The great room and kitchen area were in a sort of gray semi-darkness, and I turned the lights on.  The coffee pot was still sitting where we had left it on the counter.  While I was rinsing it out and re-filling it with water, I was trying to make some sense out of Lyle's angry outburst at Tip.  "He certainly didn't seem upset last night;" I thought to myself as I measured the coffee and filled the percolator insert.   After plugging the pot into the wall outlet and setting the timer, I went to the front door and looked out at the fog -filled landscape.  The trees and bushes were dripping with the moisture from the fog and the ground was covered with the morning dew, but Lyle and Tip were more on my mind than the weather.  Lyle had mentioned something about a "long story," but he hadn't elaborated on what the story was nor if it was the reason he and Tip had needed to come to the cottage in a driving rain storm. 

The comment that Lyle had made about his age and not needing his father's permission stuck in my mind.   He was eighteen, and he and I having sex in the privacy of the cottage was okay.  On the other hand though, Tip was underage, and even though there had been mutual consent between him and Dalton it didn't alter the fact that they both were minors, and that could be of concern if they were having troubles with their father.  "Damn, Carlton, wait until you have the facts, and stop being paranoid," I said to myself not hearing Lyle come up behind me until he spoke, surprising me.

"Carl, you aren't mad at me because of the way I talked to Tip are  you?"  he asked in an apologetic tone.

"No, Lyle, not really," I answered, startled for a moment before turning my head to look at him.  My t-shirt hung loosely from his shoulders, but it was tight enough to reveal the clean cut definition of his lean chest muscles and the flatness of his hard stomach from the way he had tucked it into the waist band of his jeans.  His auburn hair glistened from being damp, and there was a soft doe-like "I'm sorry" look in the depths of his hazel eyes.

"No, Lyle," I repeated, turning and moving back across the room to the coffee pot with him padding along behind me in his bare feet.   "I don't have any reason to be mad at you," I continued, reaching into the cupboard for coffee mugs. "But you told Dalton and me that there was a long story as to why you and Tip came to the cottage in a driving rainstorm, and you have been dancing around it ever since you mentioned it."

Lyle stood quietly while I poured two mugs of coffee and handed one to him.  He turned away without saying anything and was spooning an inordinately large amount of sugar into his mug and looking for the milk.

"Milk is in the fridge," I said as I went into the living room area of the great room, and sat on the couch that Dalton and I had occupied before they arrived.

Sipping my coffee, I watched as Lyle finished adding milk and sugar to his cup, admiring the fluid movement of his back muscles even though he was wearing one of my t-shirts. His thick auburn hair was shaggy but closely trimmed to the taper of his neck.  He stood facing the counter sipping his coffee, and I let my eyes roam over the tight compactness of his lean muscled body, savoring the pleasure of having introduced him to the more exciting experiences of male sex.  An erotic feeling of reverie settled over me as I sipped my coffee, and I felt my cock swelling as I mused over the events that had transpired between us.  I was so deep in thought that I didn't realize that Lyle had moved away from the counter and was standing at the other end of the couch until he spoke.

"Carl, do you and Dalton get along with your Mom and Dad?"  he asked as he moved around the end of the couch, and sat down.  The sudden directness of his question shaking me from the thoughtful stupor that I had fallen into.

"I guess we do, Lyle," I said softly.  "But, I've never given it much thought.  Why do you ask?" I asked, answering his question; but being a little perplexed as to his reason for asking.

"I was just wondering," he replied, breathing in deeply and hesitating before asking, "Do they know that you and Dalton are gay?"

"I'm not sure whether they do or not; but it is difficult to know what parents or anyone thinks about that subject, Lyle," I answered slowly, watching his facial expressions before continuing.  "Most gay people like to believe that no one knows that they are gay.  From what I have read on the subject and from what some of the people I have talked with have told me about their experiences, parents have a way of knowing without us realizing it."

"I think that maybe our old man suspects Tip and I are," he said, clutching his mug tightly as he pulled one leg up on the couch and leaned back against the arm of the couch facing me with one foot on the floor.

"Would it bother you if he and your mother do suspect that you are?" I asked, repositioning myself on the couch and glancing at the impressive bulge confined in the crotch of his jeans. 

