I was in my early 60s, and due to health and aging, I had stopped some of my more physical hobbies and looked for a more sedate pastime. I had a toy railway as a boy and had always carried the interest with me, so I decided to try model railways. I set up a layout in my garage, and I found it to be not as straightforward as I had expected! I found an online model railway forum and joined it. I was asking questions and was encouraged to join a local model railway club. I searched the area and was surprised when I found that it was not 5 miles away in an old cricket pavilion attached to a pub. The pitch was now a newish housing estate, but the pavilion remained.
I rang the number I had found online for the club, and a Scottish voice (which was an accent I loved to hear) on the other end explained he was the club chairman and that I could come along on Wednesday, which was free for the first 4 weeks, to see if I liked it and see if it was what I was expecting. If I did go, I should ask for Malcolm, which was who I was speaking to.
I went along, and Malcolm greeted me, gave me the tour, and introduced me to all the regular members, which was only 3 or 4, although the membership totalled more than 50. I also soon found Tony, the club gossip. Tony chatted for hours, but nothing about the model railway, and it was from him I found that Malcolm used to be an insurance claim investigator, lived alone in a large bungalow his parents left him, had never married, and was very private about his private life outside the club. I soon learned you never tell Tony anything you would not spread around to all the others.
It was Malcolm who ran the club, organized everything, and was the number one fountain of knowledge. I joined the club and found on a Wednesday he was first to get there and last to leave, and in the first couple of months I picked his brains and also found I was stopping till last chatting to him, still enjoying his accent. I was asking about a particular problem and invited him around to look at my model the following Saturday, early in the afternoon (my wife was out shopping with a friend).
It was what felt like the hottest day of summer. He arrived on time, and we went to the garage and the way I had set the layout up there was not a lot of room to stand and manoeuvre around, and with the heat, it soon got hot. He had a look around the railway, and we chatted. We had to swap positions a few times, and it seemed Malcolm pressed together a little more than necessary. His hands also seemed to linger on my hips, arse, and crotch as we passed. After a while, we went and sat outside under some shade, and I got some cold drinks. I mentioned the heat, and his reply surprised me. He said, 'Being a true Scotchman, I wear a kilt, and my model room, which has floor fans, keeps me cool.' I pointed out my grandmother was from Aberdeen and a true Scot too. We talked more about the railway and trains, and he invited me around to see his layout.
My wife, Anne, and I had always been adventurous with sex and relationships as a couple and alone, but our rule was that we had no secrets, so if something was off, we could chat about it, and no one could hold anything over one of us, as we both knew everything about each other's adventures. I told Anne about Malcolm and his touching and groping; she said it may go further, and I said maybe.
The following Saturday, I went to Malcolm's and knocked on the door. It opened, and Malcolm was wearing a kilt, sandals, and a t-shirt. The kilt was not a type I expected; it was not tweed but more like cotton printed with tartan and a little shorter. I had thought they came to just above the knee, but this was a good couple of inches shorter. He led through the bungalow to the back and out to the double garage, twice the size of mine, and as he had said, there were two floor fans, one in each corner. The space was still warm, but a lot cooler than my room. He asked if I liked his kilt. I said, 'Yes, it does look cooler.' He told me that because I was part Scottish, he had put a kilt in the bathroom if I cared to try. I did not know where this was going to go, but being bi and enjoying dressing in women's clothing, this appealed to me, so I went off to get changed into the kilt.
I went to the bathroom and found the kilt, which was identical to Malcolm's except for the print colours. I slipped out of my trainers and socks, removed my jeans, and slipped the kilt and trainers back on. I, of course, recognized that the kilt was in fact a thin cotton tartan skirt from the way it fit and fastened, as was Malcolm's, but I was loving the situation and what was on Malcolm's mind. I returned to the garage, and it seemed to me the fans were running faster; the airflow up and under the kilt/skirt was wonderful.
We chatted about the railway, and Malcolm showed me the models. He then said, "I have a model wagon to show you; it's up there on the top shelf." He moved some steps right over the fan and climbed up. He reached up higher, and the kilt rode up, and with the fan right under, it blew the kilt about. It was plain to see he had nothing under the kilt and was shaven. He paused for a few seconds, knowing I was getting a good look. He brought the model down and unboxed it, and I examined it, and he explained all about it. He then re-boxed it and asked me to replace it.
I knew what he wanted to see, and I was a little shy but excited. I climbed up and reached up. Malcolm cried, "Sassenach!" He was right behind me. "Even a part-Scotchman should not wear panties." He reached up under my kilt and pulled my underwear down and slapped my arse. I climbed down, and Malcolm continued on about his layout as if nothing had happened with my pants and they had disappeared. I don't know what he did with them.
