie had discovered his body for himself, and he was enjoying
every inch of it.
     He turned, and the depth of his dark, amused gaze took Michael places
he had never visited. He tried to concentrate on the structure of his face
but that was throwing him off balance too. The remnants of childhood had
gone and Jamie might have been the fantasy of an Old Master he was so
beautiful. The soft black shadow of stubble from his missed morning shave
was no artist's illusion, though. And the evidence of Jamie's male
fecundity, the thought of that roughness grazing against his rectum, made
Michael shudder.
     "He turning you on, big man?" Jamie asked. "He fucking turns me
on. What the fuck is his silly wee bitch of an owner going to do with an
animal like this? She isn't strong enough to ride him, and he's too big to
fuck."
     He stroked the animal's sleek, sweating neck and it turned to rest its
head against him.  "What's she going to do with you, eh, boy? She even
wears perfume when she's around you and then freaks out when it turns you
on." His hand continued with the caress, and Michael watched, wishing that
Jamie were touching him.
     "I heard you were home," Jamie told him as he led the horse to the
stables.
     Michael followed uncertainly. "Yes, and you've gone back to high
school." Shit, he thought, shit, shit, shit! Why did I say that?
     But Jamie glanced at him and grinned. "Your mother's fault. Did she
tell you that?  'You have two choices, Jamie: go back to school and get
some qualifications. Or rot'."
     It was a good impersonation and Michael laughed.
     "Fuck, she can give it out, though. I couldn't believe it." Jamie told
him as he busied himself untacking the horse. "She made me feel like I was
about six. What about you, big man, been playing with the other little boys
at boarding school?"
     Michael took a breath and nodded, but Jamie was busy with a sweat rug
and didn't notice. "A bit," Michael said uncomfortably.
     Jamie didn't turn. "Good."
     Michael read the subtext - good, that means you're off my back. He
felt a surge of despair and then became suddenly angry. "You don't need to
be friendly because of my mother; 'I despise you' is fine."
     Jamie looked at him and raised his eyebrows. "I'll bear it in mind."
     "You were out of line at the castle," Michael told him. Adrenaline was
flooding his system and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.
     Jamie studied him. "Fair enough. I apologise." He turned to the horse.
     "I didn't do anything to deserve it. I'm not my father!"
     The stallion was moving around nervously and Jamie tried to soothe
it. Michael licked his lips and then dried them again jerkily with the back
of his hand.
     "Bugger off, Michael," Jamie said softly. "You're upsetting the
horse."
     Michael rubbed his nose violently and went outside. He leaned against
the wall of the small stable-block and breathed deeply. He hardly ever got
angry and he was trembling.  Jamie came out after a few minutes and paused
to look at him.
     "Don't do that again," he said quietly. "Stallions are dangerous and
they are as sensitive as hell." He crossed to the tap that was on the
outside wall and, stripping off his sweat stained T-shirt, began to wash.
     Michael watched and felt his cock stir. His brief flash of anger was
gone and he felt totally miserable. Jamie was standing 10 feet away and it
might as well have been miles.  He had been deluding himself when he
thought he could get over him. He had been deluding himself when he tried
to believe that the sex he'd had at school was more to his liking. "I tried
to get over you," he said in his head. "I don't want to love you. I don't
want this pain..."
     Jamie straightened up and dried himself on the T-shirt. "Don't look at
me like that," he said. "I've apologised, okay? I treated you like shit and
I'm sorry - end of story."
     A car drew up and the small yard was suddenly full of little girls.
     "Michael!" Jamie's mother greeted him. "How are you? Janette said you
were home."  She was as dark as his own mother was fair. They had the same
slight build, though, and the same undefinable femininity.
     Michael warmed himself on her smile, glad of the familiarity where
none had been expected. "I'm fine, Mrs MacLaren. Thank you. I'm sorry about
your husband."
     "Ach, well. I wouldn't have wished the man dead."
     Jamie was unloading shopping from the car while his youngest sister
held onto his leg and hid her face from Michael.
