Date: Sun, 6 Dec 2009 14:22:46 -0500
From: perti@live.com
Subject: Dermot II, Chapter 3

This story is fiction.  Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is
purely coincidental.  These stories have as their main character a sexually
active gay teenager.  If this is offensive to you, or if it is illegal in
your area, or if you are under age, please leave now.

There is a religious element in these stories.  If you don't like that,
maybe now is a good time to leave.

Constructive criticism is welcome on my e-mail at perti@live.com.

____________________________________________________________________


Dermot II
Chapter 3, The Club

     Dermot awoke on Sunday morning confused about where he was.  This was
not the hospital, where he had been for so long.  Then, it all came back to
him, and he grinned, feeling so great it almost hurt.  He was at Lando's,
and he would be living here for who knew how long.  And the bed was
comfortable, and the room was his!  His room!  All to himself!  He could
even ....  Yes, he could even take care of that morning wood without
worrying about a nurse coming to interrupt him.  Dermot slid his hand over
his body.  He had removed the casts on his chest, leg, and wrist in order
to sleep more comfortably.  Fortunately, he did not roll about much in his
sleep, so this was safe enough.  His left hand would serve his purpose,
although Dermot looked forward to having full use of both.  He caressed his
stomach, then moved up to play with his nipples.  He had discovered how
sensitive that part of his anatomy was, and it always served as a good
introduction to the main event.  As he teased himself, he allowed his mind
to fantasize about having Lando in bed with him.  That was definitely
something to look forward to.  He called up the image of Lando's body,
which he had studied so carefully in the hot tub the night before.  His
cock responded by getting even harder, straining to pop out of his skin.
     Tossing back the covers, Dermot's right hand began to finger his
breasts, while his left now descended across his stomach and abdomen,
making little circles as he approached his pubic region.  He was as hard as
he could remember ever being.  The tip of his cock was wet with
anticipation.  Running his index finger over the tip, he spread the
moisture around, further stimulating himself.  His hand slid down and his
fingers wrapped around his staff, as though they all knew what to do
without a conscious decision.  Languidly, Dermot began to stroke himself,
reviewing every inch of Lando's body as he did.  As he became more aroused,
his hand sped up, and in his mind's eye he began to focus on Lando's
package.  He had not seen Lando hard, but in imagination his boyfriend's
cock began to rise to greet him.  As he imagined leaning in to encompass
that magnificent masculine morsel in his mouth, his stroking increased to
Mach speed.  He imagined closing his lips over Lando's prick, and as his
lips closed around it, he reached the point of no return.  Copious jets of
white sperm erupted, splattering his chest, abdomen, and hand.  His head
buzzed, and for several seconds the world shrank into just the one reality
of his orgasm.  Dermot had lifted himself from the bed on shoulder and heel
as he neared his climax, but now he collapsed back, sinking into a warm,
enveloping stupor.  He remained in this state for a good ten minutes before
deciding he should get up and see what Lando was actually doing.
     Dermot used some tissue in a box on his bedside table to clean himself
up a bit, then scooted over to the side of the bed.  Standing awkwardly
(God, would he ever be thankful when he could walk normally again!), he
pulled on a white terrycloth robe, snagged his crutches, then made his way
out to the hall and the bathroom.  He walked in without knocking, and
caught Mark emerging from the shower.
     "Um, sorry!  Didn't know anyone was in here," Dermot apologized.
     Completely unfazed, Mark responded as he began to dry himself off, "No
problem.  Lando and I never lock the door unless there are visitors in the
house.  We're used to each other.  Since you're living here now, you don't
count as a visitor ... unless this makes you uncomfortable," he added as an
afterthought.
     "No!  No!  Not at all," Dermot lied.  "I was just surprised, that's
all.
     Mark had a great body, rivaling that of his younger brother, and
Dermot could not keep his eyes off it, even though he knew Mark was
straight, and just might become offended by this uninvited scrutiny.  To
his horror, Dermot felt his cock begin to stiffen, despite his recent
release.
     Instead of being offended, Mark laughed.  "You queers are queer," he
pronounced.  Having completed his toweling off, Mark departed the bathroom,
leaving Dermot to process this new experience.  For one thing, it was the
first time he had been called queer without him resenting it.  When Mark
said it, somehow it was a totally different thing than when Zach said it.
