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.
Constructive criticism is welcome on my e-mail.
Dermot Chapter 8, Exposed
There was nothing about the way Tuesday began to indicate the approaching events which would shatter Dermot's carefully guarded privacy. Nurse Bailey seemed much as usual as she roused him that morning. Dr. Shipley likewise showed no sign of the impending collapse of Dermot's policy of non-compliance as he poked and peered, hemmed and hawed through the morning examination. The first hint Dermot had of something out of the ordinary was at the end of his examination.
"You are to be taken up to x-ray again this morning, Dermot. Just normal checking. We want to keep a close watch on that lung. Hear you didn't get on very well with Dr. Grissom."
"The man's a fraud," Dermot harshly asserted.
"Hmmm. Well, we'll have to think about that. Oh, and when you get back from x-ray, Mrs. Harper, Sgt. Flaherty, and Mr. Lyle will be coming to see you" Dr. Shipley announced.
"Oh joy. More questions. Who's coming first?" Dermot asked with no enthusiasm.
"I believe this morning they are coming together," his physician answered.
"Ganging up on me, are they," Dermot commented, not concerned at first. During his x- rays and travel time up and down, however, he began to worry. Had he told a different story to one than to the other? He didn't think so. All things considered, he had been remarkably truthful. Just not very forthcoming.
He returned to his room, and got settled in his bed only minutes before the trio invaded his personal space. The clatter of footsteps down the hall was accompanied by companionable laughter. They were in this together. As the three entered his room, Dermot noted that all of them were festooned with something very like smirks. Walt Lyle spoke first.
"Good morning, Dermot. I believe you know Mrs. Harper and Sgt. Flaherty. We held a little meeting yesterday, probably overlapping with the time my son was visiting you here. As you may be able to tell, we feel very proud of ourselves. We have cracked the mystery of the identity of Dermot the Closed-Mouthed. But, I'll let Mrs. Harper speak first, as she did most of the spade work."
Dermot the Closed Mouthed sat open mouthed, not sure what was happening.
Natalie Harper smiled as she moved slightly closer. "Although you gave Sgt. Flaherty more specific clues, Dermot, it was telling me that you had previous dealings with Social Services which allowed me to discover your identity. That, and the fact that I was fairly sure Dermot was your real name. It's not all that common, you know. I must say, it took me long enough, even so, and I hope you're pleased at having caused me to spend countless hours going over our records for the past two and a half years. Here's what I found out."
"Your full name is Dermot Michael Barry. You were born on 15 March, 1993, the only child of James Edward Barry and his wife, Eileen Marie Walsh, here in the city. You attended St. Pius X Parochial School from Kindergarten until grade four. You were then transferred to Samuel S. Ballard Elementary School, a public institution, where you attended through grade six, Shawnee Middle School through grades seven and eight, and Western High School for grade nine, or your freshman year. You have an excellent academic record, except for the last semester at St. Pius. Last year at Western, you had all A's except in Algebra, where you earned a modest C+. You also neglected to tell me when we spoke that your Civics class was only one semester, and the fall semester last year you had a class in computers."
"We also know that your mother died on March 14, the day before your tenth birthday, in 2003. She had been ill with cancer for several months prior to that, although the disease acted relatively quickly. It was at this time that your school work fell off, followed by your change of schools the following school year. Your father was called up as a member of the National Guard two years later, and was assigned to combat duty in Iraq. When he left, he entrusted you to the care of his brother and sister-in-law, Stephen and Florence Barry, of 3407 Willowdale Avenue in this city. Less than a year later, on 7 June 2006, James Edward Barry was killed in action."
"On 8 August 2006, you appeared at our office in the western part of town, claiming that you were being mistreated by your uncle. An initial investigation was carried out, and no evidence to substantiate that claim was found, so you were returned to the care of your uncle and aunt."
"How am I doing so far, Dermot?"
The boy sat in his bed, stunned, open mouthed, but also with tears streaming down his face. He did not answer.
"Let me bring you up to date. I discovered most of this on Saturday and Sunday. I said nothing to you yesterday because I wanted to check out my facts, and to consult these gentlemen first. Yesterday afternoon, after I left you, I went to the Barry home and attempted to interview Mrs. Florence Barry, who was extremely nervous and who would say nothing until her husband was present. While there, I met your cousin Alice, but she excused herself quite early, so I did not get a chance to speak with her. I returned in the evening, and interviewed Stephen Emmet Barry. He assured me that his nephew, Dermot Michael Barry, was living with an aunt on his mother's side in another state, but he could not remember which state, nor provide an address or phone number. He became quite hostile when I pressed the issue, informing him that, as a complaint had been filed, it was necessary to make follow-up contact."
