PAUL: Have you packed yet?

ME: Mostly. I’ll finish in a little while.

PAUL: We’re going in the morning. You’re so disorganised.

ME: Actually, that’s not true. I’ve been making sure you are named on the insurance for the car!

PAUL: Oh, thank you. Dad had asked again about it. I’ll tell him now.

ME: Anyway, are you packed?

PAUL: Yes, all ready to go. What time will you pick me up.

ME: I’ll be there just after six. Be up!

PAUL: I will be. See you in the morning. I’m driving to the ferry!

Paul’s been driving for over a year now and we have no further need for restrictive plates or enforced speed limits. There’ll also be no issue with him driving in the UK, where he has to be seventeen rather than sixteen as it is on the Island.

Still there are tourists on motorbikes about, even at this early hour and he drives carefully, only putting his foot down when we are in the temporary one-way system across the high mountain part of the circuit, screaming up the gentle slope of the Mountain Mile at more than a hundred and twenty.

“Make the most of it,” I tell him. “There are speed limits and cameras all over Scotland.”

We arrive in good time for the ferry and the crossing to Heysham, right next to Morecambe in Lancashire is smooth and uneventful. It takes us only a few minutes to fill up with cheaper petrol and get ourselves heading north on the M6 towards the lake district and the border.

I do a bit of the driving, but it’s not something I’m comfortable with, never having driven on British roads that are bigger and busier than our little Island ones. I’ve got the maps on my laptop and I’m quite happy to be our navigator for the trip. The car, as expected, is a delight, but restraint really is needed to keep within spitting distance of motorway speed limits.

The drive to Fort William takes us almost six hours, broken only by a couple of bathroom stops and my need to take a set of photographs of the Buachaille Etive Mor ridge above Glen Coe. Although we left the ferry in bright sunshine, here, 300 miles or more further north, the skies are threatening rain, there are whisps of cloud passing in front of the peaks and it is truly magnificent in its atmospheric vastness.

We find our little cottage, just a few hundred yards north of Banavie, outside Fort William. The key to the cottage is in the security box as we were told it would be. Once inside, there’s a nice list of instructions and a little credit in the electricity meter. We’ll need some pound coins for that before tomorrow if we want a hot shower.

Paul rumples the bedding in the little twin room upstairs, but he hauls both our bags in to the double on the main floor and flops down on the bed, gesturing for me to join him. While I’m happy to drop into his arms for a cuddle, or whatever he has in mind, my rumbling stomach quickly gives me away.

“Come on, we need to go and find a pub and get something to eat. I’m not going to a supermarket and shopping for food at this time of the evening,” I tell him as I stand and haul him back on to his feet.

We’d seen a couple of pubs on the way through the town and it only takes a few minutes to find a parking space and pick one of the two nearest. Paul is first out of the car and quickly comes round to my side as I get out.

“Alan, can we be ourselves here?”

“Oh Paul, of course we can.” I take his hand in mine and twine our fingers together. “We can be whatever we want and do whatever we like. Nobody knows us here and it should be totally fine.”

“Well, in that case…” Paul leans in to kiss me deeply before turning and hauling me towards the pub entrance. I’m glad we have a hold on each other, as my legs suddenly felt a little weak there for a moment.

“Just, if anyone looks a bit funny, Paul, tone it down, okay.”

“Yes, I know to be safe. Come on, I’m starving. I hope they do good burgers!”

They do, and they are excellent. Even though it’s a Saturday night, and also a bank holiday weekend, the pub isn’t as crowded as I expected and everyone seems happy and tolerant. Nobody looks at us twice, even though we are holding hands as we walk in.

I allow myself a pint of cider, but Paul has to drive us back to the cottage tonight. “It’s close enough to be able to walk here and back easily,” I tell him. “If you want to have a drink as well, we can come back later in the week on foot.”

There’s a little live music in an adjoining room, but we both are clearly tired out from the long day of travel and make a move for home before ten. I pay with cash, asking if they have a few spare coins for our meter. I thank the landlord for his hospitality and he tells me to enjoy my holiday. I wasn’t certain, but I could have sworn that he winked as he said it with a grin.

Even though we have been thinking of a night of passionate sex and frantically undress as we move towards the bed, we are both so tired by the time we get under the duvet that all we can manage is a quick kiss and cuddle before both falling asleep. Paul wraps his arms around me and holds me close before slipping into his dreams.

The bedroom window faces roughly north, but as the height of summer approaches, this far north the sun streams in through the window as it rises before five. It wakes me early, but I’m happy to lie in Paul’s warm embrace and relax with my thoughts.

Last night was our first ever real date. Neither of us would describe it as such, but to be ourselves and show our obvious affection for each other was liberating. It makes me long for the day when I can be like this with Paul all the time.