Being classified as not a visitor needed thought as well.
     Shaking his head to clear it, Dermot turned on the shower, and soon
was enveloped in warm steam, laving his body in sweet smelling soap, and
emerging clean and refreshed.  He felt so positive he even considered
shaving, but after staring at himself in the mirror for a good five
minutes, he could not find anything to shave, so he gave up that idea, and
returned to his room.  Dressing, and fastening on his leg and wrist casts
(he postponed his chest cast as he had trouble donning it alone), Dermot
wondered where Lando was.  Was he a late sleeper?  Should he go down and
check out Lando's room?  Thinking better of that until invited, Dermot
began the awkward descent of the back stairs, finally emerging by the
kitchen door, where he found Sandy Lyle busy at work, but no Aunt Carrie.
     Sandy had obviously heard Dermot on the stairs, as she greeted him
immediately as he appeared.  "Good morning, Dermot.  I hope you slept
well."
     "Yes, thank you.  Very well.  Is Lando in the breakfast room?"
     "Oh, no.  He's at Mass.  He decided to take in the 8:00 this morning.
He should be home before too very long.  What would you like for breakfast?
Check out the sideboard, and if there's anything else you'd like, just let
me know."
     "Uh, thanks.  Um, why are you fixing breakfast?  Where's Aunt Carrie?"
     "Oh, she has Sundays and Wednesdays off.  She does have a life beyond
pampering us, you know," Sandy explained.
     Dermot made his way into the breakfast room, where he found Mark and
Emily both ahead of him.  The sideboard was groaning under chafing dishes
containing scrambled eggs, bacon, hash browns, and rolls; plus an urn of
coffee and jugs of milk and orange juice.  There were also boxes of dry
cereal and bowls.  Dermot noticed that Emily was eating cereal, whereas
Mark had a plate heaped with everything else.
     When Dermot made his way into the room, Emily suddenly hopped up and
pulled out a chair for him.  "Here, sit down.  What do you want?  I'll get
it for you."
     Dermot laughed at her eagerness.  "I think I can manage."
     "No.  You might fall or something.  Just sit down, and I'll get
whatever you want," Emily insisted.
     "You might as well do what she says," Mark advised.  "Once Emily has
made up her mind, it's impossible to change it."
     Smiling, Dermot sat.  "Thanks.  I'd like the eggs and bacon, and just
a few hash browns.  Not as much as Mark has."
     "Mark's a pig," his sister proclaimed.
     "I'm still a growing boy," Mark joked.
     Emily set a plate in front of Dermot.  "What do you want to drink?"
     "OJ and milk, please."
     That appeared in a trice, and before he realized it, Dermot was
engaged in a friendly exchange with both Mark and Emily.  He was still at
the table with them when the back door opened and a voice Dermot knew well
called out, "Is that lazy Dermot still in bed?"
     From both the kitchen and the breakfast room came denials, as Dermot
got to his feet to greet his boyfriend.  Lando burst into the breakfast
room, and hugged Dermot.
     "Glad you decided not to sleep all day," Lando said.
     "I'm enjoying not having to be up at the crack of dawn.  It was
luxurious not having a nurse rouse me this morning," Dermot replied,
hugging Lando in return.
     "Sinking into sybaritic sloth already," Lando lamented, shaking his
head.  He laughed, "Go on, finish your breakfast.  I'll have a croissant
and coffee."
     "I never got into coffee," Dermot admitted.
     "Lando just started back around his birthday," Emily said.  "He thinks
he's being sophisticated."
     Lando blushed.  "No chance of being cool with my family around," he
complained.  That did not stop him from getting his designated pastry and
drink, and taking a seat next to Dermot.  They talked for some time, until
both Mark and Emily disappeared.
     "Your mom said you were at Mass.  Do you always go this early?"
     "Uh, no, not always," Lando admitted, obviously uneasy with this turn
in the conversation.
     "Look.  I know you guys are trying to make me feel at home here, and
believe me, I appreciate it.  But you don't have to change your usual
schedule or anything for me.  I'll bet you usually go with your family,
don't you?"
     "Well, yeah.  Normally, we all attend the 11:00.  But it did not seem
right to leave you alone on your first Sunday here.  Besides, I want to
whip your ass at that game you cheated on last night."