"I also interviewed Rev. Ignatius Seligmann, Pastor of St. Pius X Catholic Church. He does not remember having contact with anyone in the Barry family since you quit attending in 2003, and expressed the opinion that the family was a sad example of what was happening in the modern church. We also interviewed teachers and principals at Ballard, Shawnee, and Western. You are definitely remembered there, as a good student, but quiet and withdrawn. Several expressed concern that something was wrong, but they had not enough evidence to follow up on that."
Dermot looked frantically to Mr. Lyle. "You promised me ...."
"I intend to keep my promise, Dermot. You told me that you did not run away. That says you were thrown out. Your uncle and aunt have conspired in this fabrication about you being in another state with an aunt on your mother's side. They obviously are unfit guardians. I intend to file with the court this afternoon to end any rights they may have over you, and have you declared a ward of the state. There is one thing you must do, however."
"What's that?"
"It is just barely possible that the Barrys are telling the truth, and Mrs. Harper has made a mistake in identifying you. Will you now confirm your true identity?"
"I won't be sent back to Uncle Steve?"
"No. Sgt. Flaherty has related the incident in which he discovered by accident that you have an Uncle Steve. We are convinced that your fear of him is real. But is your Uncle Steve the same as the Stephen Barry discovered by Mrs. Harper?"
"Yes! If I don't have to go back, there's no reason for me not to tell you. Yes! Everything Mrs. Harper said is true. My name is Dermot Michael Barry. I'll be sixteen in two weeks. I got kicked out of my uncle's house back in May because he discovered I am gay. What can I do to convince you? I want to do whatever you need to end any connection with Uncle Steve."
"Tell us something about the family, the house, anything that only a family member would know," Walt Lyle advised.
Dermot thought. "The house has three bedrooms. One is for Uncle Steve and Aunt Florie, and one is for my cousin Alice, on the main floor. My cousin Zach and I shared a room in the basement. Zach has copies of Playboy and Hustler hidden under his mattress. There is no back door, but a side door opening on to the car port. In the back yard, there is a large space in the rear where Uncle Steve says he's going to put in a vegetable garden every year, but he never does. He works for Broad Street Marathon as a mechanic. Aunt Florie wants to work, but Uncle Steve won't let her. He said he can support his family, and would do okay if he did not have to support me too. Uncle Steve and Aunt Florie fight a lot, and he hits her. Some times she has big bruises on her arms and face. Zach graduated from Western last May, just barely. He played football, but was a lousy student. I don't know what he's doing because I had to leave about a week after his graduation, and at that time he was still looking for a job he said. He wasn't looking very hard. Alice is two years younger than Zach, and a year older than me. She's a real slut, and Aunt Florie knows, but Uncle Steve thinks she's the Virgin Mary. Oh, I did not know my mother's maiden name, and, as far as I know, she did not have a sister. When Mom died, her parents came to the funeral, but I don't remember any aunts or uncles on that side. There was some kind of argument with the priest at the time of the funeral, but I don't know what it was about."
"Thank you, Dermot. Sgt. Flaherty and I will check these things out, as far as we can," Mrs. Harper said.
Sgt. Flaherty spoke for the first time. "Sounds like we have a case of domestic violence, child abandonment, and child abuse. Have to see what comes of that."
"One more thing," Dermot added, now being anxious to provide as much information as he could if it promised freedom from Uncle Steve. "My history teacher last year was Mr. Barlow. He's a black man, kind of tall. I think he'd remember me, and could identify me if you brought him to the hospital."
"Thank you again, Dermot. That's very useful. I will see Mr. Barlow today, if possible. Is there anything else you'd like to say before we go our separate ways?" Mrs. Harper asked.
"Yeah. I hate being out on the street. I hate being ... a ... a prostitute. I don't want to have to do that any more. Do whatever you need to, but protect me from Uncle Steve. I hope you guys are telling me the truth. I told Mr. Lyle before, if you try to send me back to Uncle Steve, I'll kill myself. I really will."
This was said with such force that none of those present doubted Dermot's determination to do just that. It also did not escape them that, despite his clear abhorrence of life on the streets, life with Uncle Steve was the real evil to be avoided at all costs.
"I'm on my way to check at the Barry home and at Western," Mrs. Harper said.
"I'll run a check on whether Dermot's mother had any sisters. What about your grandparents, Dermot?" Sgt. Flaherty asked.
