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Hogs' Hogmanay by Callan Smith

As you may know, Hogmanay is a big event in Scotland and is our traditional New Year. I don't think the Hog in Hogmanay has anything to do with hogs, but we certainly pig out and have a good time. Actually if you come to think of it, the pig is a most maligned animal as he tends to be associated with all the most bestial images, whereas according to all documentation, he's a very clean and even affectionate animal. And when you pig out, you're only really surrendering to your natural instincts and enjoying life. After all, there's nothing wrong in indulging yourself every now and then. But we live in a very Puritan world and still have a lot of hang-ups, particularly of a sexual nature, and it can sometimes take us nearly a lifetime to get over them.

Recently I allowed the beast to be brought out in me during the visit of a hot hunk of masculinity that came to stay with me during this season of haggis, whisky and good living. If you've read my account of three motor cyclists who went swimming last September in the lake near my house, you'll remember two of them left a sexual calling card, but the third failed to make an appearance. That is till last January, when I'd more or less given him up for lost. I live by myself in a secluded cottage in the Lake District, and Myron came first footing on New Year's Eve and stayed for quite some time. Until Burn's night in fact, which is the end of January. So of the three, he's the one who visited me last and who stayed the longest. His visit was also the most memorable as he aroused basic instincts in me that I'd never allowed to come to the surface.

For years I'd been dreaming of a "real man," who'd come and sweep me off my feet and "have his way with me" as they used to say in the days of our great-grandparents. By this I think I meant a muscular hunk with no inhibitions who would tear the kilt off me, and fuck me into posterity so to speak. Myron wasn't exactly this. He was extremely muscular and therefore no mean hunk, but was a gentle giant and quite shy. It was only after a night of pure malt whisky and general debauchery that his darker side took over, and we both reached the halcyon heights of sexual fulfilment.

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The night he arrived he was wearing a kilt, but it can't have been genuine as I couldn't work out which clan it was supposed to represent. He was alone and very drunk. Probably he didn't know whose threshold he was crossing, but he must have had a vague idea as he recognised me before he passed out on my doorstep. I picked him up with great difficulty and dragged him inside. I laid him out in front of the log fire and put a blanket over him. That was the best I could do under the circumstances. When he eventually came to, I helped him upstairs and put him in my bed. He slept for over twelve hours and woke up in a daze. I made him breakfast.

He couldn't remember why he was there or how he got there, but I was pleased to have him nevertheless. Of the three he was probably the one I'd fantasized about most. Maybe because I remembered his dick and butt so vividly as he rippled his muscles through the ripples of the lake while the sun lovingly caressed his athletic frame. I'm a naturalist and a lover of nature, and therefore, a lover of natural beauty. I wanted to see him naked again and watch him have his shower. There was no central heating in the cottage, so I built a log fire in the old fireplace in my room. I slipped into my bed which was still warm from him, and said I wanted to get half-an-hour's shut-eye.

The shower was just a cubicle at the back of the room and clearly visible from my bed. I teased him as he undressed as he was wearing Y-fronts under the kilt. He blushed and said it was on account of the cold weather. I watched as he slipped out of the pants and his butt came into view. I remembered something I'd read somewhere about some guy's butt being like two milk churns. I certainly wanted to curdle his cream at that moment. I stretched out in my bed and told him to make himself at home. I even told him to help himself to some clothes of mine in the wardrobe, but what I really wanted was him in that bed with me. I could see him through the glass of the shower. Every one of my nerve endings longed to be a single drop of water running down that magnificent body especially those fortunate enough to bounce off his butt, or become entangled in the net of hair on his chest. Or, perhaps, sparkle like transparent spiders in his pubic web, or best of all, come to rest on the grand dimensions of his dick.

"It's great in here. Why don't you join me?" he said. It was as if he could read my horny mind.

"Too cold," I lied.

"You can rub me down afterwards," he quipped "that should warm you up." I knew then that sex was inevitable between us.

" Ok," I said. I was out of my clothes and into the shower before you could say body lotion. It was a bit of a squeeze but that made it all the more intimate. "I thought I was supposed to be the shy one," he said, "but you sure beat the band." I let him lather me up with the foam from his body.

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"I'd rather beat your butt," I said. "Are you a top or a bottom?" He didn't answer straight away, but began to jack me off.

"Let's toss for it," he said and kissed me.

So that was our first sexual encounter and we had many, many more. Besides being a top and a bottom, he was versatile in other departments, too, and had me over the moon most of the time especially when he just lay there and let me pass my hands all over his body from top to bottom. Slowly I'd find my way to erotic parts of him which made him moan and then move that mighty mountain of muscle till the tremors travelled right through him and threatened to engulf me as he erupted all over me. He would kiss me till my mouth felt like molten lava and the stream of steaming cum mingled with the other juices we produced between us.

It was great, and it was grand, and we never got tired of each other. Of course we did other things, too, like go for long walks and look at the animals through binoculars and take photographs and get wet and have more showers and eat and drink, and of course suck and fuck. We did to each other what came naturally and we learned to love, appreciate and enjoy each other. Then came Burn's night. I was invited to a party and I took him along with me. We ate a lot of haggis and got very, very drunk on pure malt whisky. The best. It was unrefined and we became very unrefined with it. As we walked, or rather staggered towards home, the effect of the whisky made it essential to take a leak. While looking for an appropriate place, we kissed, and we kissed some more and we ended up in the barn where the farmer used to hang up the meat for curing.

All the gear was more or less in working order, and Myron trussed me up so I was in a kind of crawling position, almost like a pig on a spit being roasted over the fire, and then he fucked me in this position. I gave a happy drunken snort. I hung in mid air and my body swayed to and fro, and he fucked me from the back, and he fucked me from the front. I snorted some more, and he fucked me some more, slowly this time swinging my body away from him and then towards him, stabbing my butt more violently each time until I made various other animal noises in protest. At this he tore the shirt off my back and started to horsewhip me. I hated it and loved it, but in the end didn't know whether I was screaming for more, or begging him to stop. Eventually, I called a halt because it stung so much at which he licked my back and my broken butt, and jerked me off. The effect of the whisky dulled some of the pain and made the whole thing seem a dreamlike hallucination, alternately terrific and terrifying.

The next day I was almost a basket case, and, of course, couldn't be taken to hospital to have my wounds dressed, so rather crestfallenly, he bathed and put balm on my wounds and begged my forgiveness. I kissed him and promised him that as soon as I was on my feet it would be his turn next, but we were never so drunk again. He nursed me all that week and fed and watered me, but there seemed to be no lust left in him and all of the passion seemed to be spent between us. Which was a pity, because I know now it was the best Hogmanay I've ever had. I'll always be grateful for the experience as I know there will never be a repeat performance with him or with anyone else.

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When he left, he kissed me and just said, "See you." I watched him leave, and said a final goodbye to the beast in me.

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