     "Hey!  I wasn't cheating!  I was actually handicapped by a stiff right
wrist.  You're just a lousy player," Dermot retorted.
     Serious talk forgotten, the boys made their way down to the rec room,
depositing their dirty dishes in the kitchen on the way.  There they fired
up the game box, launching an epic battle.  A little while later, Sandy
called down, "We're off to Mass.  Don't get so involved in those games that
you forget to meet us for dinner."
     "Okay, Mom!" Lando called back.
     "Meet them for dinner?" Dermot asked.
     "Oh, since this is one of Aunt Carrie's days off, we always have
Sunday dinner at the club," Lando informed him.
     "What club?"
     "Whispering Hills.  You know, it's the club out towards Madison
Forest."
     "You mean a country club?"
     "Well, yeah.  Is that a problem?"
     "Not a problem.  Just something else, like Oxbridge, I never
experienced before," Dermot said.  After a moment of silence, he asked,
"What should I wear?  The suit you got for me is not here yet."
     "You don't need a suit just for dinner.  Polo, brown slacks, dress
shoes.  You'll be right in style," Lando assured him.
     "Geesh, I guess I'd better start up Mount Everest so I can be ready in
time," Dermot kidded.
     "You're just saying that because I was going to wipe the floor with
you at this game," Lando replied, but, realizing that it was difficult for
Dermot to negociate the stairs all the way from the basement to the third
floor, he turned off the game box, and prepared to assist his boyfriend.
     After donning his chest cast, dressing, and passing Lando's
inspection, Dermot accompanied his host back to the carriage house and
Lando's Mustang.  Dermot noted that, while Lando liked to show off, he was
actually a very competent and safe driver.  His showing off might be
... well, showy, but it was never dangerous.  They sped through the
streets, eventually approaching a large property in the southeastern
section of the county, surrounded by a low stone wall topped by iron
railings.  Lando turned into an entranceway between two columns, with iron
gates standing open.  They followed a winding, narrow road between old
trees, emerging into sunlight as the golf course appeared on their left.
The road made another turn or two, passing over a narrow humpbacked bridge,
and debouched into a large parking lot.  There it was, Whispering Hills
Country Club.  The club house was a large, rambling structure, once the
home of an eccentric millionaire, purchased from his heirs and turned into
a private club sometime in the 1920s.  It looked like a movie setting, an
impression enhanced by tennis courts to one side, with young, and
not-so-young, athletes contesting in white shirt or blouse, trousers or
skirt, and tennis shoes.
     They made their way up about ten wide, low steps with the aid of a
bannister, and through heavy doors with cut glass insets.  The entrance
hall had a marble floor, inlaid with a pattern like some kind of labyrinth.
Dermot commented, "That's an odd pattern on the floor."
     "Yeah.  The way I hear it, the old geezer who built the place had it
copied from one in the cathedral at Chartres.  Not quite sure what it's
supposed to mean, though."
     "Chartres in France?"
     "Do you know of any other?"
     "Well, no.  But it seems odd, that's all."
     "There are a lot of things about this place that seem odd," Lando
said, moving them on through a spacious lobby towards the dining room,
which meant taking an elevator to the next floor.  As they approached the
dining room, an elderly black man in a tuxedo greeted them.
     "Welcome, Mr. Lando.  Your parents are not here yet, but your usual
table is ready."
     "Thank you, Mr. Johnson.  This is my friend, Dermot Barry.  He will be
living with us for a while, so I expect you will be seeing him quite a
bit," Lando replied.
     "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Dermot," Mr. Johnson responded.  "Mrs. Lyle
did call earlier to tell us to set a place for you.  I trust you will find
everything satisfactory."
     "I'm sure I will," said an impressed Dermot.
     After the boys had been seated by Mr. Johnson, and a waiter appeared
to fill their water glasses, Dermot commented, "That Mr. Johnson knew you
by name."
     "Well, we've been coming here most Sundays for dinner for as long as I
can remember, so that's not unusual.  Mr. Johnson is very good at names,
though.  He'll probably remember yours the next time we're here."
     "He looks ancient."
     "He is.  According to an article in the club newsletter a couple of
months ago, he started here as a kitchen worker when he was 14, and worked
his way up.  The article was celebrating his eighty-fifth birthday.  He's
had quite a career here most of his life, except during World War II, when
he was in a black tank unit."