"Grandma died two years ago. I think Grandpa is alive, but he has Alzheimers. I don't know where he is. After mom died, I never saw them again. Uncle Steve wouldn't let me go to the funeral when Grandma died."
"Okay. I'll also look into the possibility of filing charges against Steve Barry. Anyone named Steve should not be acting like that," the sergeant said.
Despite himself, Dermot giggled at that.
"And I," said Mr. Lyle, "will prepare the documents for this afternoon's session of family court asking that all rights of Stephen and Florence Barry over Dermot Michael Berry be terminated, and he be declared a ward of the state. I trust I can count on you two to support this request."
"Certainly," the other two declared in unison.
"I'll stop by later for your signature, Dermot."
"Oh, shit! I can't sign anything with my arm in a cast like this," the boy said, lifting his right arm.
"We will take care of that," Mr. Lyle promised.
The trio of guardian angels departed. Dermot lay back, exhausted but at the same time exhilarated. This had taken a lot out of him, and emotionally he was wrung out, having his whole life reviewed before him, as it were. He wondered if drowning were like that. But, for the first time since he heard of the death of his father, things seemed to be getting better. That was nearly two and a half years ago. Two and a half years is a long time in the life of someone not quite sixteen.
A short time later, Nurse Bailey came to check on Dermot. She wanted to show him the new name plate to be posted by his door saying Dermot M. Barry. When she entered the room, she immediately knew something was wrong. There was no smart mouthed remark, no complaint from Dermot. Instead, he was curled up in something close to a fetal position - as much as the cast on his left leg would permit - and he was weeping.
She rushed to his side. "Oh, Dermot! What's wrong? Why are you crying?"
He could not answer her, but, when she reached out and tugged on his shoulder, he uncoiled and wrapped himself around her, sobbing uncontrollably. Nurse Bailey simply held him and uttered soothing nonsense for over twenty minutes. Finally, Dermot ceased weeping. He pulled away.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled.
"It's okay. You had a rough morning."
Dermot reached up to rub his eyes, but she knocked his hand away. "No rubbing. Here." She carefully wiped his right eye, then handed him the tissue. "You can do the other one." He grinned.
"I'm so tired."
"Poor baby, you're emotionally exhausted. I should have realized that, after those three tormentors were here."
"No, not tormentors. Angels."
So saying, Dermot rolled over on his right side, and fell into a deep sleep.
When he awoke, Lando was there. He had no idea how long his friend had been waiting. Dermot started to rub his eyes, but remembered in time. He sat up. Seeing Lando, he immediately felt better, but at that moment his stomach grumbled like a bass drum.
"Is that any way to greet a friend?" Lando laughed.
Dermot laughed too, but then asked, "What time is it, anyway?"
"A little after three."
"No wonder I'm hungry. I slept through lunch today."
"I have the perfect solution. Stay here," Lando said pointlessly, and rushed off.
Dermot heard Lando speak with someone in the corridor, and then Mr. Lyle came into the room. There was another person with him, a woman he had not seen before.
"Hello, Dermot," Mr. Lyle said. "Lando tells me you just woke up. Did you sleep well?"
"Yes, thank you. I hope Lando did not have to wait long for me to wake up."
"I'm sure he didn't mind. Nurse Bailey insisted that he not wake you, I understand. I guess this morning was kind of rough on you."
"Yeah. I was really wrung out," he responded, looking wonderingly at the new person.
Taking the hint, Mr. Lyle said, "This is Mrs. Little. She works in my office, and is a notary public. She's here to notarize your signature on these papers requesting that you be made a ward of the state."
"Oh, sure. Let's do it!" There could be no question about Dermot's willingness to sign.
"Here is the first document. It is a formal request that all rights whatsoever of Stephen Emmet Barry and Florida Maria Sanchez Barry over you, Dermot Michael Barry, be terminated, and you be declared a ward of the state."
"I thought Aunt Florie's name was Florence," Dermot said. "Won't that make the paper invalid or something?"
"I checked that after leaving here this morning, Dermot. Your aunt has been going by the name Florence or Florie, but her legal name at birth was Florida Maria Sanchez, and there is no record of a legal name change, except her marriage, of course."
Dermot snickered. "I hope she notices. She is so anxious to pass for Anglo, and the dumb bitch thinks Irish is Anglo."
"Watch your language. There's a lady present," Walt admonished.
"Sorry Mrs. Little," Dermot apologized.