He is still struggling with maintaining his veneer of heterosexuality in the face of his father’s continuing homophobia and religious bigotry. He keeps telling me that he’s going to explode one of these days and he’ll be eighteen soon anyway. One of the last things he did before we left for this trip was to submit the college assignments for the year. He hopes that good marks will keep his parents quiet for a little bit longer.

I lie in quiet comfort for perhaps a couple of hours, dozing in the warm morning sunlight, before Paul finally stirs and opens his eyes. I think he takes a few seconds to get his bearings and take in the fact that I’m in his arms still.

“Oh, good morning my love,” he whispers after a few more moments of silent contemplation.

“Morning sleepy head. Did you sleep well?”

“Like the proverbial log. And you? Been awake long?”

“Sort of. I’m always awake with the sun, but I was snoozing in a very comfortable spot. How are you enjoying the holiday so far, my dear.”

“It’s wonderful. Liberating.”

“Yes, I thought that too. It’s so nice to stop hiding for a little while.”

“Yes, it is. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? Whatever are you being sorry for?”

“Keeping us in the closet at home. I wish it was different!”

“Don’t be sorry. It won’t be forever,” I tell him.

“No, it won’t,” he replies firmly. There’s a glint in his eye when he speaks, a sort of grim determination about him that you would challenge at you peril.

Silence descends for a few minutes until a noise from outside the window catches my attention. I get up quietly and draw the edge of the curtain back a little. There’s a small deer outside, picking at the green shrubbery below the window. Paul joins me for a quick look at our visitor before smiling and taking my hand, drawing me back to the bed.

“We can’t stay in bed all day, but it is a holiday and a Sunday, so let’s lie in for a bit,” he whispers as he wraps his arms around me and starts to kiss me with determination.

With now practiced skill he wets a finger and starts to prepare me while I use my hands to bring him to full arousal. He smiles at me in enquiry and I move to kneel on all fours. I almost always get the choice of position and this morning is no exception.

Accepting my choice, he positions himself on his knees behind me and, after spitting a little onto his cock, slowly presses in to me. He places both hands on my shoulders to steady himself and begins to thrust deeply and rhythmically in and out.

Finally, able to be completely comfortable with myself and in an empty house, I allow myself to moan and pant with each thrust as my hand works my own shaft in time to Paul’s movements. Paul is also allowing himself to be a little more vocal, moaning occasionally and whispering “fuck” every few seconds.

By now, almost a year after our first fumbling, we know our bodies and reactions so much better and have a good understanding of our respective states. Paul stops occasionally when he feels he is going too fast for me and I speed my stroking a little to keep up.

Our climax is almost perfectly simultaneous, Paul thrusting deep as my first contraction grips him tightly, our orgasms long and hard as we allow our breathing to slow.

“Welcome to Scotland,” I snigger as we roll onto our backs, both completely spent. “It seems like a nice place and the people really are very friendly.”

It’s after nine before we finally feel able to move and start the day. “Showers, shopping and a bit of a drive or walk?” I ask as we both move to get out of bed. “We can’t afford to eat out every night and we should get at least some pizzas, bread and stuff.”

“Yes, but definitely showers first. It’s only small, so can I go first?”

“Sure, but let me have a pee before you do, I’m bursting. Put a couple of coins in the meter!” Domestic bliss is a wonderful thing.

The whole week passes in a blur. We drive hundreds of miles through the highlands, walk through picturesque villages and alongside still lochs and marvel at magnificent mountains and glens. The weather is kind to us and everywhere we go we hold hands or link arms. My camera works overtime and I add my own images to the world’s overflowing collection of pictures of Eilean Donan Castle, the Cuillins on Skye and Loch Ness.

Paul revels in the driving and, with a bit of planning over the long months before the trip, I’ve picked a few places to visit that give him the chance to drive on some of the most magnificent roads in the country. He takes us up the epic Bealach Na Baa pass and on around the Applecross peninsula and we traverse the Great Glen as far as Inverness a couple of times.

The occasional glance from the passenger seat towards him tells me that he’s loving every moment of it, now so used to driving the coupe that he feels totally comfortable behind the wheel. I’m content to have him there, as it gives me the opportunity to spot potential photographic opportunities as we drive. He does still seem to have trouble finding the gearstick though, finding my thigh with a strange regularity.

We cater for ourselves at least half of the time, but we do keep it simple, with a couple of pizzas and a quick and easy pasta made with a shop-bought jar of sauce. Both of us do like to cook and, if we were back at home, I think we would be eating in all the time and taking turns in the kitchen. But this is a holiday and, being out and about for long periods every day, we either have a good lunch or just want something quick and simple when we get back to the cottage.