     "A black unit?"
     "Yeah.  In those days, the army was segregated.  To hear Mr. Johnson
tell it, the black units practically won the war single handed.  He tells
great stories about the 761st Tank Battalion fighting the Germans in the
Battle of the Bulge and crossing the Rhine and racing towards Vienna with
Patton, only to be told to slow down and let the Russians get there first
for political reasons.  That man makes history come alive.  He lived it,"
Lando said, not without some awe in his voice.
     Any further discussion of Mr. Johnson's war record was postponed by
the arrival of the rest of the Lyle family.  Mark was escorting a young
woman, who looked happy to be there with him.  As they approached, Lando
and Dermot stood to welcome them.  Mark immediately introduced the woman.
     "Dermot, this is Cathy, a very special friend of mine.  And Cathy,
Dermot is Lando's friend I told you about."
     "Glad to meet you," both Dermot and Cathy said, then laughed at their
simultaneity.
     They distributed themselves about the table, Dermot finding himself
between Lando and Emily.  During the meal, which was excellent, Dermot
discovered that Emily was a very sharp observer, and had a fund of
come-backs for anything he said.  She also had a knack of making her
younger brother blush, which Dermot found charming.  So, for a part of the
meal, Dermot teamed with Emily to embarrass Lando, but never pushing it so
far as to really upset the boy.  By the time they got to dessert, however,
Lando had had enough.
     From the other side of Lando, Cathy asked, "I understand you'll be
staying with the Lyles more or less permanently, Dermot?"
     "Yes," Dermot replied.  "I had no place to go, so Mr. & Mrs. Lyle
kindly decided to take me in.  I guess they like collecting strays," he
joked.
     "You should lodge a complaint, Cathy," Emily contributed.  "You have
to live in a dormitory, while Lando gets to bring his boyfriend home."
     "Emily!" Lando exploded.
     Cathy looked carefully at Lando, then at Dermot.  "Are you really
Lando's boyfriend?"  she asked.
     Dermot proudly asserted, "Yeah.  We decided that on Friday."
     Lando was blushing furiously, however, not quite knowing how his
brother's girlfriend would take this revelation.  He ground out, "I thought
I would have some support from Dermot, but instead all that happened was
Emily got an ally to pick on me."
     Emily laughed at her brother's discomfiture, but Dermot became aware
that maybe they were pushing Lando too far.  To cover his own
embarrassment, and to give the situation a chance to calm down, he
announced that he had to visit the restroom.  Getting directions, he
managed to make his way there without help.  Dermot still felt insecure
standing at a urinal, so he entered one of the stalls and sat.  He was
regretting pushing his boyfriend so far, and told himself he had to be
careful around Emily.  She was a little devil, and would lead him into
trouble if he weren't careful.  While pondering this, Dermot was vaguely
aware that someone else had entered the restroom.  He paid no attention
until he overheard the mention of the Lyles.
     "Who are the new people the Lyles have with them today?" a deep male
voice asked.
     A higher pitched, almost whining voice responded, "The young woman is
young Mark's date.  She's a student at the University, and from out of
town, so I don't know much about her background."
     "There are too many people without proper backgrounds in the club
these days," the first voice commented.  "What about the boy?"
     "Oh, Lord, don't you know?  That's Walt's latest social project.  A
piece of West End trash he picked up at the hospital, I understand."
     "He has no consideration, bringing people like that to the club.  Used
to be we kept the riffraff at bay.  That's why we have these clubs, isn't
it?" the older man complained.
     "Walt is always doing things like that.  We wouldn't have let such a
fanatic in the club, except his family has been part of things from the
beginning. I'm on the committee, you know, and I told them it would come to
this," the shriller voice proclaimed.
     "It's those damned Catholics," the deeper voice replied.
     "No, a lot of Catholics are okay," the younger man asserted.  "You'd
never know they were Catholic to talk to them.  It's just a few like Walt
who are some kind of fanatic.  Most want to blend in, and cause us no
trouble, but he takes all that left wing, subversive stuff about poverty,
and immigrants, and abortion seriously.  Why, if he had his way, the whole
social order would be upset.  He's nothing more than a traitor to his
class, that's what he is!" the younger man insisted stridently.