     Mrs MacLaren turned to him. "I thought you were going to make the
dinner, not mess about with that beast."
     "Lunch," Jamie corrected. "You've got a posh guest. And it's ready,
though why you want a hot meal on a day like this is beyond me." He dumped
a box of groceries in Michael's arms and, picking up a load of his own,
walked off towards the whitewashed cottage with his little sister trotting
behind him.
     "Don't let him upset you, Michael," Mrs MacLaren told him. "He's only
teasing you.  Thank you," she said gesturing at the box.
     Michael helped to carry and put away the shopping. The large kitchen
was pure country; old pine and a flagstone floor, with bunches of flowers
and herbs hanging from hooks in the ceiling to dry, and old plates
(probably family heirlooms) fastened to the walls. He liked the noise and
chatter of the girls too.
     "On the dresser." Mrs MacLaren indicated to the package in his
hand. "Would you like to stay and eat with us?"
     "It's stovies," Jamie protested. "He's not going to want bloody
stovies!"
     "I'll thank you to mind your language in front of the girls."
     Jamie smacked down the tin he was holding. "I'm going out," he said,
and pulled a clean T-shirt from a pile of laundry before heading for the
door.
     Mrs MacLaren raised her eyes heavenwards, and Michael shifted
uncomfortably. "On you go," she told him with a smile.
     "I... Em... I'm not sure that he'll..."
     "Away and don't be silly. And tell him I want him back for his tea. I
don't like him going without food."
     Jamie was turning the stallion out into small paddock. "I'm going for
a swim in the loch - come or don't come; it's up to you."
     Michael felt a sharp spasm of pleasure hit him in the loins. He knew
that Jamie would swim naked and was reminded of the time that he had
watched him masturbate. He wanted to be with him, even although he still
thought that Jamie was only putting up with him because of their mothers,
but he had problems with the fact that he knew he would get an erection -
hell, he already had an erection.
     Jamie glanced at him. "Up to you," he said and collected a small
rucksack from the tackroom.
     "One of the villagers might see us together," Michael said. Rowan
Cottage wasn't in the village but it was close enough to make it a
possibility. It made Michael miserable but he knew that Jamie wouldn't want
to be seen with him.
     "Fuck the villagers," Jamie said dismissively. "What do you think I'm
going to do, hold your hand?"
     As always, Michael was totally bewildered by Jamie. He never seemed to
act in the way Michael expected him to. He had forgotten that side of their
relationship. "No, of course not." He moved to shut the tackroom door to
hide his blush. "Christ, stop it!" he told himself. "You're too old to act
like this."

     Jamie chose a secluded part of the loch. He had been preoccupied on
the walk there, and Michael was too worried about taking his clothes off to
attempt conversation. The loch was as calm as a millpond. A heron took off
and they both watched it.
     "Fuck knows how they fly," Jamie commented. "I always think they're
not going to make it. My wee sister could make a better job of designing
aerodynamics."
     Michael smiled. He always found himself urging them on
too. "Prehistoric," he agreed.
     Jamie turned back from the sandy shore and put his bag down on the
grass. It really was a secluded spot, sheltered from prying eyes by belt of
trees. Jamie kicked his riding boots off with deft assurance and Michael
thought about the mess he always made of it without the aid of a bootjack.
     "What about fishermen?" he asked, glancing at the loch.
     Jamie shrugged. "They never come here, wouldn't bother about seeing
your bare arse even if they did." He began to undress and Michael turned
away and started to do the same, stopping at his briefs.
     "I've got a hard-on," he admitted in shame.
     "You've got more than that," Jamie told him softly. "You're in amazing
shape."
     Michael felt, rather than heard, him move towards him and he tensed
involuntarily as his body was bombarded with sensation.
     Jamie stopped. "Come on, Michael," he said huskily. "I know you've got
a boyfriend but what he doesn't know won't hurt him."
     Michael was about to say that he hadn't and that all he'd ever done
with anyone besides Jamie was have a mutual wank, but he suddenly realised
that Jamie wanted him to be involved with someone else, that he wanted sex
without the threat of involvement.