Even though there was plenty of room to move about in his garage, he found plenty of opportunities to press against me and feel me up. I decided to play the same game too and soon noticed Malcolm's kilt begin to tent at the front. When he asked if I would like a cold drink, I said yes, and we went into the bungalow and into the kitchen, and there was a tray. At first, the contents of the tray shocked me, but then I thought, "Mmm, very nice." The tray had two pint glasses, in which Malcolm was pouring some cider from the fridge, a plate of Scottish shortbread, a small bowl of mints, and then a tube of lubricant and two shot glasses, each containing a little blue pill.
Malcolm took up the tray and led me through to the sitting room and placed the tray on the coffee table, and we sat on a 2-seater sofa, which was the soft, deep type, which I thought was going to engulf me. We chatted, and Malcolm was halfway down his drink when he took up the shot glass and proposed a toast. I automatically took up the other shot glass, and he said, "To good times ahead." He threw back the pill and drank some cider to wash it down, and I did the same.
He stood and said, "Follow me." He led me through the bungalow to another room, the bedroom. It was decorated similarly to a Gothic house, with wood paneling all around the walls, four large chairs with high backs and wooden arms (one in each corner), and right in the middle of the room, a four-poster bed. The curtains were closed, and the room was quite dark with a light over the bed. He led me to the bed and invited me to sit on the edge; it was a little higher than a standard bed. Once on, he leaned in and kissed me passionately. Then I pushed my shoulders back, and I fell back onto the bed as my head hit the mattress. I looked down, and Malcolm was already head down, heading for my cock. I was surprised to see how hard and erect I had already become as his mouth engulfed my bell end.
I had never been so expertly sucked and caressed by someone’s mouth as he was performing, licking, sucking, and lightly biting. He sensed I was close to coming and stopped to change position. He asked me to move to the center of the bed; he got on the bed and positioned himself with one knee on either side of my head, facing my cock. With his cock and balls in front of my face, I could not resist licking and sucking him. He pulled my legs up under his arms and began licking my perineum; I exploded harder than I had for a long time.
Malcolm climbed off me and asked me to get on all fours, keeping to the center of the bed; he put a pillow in front of my head along with a tube of lubricant. He positioned himself behind me and picked up the lube. I soon felt him touch me at the base of my spine and move down gently to my balls, lubricating me as he did so. He repeated the same move again, adding more lube; by this time, I was fully coated with lube all down my arse crack, cock, and balls. Then his moves changed; as his fingers reached my hole, they pushed a little firmer, not in me, but more pressure. When he got to my cock and balls, he pulled them gently down, not unlike milking a cow. As he pulled down, his other hand started the same journey, and the rhythm continued, but each time there was a little more pressure on my hole and a longer pull on my cock and balls. This continued for a while, and I hardly realized he was now knuckle-deep in my arse on each pass.
He suddenly stopped and pushed my head down into the pillow he had readied earlier, almost smothering me, and then feeling his bell end at my arse, with a little movement, he was in me, slowly sinking deeper until he was as far as he could go, and although I had only glimpsed his cock a few times, he felt massive now he was in me. He dove slowly into me three or four times, then started banging me fast and hard until he suddenly stopped. I could feel his cock pulsing as he came deep in me. We both collapsed onto the bed. He was still in me but was shrinking away. He rolled onto his back and, after a while, said, "Screw me, please."
Malcolm positioned himself on his back at the edge of the bed with his legs dangling over the edge, passing the tube of lube to me. I smeared it onto myself, enjoying the cool feel. I moved to the bed, which was exactly the right height as I stood between his legs. My cock was at his hole. I lifted his legs to my shoulders and dove in. I saw a little grimace on his face for a moment and then a broad smile as I started pumping into him. I got hold of his ankles as I thrust and pushed his legs as wide as I could. With this, I leaned forward a little, and he reached for my nipples and started squeezing them, pleasure and pain in equal measure. mmmmm. I could feel my climax approaching and tried to hold it back, but it was a poor attempt as I came inside him.
I climbed up on the bed; we just lay there, and I must have dozed off. When I woke, Malcolm was gone, and my clothes were neatly folded on a chair. I dressed and went to find Malcolm, who was in the kitchen. We had a mug of tea and chatted. As I left, Malcolm said, "You must come and see the railway again sometime." I agreed it was one of the best model railway experiences I had ever had.
As I drove home, I was erect again, thinking about what had happened, what may happen, and telling Anne what had happened. That evening, I told her all about the visit in detail, and we inevitably ended up making love, hard and passionate. I asked Anne if she was jealous; she said no, but she was envious, and she had Scottish relations.
A few days later, I saw Malcolm at the railway club and told him I had told Anne, and she was envious, and she had Scottish roots. He asked if she liked model railways.