     The older voice replied with a worried tinge to it.  "Now calm
yourself.  You know we don't need an incident when we go back to the dining
room.  You're too sensitive, Bucknell.  You get too excited."
     "But really, the situation is getting out of hand," the voice
identified as Bucknell whined as Dermot heard the door open and close
again.
     Sitting in his stall, Dermot experienced a gamut of emotions.  He was
angry at being called West End trash, but he was even more angry at the way
those men spoke of Mr. Lyle, who had been so kind to him.  He wanted to go
out and tell them off, but he thought that would possibly cause Mr. Lyle
more difficulty.  He did not know who those voices belonged to, so he had
no idea whether they could actually do his guardian any harm.  For the
first time, it occurred to Dermot that taking him in might actually cost
the Lyles something more than money.
     Dermot was very subdued when he returned to the table.  He was
troubled by what he had heard, and wanted to think about it, but had little
chance with all the talk going on around him.  He was so distracted that he
did not even respond to Lando's teasing about how much time he spent in the
restroom.  He likewise ignored Cathy's carefully phrased questions about
his relationship with Lando.  He showed no interest in being shown around
the clubhouse by Lando and Emily, to their disappointment and surprise.
Finally, Lando asked, "What's wrong, Dermot?  Ever since you went off to
the restroom you've been unnaturally quiet."
     "I'll tell you when we're alone," Dermot responded, and would say no
more.
     Later that afternoon, back at the Lyle's home, Lando insisted on
knowing what had happened to make his boyfriend so moody.  They were in
Dermot's room, with Lando helping him to change into more casual dress.
Cautiously, Dermot recounted what he had overheard in the restroom.  Lando
reacted, "Don't feel it's you.  There have been people like that all along.
No big deal."
     "It could be if those men make trouble for your dad with that
committee they were talking about.  Maybe I shouldn't be living here.
Maybe I should ask Mrs. Harper to find me a different foster home.  I don't
want to cause your folks any trouble.  They've been so good to me."
     "No!" Lando almost shouted.  "Don't you see, if you do something like
that, they win.  As they will see it, you'll have gone back where you
belong, proving Dad wrong in the first place."
     "But maybe I don't belong here.  Maybe I should stick with people like
me," Dermot agonized.
     "You wait right here," Lando insisted, as he rushed out of the room.
Not five minutes later, he was back, with his father in tow, babbling bits
and pieces of Dermot's story along the way.
     Walt Lyle could make neither heads nor tails from his son's excited
comments, but he knew he was greatly upset about something.  "Lando, you're
not making any sense.  Just be quiet and let Dermot tell me what happened
to set you off like this.  Dermot, I gather something occurred at the club.
Please tell me about it."
     As accurately as he could, Dermot repeated the conversation he had
overheard.  He then added his comment that he did not want to cause the
Lyles any trouble, especially after everyone had been so good to him.
     "Dermot, don't even think about moving out because of this.  If you
decide you want to leave because you're unhappy here, then we will contact
Mrs. Harper, but not before.  Bucknell, you say.  He's a constant pain in
the ass, always whining about something.  I suspect I know who the other
man was, as well.  I'm afraid there are a few old curmudgeons around at
Whispering Hills, like any private club, but believe me, Dermot, they are
not the majority of members, and I have nothing to worry about as far as
the committee is concerned.  I'm sorry you had to be subjected to their
pettiness, but they are no danger to me."
     "One more thing.  I am greatly affected by your consideration.  Even
though it is not necessary at all, your willingness to move out rather than
cause us trouble only confirms the good opinion I have formed of you.
Believe me, I had much rather be in the company of someone as considerate
as you than that of some biased snob like Bucknell.  Okay?"
     Dermot was moved by the support he received, both from Lando and from
Mr. Lyle.  He stifled a tear, and managed to say "Okay," with a voice
ragged with emotion.  On impulse, he took a step towards Walt Lyle, almost
falling into him, and hugged him.  Walt looked startled for a moment, then
pleased as he returned the embrace.
     "In that case," Dermot said, "I guess I won't be packing this
afternoon, so I'll just have to spend my time beating the pants off Lando
at those games he's so lousy at."
     "Lousy!" Lando yelped.  "I'll show you who's lousy!  Quit stalling,
and get your ass down to the rec room!"