"Yes and no, Carl," he answered taking a sip from his mug and then setting it in the opening between the back of his calf muscle and his crotch as he continued."  I really don't care whether he does know that I am gay, but I do worry about what he might do to Tip if he finds out Tip is gay after I join the army and leave him here alone," he said looking at me, breathing in deeply and sighing almost mournfully as he exhaled.

The room went quiet, and I could feel the concern and sincerity of Lyle's worry about Tip from the way he lowered his head and gazed into his coffee mug.  The windows of the cottage were brightening as the sun cut through the morning mist.  The muffled tones of Tip and Dalton talking drifted from the bedroom, and I wondered whether they were having much the same conversation as Lyle and I were.  Breathing in deeply, I broke the silence between us and asked, "Has your dad said anything that would make you believe he suspects you and Tip are gay?" 

"He hasn't said anything outright, Carl.  It's just a feeling I get when he starts in on us about hanging out together all of the time and never dating girls," he answered softly, his fingers playing with the rim of his coffee mug as he was thinking before continuing. "He says it's not natural for two boys, even brothers, to be together all of the time, and not show any interest in girls."

"It is natural for him to feel that way, Lyle," I said, glancing up as Tip and Dalton entered the room.  "Most fathers, and mothers naturally wonder about those things when they have son's that have reached the age when they should be showing an interest in girls, but that does not mean he suspects you are gay."

"I guess you're right, Carl; but I bet your dad is not like ours," he said turning his head in the direction I had glanced before continuing. "When our old man is drinking, he starts in on us about not having girlfriends; and before long he is giving us smirking looks and talking about faggots and queers, and that what they do as not being natural.  That's what worries me."

As I was reflecting on what Lyle had said about his concerns concerning his father, Dalton and Tip came in the room glancing at us as they moved toward the kitchen counter.  Shifting the conversation away from Lyle, I asked Tip, "What do you think about what Lyle has been telling me, Tip?"

"Not much, Carl. Dad only says those things when he is drunk,  and Lyle knows he won't remember anything about what he said after he sobers up and goes back to work." Tip said, looking at Lyle as Dalton handed him a glass of orange juice.

"Is that why you came over here yesterday, your father was drinking?"  I asked as I got up to re-fill my mug.

"Yeah..., partly that," Lyle started to say when Tip interrupted him.

"We wanted to see you and Dalton before you left, and we were gonna wait until the rain stopped or slacked up first, but Dad started drinking," Tip answered before Lyle could say anymore. 

"I was gonna tell them that, Tip," Lyle barked angrily.

"Maybe you were, but you always beat around the bush instead of saying it outright," Tip answered, grinning at Dalton and me.

"You mean that you didn't tell them where you were going or whom you were going to be with?" I asked, taking a sip of my coffee, and casually leaning against the counter.

"Nah...," Lyle said, hesitating and glancing at Tip as he answered.  "They don't know that we know you and Dalton."

"You haven't told them that you met us?" Dalton asked as I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Jeepers, no, Dalt.  Lyle is right about one thing," Tip said quickly, glancing at the two of us.  "If we had told  them we had met a couple of boys, Dad would have started asking all kinds of questions about how we had met you, who you were, and all of that kind of stuff."

"And he would bring it up later when he is drinking," Lyle interjected.

"Is he that bad?" I asked.

"He is when he is drinking and especially when the weather is bad and he can't work," Tip replied, giving Lyle a worried look.

"What are you going to tell him when you go home, Tip?" Dalton asked, glancing at Lyle.

"Nothing.  It's stopped raining, and he won't be home from work until late this afternoon or evening," Tip said softly, stopping as Lyle said.  "We'll tell Mom that we stayed with a couple of our buddies since it was storming so bad.  As long as we don't get into any trouble, that's usually all she wants to know." 

"What does your mother say about his drinking and the way he treats you and Lyle, Tip?" I asked feeling a little overwhelmed by what they had said about their father and his drinking.

"She usually takes it in stride as long as Dad is only talking," Lyle replied.  "It's when he starts getting loud and cursing that she'll tell us to leave, and she tells him to quiet down.  For some reason he does what she says, and he goes off to bed to sleep it off.  Later on, she will tell us it's liquor talk and not to pay any attention to what he says."

"Most mother's are that way, and she is probably right," I said, setting my mug on the counter and saying, "I don't know about you guys, but I am starved.  How about breakfast?"