Amongst the Heather
Are there Bears in the Highlands of Scotland? A threesome in the highlands of modern-day Scotland.
Angus McPherson is competing in his village's highland games. Caber toss, hammer throw, and tug o'war, a test of his brute strength and throwing ability. He's a big guy—muscular and young.
After the competition, Angus is on the lookout for men interested in continuing the games in a scenic location away from the village.
He finds two—a couple of burly, furry bears. Their ample bellies and thick beards are exactly what Angus is looking for.
Amongst the heather, will this cub be satisfied by what these men are looking to do to him?
Scotland, even on a good day, the weather could be miserable. The air was cold and misty, but that wouldn't stop the festivities. People would still arrive in droves to watch the spectacle. It was the height of summer, and tourists were thick in our small village.
The Highland Games, a Scottish tradition. An opportunity to display your throwing ability and brute strength. My events are the caber toss, hammer throw, and Tug o' War. The last being my favorite. I loved the opportunity to work as a team with a bunch of sweaty men.
I lifted my kilt and buckled the belt, holding it in place. I was wearing black shorts underneath. If we got caught going scuddie beneath the kilt, we would find ourselves in a heap of trouble. I rooted around on my dresser, found my kilt pin, and attached it to the tartan.
Kilt hose on my feet, I yanked on a pair of hiking boots. Some accommodations were made for modern-day Scots. Not slipping in the mud because you happened to be wearing brogues was one of them. I pulled on a simple black t-shirt with a Guinness logo.
I smoothed out my kilt fabric. It was a variation of the Lantern tartan. Not sure why my family started wearing it. My last name was McPherson. Angus McPherson. Or Aonghus, as my granny preferred to spell it. The name meant unnaturally strong. A fitting description in my case.
I was a big, muscular guy. Thick forearms and thighs. Dense ginger, pelt-like hair on my chest, legs, and arms. My preference was for bears, but not in the species sense. My tastes ran to robust, furry men. Broad chests and round bellies covered in hair. Highland games were like a smorgasbord of options. You just needed to know which men would be amenable.
I had my regulars. Guys whom I met up with consistently. I hadn't been in a long-term relationship in a while. My last boyfriend got a job on the mainland, and I didn't want to go with him. It was an amenable breakup. Our ships just weren't going in the same direction.
Today, though. Today should offer some new possibilities. There were lots of outsiders in town for the competition. I just needed to size them up. A few lingering glances always seemed to do the trick. If they weren't interested, they looked away. If they were, they smiled.
At least that was my method. I had gotten it wrong on occasion. It was by luck of my sheer size that I had never had my ass kicked too badly. Plus, two burly men tumbling about in kilts trying to knock each other's blocks off generally attracted attention. I had been lucky.
I headed out to the festival grounds. I could walk there. Nothing was very far away in our village. The fact that we had a Highland Games was thanks to tradition. It wasn't as big as the large cities, but we did all right. The tourist dollars in town meant a lot to the residents.
Congregations of men and women stood on the field, the crowds gathering. The Scottish dancers were already in full form, performing on a makeshift stage. The wail of bagpipes filled the air. I understood why the pipes had been used to frighten the enemy. Despite my deep Scottish heritage, the screeching racket made me cringe.
I set off toward a grouping of men; all kilted, all raring to go.
"Hey, Angus!" Someone clapped their hand on my back. It was my longtime friend, Ewan. We had been friends since we were both bairns. We had attended nursery, primary, and secondary school together. He often acted as my wingman, directing the lasses away from me.
I remembered how terrified I had been to tell Ewan I was gay. Thought for sure he would dump me as a friend. It had taken me by surprise when he started laughing. Apparently, I wasn't very good at hiding my gayness. Too many lingering looks when in the company of other men.
"You ready?" Ewan handed me a bottle of water.
"Always."
"Caber toss is first." Ewan shoved me toward the center of the field. He wouldn't be competing in his usual activities this year. He had pulled a muscle in his shoulder. His technique was off, plus it would have been agonizing. Although he was going to chance his luck in the tug o'war later, his barbarian strength was required for our team to win.
I did well. The caber toss and the hammer throw. I outstripped the others with the caber, completing one-hundred-eighteen tosses in an hour. My hammer throwing wasn't quite as successful, although I scored well enough. I managed to throw it one-hundred-seventy meters.
But now it was time for the tug o'war. We lined up on either side of the rope—four to a side. I was the anchorman. The judge shouted, "Pick up the rope." It was best two out of three that declared the winner. We had rarely lost a challenge. We thumped our feet to secure them.
"Pull!"
We tugged hard, straightening our arms and legs, leaning back. My strained muscles were on fire. We took steps back in waves of unison. After a lengthy, sweat-soaked effort, the other team was pulled off balance. We dropped the rope and leaped at each other, pounding and whooping.
Our second effort resulted in our win. We were unstoppable. Fresh off the adrenaline coursing through our veins, we headed for the pub. It was tradition. Push your body to extreme lengths and then get guttered. My muscles were still quivering as we stepped through the doors.
I headed for the washroom to ditch my shorts. They were cumbersome and so very un-Scottish. Plus, my balls needed cooling off. Under my kilt, the air circulated around them as I walked back. I wandered over to the barkeep and ordered a pint of Tennent's lager.
My team was occupying one corner of the pub. I joined them, shoving myself into a hard, wooden chair at one of the tables. They were beyond raucous. The loud singing had already begun, and we didn't even have the first pint in us yet. I peered around the room, searching for a potential target for later in the evening. The pub was filling up fast.