"Now, this second paper certifies that you have a broken wrist in your right arm, and are usually right handed, which explains the poor signature. I've already obtained Dr. Shipley's signature, as you can see. You need to do the best you can signing both papers."
Dermot took the pen into his right hand, and awkwardly signed both papers, having great difficulty because of the cast on his wrist, which extended down to the palm of his hand. Only his fingers were free of the constraint. When he had completed the task, he looked dissatisfied.
"That does not look much like the way I usually sign my name. I hope there's no problem."
"I doubt it. Well, it's time for me to be away. Mrs. Harper and Sgt. Flaherty are meeting me at the court house at four o'clock. Oh, but I expect Lando will be back before too much longer. As he rushed by, he said he had an emergency provision run, whatever that means."
"I hope so. I have so much to tell him today," Dermot said.
Before Lando reappeared, however, Mrs. Harper was back with Mr. Barlow, Dermot's history teacher from last year. The tall black man strode into the room in the same way Dermot remembered him striding into the classroom.
"Hello, Dermot. We all wondered what happened to you," Barlow began.
"I've had some problems, Mr. Barlow, but things seem to be improving," Dermot replied.
"Glad to hear it. Now, this lady," the teacher said, indicating Mrs. Harper, "wants me to testify that you are the kid who was in my class last year. Think I should tell her?"
"If you don't mind. She's trying to get me away from Uncle Steve and my cousin Zach."
"Oh, yes. I remember your cousin Zachary, too. Not nearly as good a student as you. Not all that great on the football field, either."
Dermot giggled. "He thought he was NFL material."
"In his dreams. What's he doing now?"
"I don't know. I haven't seen any of them since May."
"That long? Well, I'm glad to hear you're doing better, even if you don't look it." Mr. Barlow turned to Mrs. Harper. "I have no doubt that this is the same boy who was in my class last year."
"Good. Now, if you would indulge us further, please come with me to the court house, and tell that to the judge," Natalie Harper said.
"Oh, tell it to the judge, is it?" Barlow joked.
Not long after they left, Lando returned, his smile as brilliant as ever. He was carrying two sacks, with tell-tale aromas emanating from them.
"I almost got caught by the nurse at the station in the hall," he giggled.
"What 've you got there," Dermot said, his mouth watering.
Dramatically, Lando produced burgers from a sack, along with condiments, then, reaching in again, he produced another smaller packet. "You want fries with that?" he joked. From the other sack, he produced two cokes.
"You are a life saver. The first real food I've seen in weeks," Dermot salivated.
"You going to be nice to me?" Lando teased, holding the burger just beyond Dermot's reach.
"I am your slave forever," his friend responded rashly.
Laughing, Lando delivered the comestibles, and began sucking on a straw in one of the cokes. Dermot thought his lips looks inviting, puckered like that.
"So, what's going on? Why was Dad here with Mrs. Little? He was involved in some kind of big strategy meeting yesterday, from what I hear."
"Well, to begin with, they figured out who I am ...." Dermot went on to relate to his friend all about his session with Mr. Lyle, Mrs. Harper, and Sgt. Flaherty that morning, and the return visits.
When he had finished, Lando was looking pensive. "I told you they'd figure it out sooner or later. I'm glad. Now I don't have to keep secrets from Dad. I didn't know about all your schools, though. If you started out at St. Pius, does that mean you were Catholic?"
"I don't want to talk about that, Lando."
"Okay. Maybe some other time. I'm really glad Dad and the others are going to take care of Uncle Steve. I know that was bothering you."
"Bothering me hell! It was eating me up. I am sooo relieved, I can't tell you."
"So, what do you want to talk about?" Lando asked.
"I thought of something the other day. Oh, yeah, sex!"
Lando laughed. It was a frequent enough topic of conversation among his peer group. "I thought you did NOT want to talk about that, though," he said, remembering an earlier conversation.
"Well .... Yeah, I did say that. But this is different. I mean, I thought about how some sex is good and some sex is bad, and I guess when I said I did not want to talk about it, I was thinking of the bad experiences I had."
"Okay. What do you mean about some sex being good, and some bad. Before you answer, I must warn you, I had a long discussion with my pastor about this, so I have some definite ideas."
"That might be interesting, too. But I was thinking about some of the things that happened to me. Here, look at this," Dermot said, turning so his back was toward Lando, and opening his hospital gown so his back was exposed.
"Gee, Dermot. I see red stripes and white stripes. Does it hurt?"