     "What about you?" he asked.
     "A boyfriend? Fuck, no."
     Michael sensed him move forward again and closed his eyes. The sexual
tension was incredible and his whole body was trembling with
excitement. "What about a girlfriend?"
     Jamie's breath was on his shoulder and then his mouth was on his neck,
sucking and biting, his tongue tracing a hot trail of pleasure as it snaked
to his ear to lick and probe while Michael shivered and moved his head to
accommodate him.
     "Come on, baby, let me have you," Jamie whispered. "I know I'm a
shit. Oh, fuck!  Please..."
     Michael groaned and leaned against him, his head thrown back. He
gasped as he felt Jamie's hot, rigid weapon prod against his
buttocks. Jamie's arms slipped round him and he clasped Michael to him for
a moment, thrusting against his cotton-clad cheeks. Then he was running his
hands over Michael's broad chest and rubbing his hard nipples between a
thumb and forefinger, his breathing loud in Michael's ears. His hands moved
lower, grazing down Michael's taut muscular belly before finding his stiff,
pulsing prick.
     Michael moaned and opened his legs to give Jamie access to his balls
as well. Jamie fondled him for a moment, and then his hands were urgent on
his waistband and pulling his briefs out over his swollen cock and
down. His hand closed round Michael's hot tool and he thrust against his
naked buttocks.
     "Now," he hissed. "I want you now."
     Michael kicked off his briefs and turned to look at him, breathing
hard. His dark eyes blazing with desire and his nostrils flared, his
slender, muscular body tense and quivering, and his beautiful weapon
jutting arrogantly from his loins, Jamie was magnificent.
     "Against a tree."
     Michael leant against a tree trunk and braced himself on his
hands. His cock was slick with excitement and his swollen balls were
tight. He needed this as much as Jamie did.  Jamie was nosing and tonguing
round his arse, worrying at his crack to get in. And then he was on his
anus, licking and probing and fucking, coating it with gleaming saliva,
while his stubble rasped against Michael's tender crack and made him writhe
and moan.
     One finger penetrated him, working him urgently, then two.
     "Come on, baby," Jamie whispered. "Open your tight little arse for
me. I've got a big cock for you."
     Michael groaned and strained to open himself and Jamie slid another
finger inside him, massaging his prostate gland as he buggered him. Then it
was his cock, slick with spit and precum, that was demanding
entry. Michael's groan came from deep inside him and he pushed as if to
shit.
     "Aw, Christ!"  Jamie groaned. "Where the fuck have you been?"
     He began to thrust with long deep strokes and Michael matched his
rhythm, pushing back as Jamie pushed forward. There was no pain, only
intense, shuddering pleasure.  Jamie moved his hand and began to wank
Michael's throbbing prick...
     "Oh, God! Oh, Christ! Jamieeee!!!"
     Jamie came too, crying out and clutching Michael as he plunged and
squirted.

     "You're bigger," Michael told him when they'd both come down and
separated.
     Jamie was sprawling on his back, spent and wet, his long cock still
half-hard. He squinted across at Michael. "You're not." He grinned
boyishly. "You're as tight at fuck.  What's you're boyfriend been doing to
you?"
     The light seemed to go out of the afternoon and Michael looked down at
the grass.  "Not that," he said quietly.
     Jamie sat up and looked out over the loch. "Okay," he said after a few
minutes. "Fair's fair. Just don't expect it to become a habit."
     Michael was totally bewildered and couldn't think of what to say.
     Jamie turned and looked at him. "I prefer it the other way
round. Well, I suppose that's obvious. But I don't mind as long as you
don't expect it all the time."
     The penny dropped and Michael felt his mouth go slack. "You're going
to let me fuck you?"
     Jamie eyed his prick. "As long as you watch what you're doing with
that. I'm not the only one who's bigger." He stood up and went to the loch,
his beautiful body describing a perfect arc as he dived.

End of Part Three