"Not much. Not any more. That was not done by the guys who beat me up last weekend. That represents two customers. The white stripes are older, and the red ones will fade in a while and be the same. I can't explain it, but there are some guys out there who don't seem to be able to get off unless they are hurting somebody. This one guy tied me to a bed and used a whip on me. The other guy had me tied to a table. They beat me with the whips, and as I screamed, they got hard. And when I began to bleed, they came."
Lando actually looked like he might lose his lunch. In a quiet whisper he said, "I've heard of such things. S&M. Bondage. I came across a web site once .... But it turned me off, so I clicked off before getting into it much. Can I feel it?"
"Yeah. Go ahead."
Lando ran his fingers over the marks on his friend's back. As he did, Dermot experienced a charged frisson of excitement which seemed to tingle all through his body, and concentrate in his abdomen. One result of this was a boner which made the thin sheet covering him tent in an obvious manner. He was not at all certain about what to do about this reaction.
"Did I do that to you," Lando teased.
"Afraid so," Dermot confessed.
"Sorry, buddy, but I can't do anything about it now."
"I know. I'm still under doctor's orders to refrain from all sexual activity because of the STDs I had when they brought me in here."
"Yeah, that, and there's something more," Lando hinted.
"Do you have a boyfriend?" Dermot asked, with more apprehension than he wanted to admit.
"No. No one serious."
"Well, we've talked about my sordid sex life," Dermot said with some relief, glad to know that Lando was still unattached, as it were, but wanting to know more. "What about yours?"
"Dermot, you have had so much more experience than I have, that I'm almost embarrassed to even mention my paltry affairs," Lando asserted.
"There's nothing to envy in the experiences I've had, believe me," Dermot emphasized. "Come on, 'fess up."
"Oh, all right. There are two guys at school that I've done things with. For almost a year after I decided I was gay, I did nothing but widow shop, like. But last year I had my first encounter with another guy. It was in the fall, my freshman year at Baltimore. Nothing to write home about, really. Some kissing and cuddling. Mutual jerk offs. Last summer I got a blow job, and I gave my first one. I found out sixty-nines are lots of fun. But my ass is still virgin territory. How's that for a pathetic resum‚?"
"Actually, I wish I could say something like that. It sounds a lot better than what my actual experiences have been like. Almost virtuous."
"Well, I wouldn't go that far," Lando protested, blushing.
"Oh, ho! So there is some strain between your sexuality and your precious Catholicism," Dermot insisted.
"You won't let up on that, will you?"
"It doesn't compute, Lando. I think you're fooling yourself. But shit! What do I know?" Dermot concluded in a rush of uncertainty, not wishing to offend his friend.
"If you promise not to get all hostile, I'll give you the benefit of my thoughts on the subject," Lando said.
Dermot nodded.
Lando began, "I did tell you that I had to struggle with it, and you are right in saying that the fit is not perfect. All I can say is that I knew I was both gay and Catholic, and I had to find a way to make that work for me. I talked to my dad, to Father Schiller, and to my psychologist, Dr. Lanier. And I'm going to use the word 'sin' whether you like it or not. Now just shut up and listen. We can argue about it some other time."
"The way I see it, there are three ways a person can experience sex. One way is the way you have experienced it. Sex can be used to hurt someone. The most obvious way is in the S&M stuff you were describing, and in rape. That's a blatant, physical harm. But there are other ways in which sex can be used to hurt someone. Sex can be used to try to control someone. I haven't seen this in my own life, but I have heard of instances at school where a girl told her boyfriend, 'if you don't do what I want, there will be no sex for you.' That's a perversion of sex, I think. Both these examples are more about power and control than sex. And then, sex can be used to depersonalize someone. Use someone. Just treating someone like an object instead of a person. What's the phrase? A cum bucket. So, I think if you're the instigator of any of these kinds of sex, that's a serious sin. What we call a mortal or deadly sin, because it kills the spirit. It dulls the conscience if something like this is done often enough, so people get to think there's nothing wrong with it, but that does not change the reality. You're dehumanizing the other person. In these examples, sex is used to hurt the other person, and treat that person as something less than a full human being, a child of God."
"Another way of having sex is what we might call recreational sex that does not harm anyone. I mean, something like what I described doing. I really enjoy sucking and being sucked, and the guys who have been my partners have been kids at school, like me. It's completely mutual, and completely consensual. Nobody is being coerced, physically or otherwise. Just a couple of guys getting off. But it's not serious. None of us are into a serious relationship. We're not cheating on anybody. It's just fun. Now, I don't think that's a serious sin, but it's not using sex the way God intended it, either. But what I'm doing is no different, morally, than what an awful lot of straight kids are doing on dates. So, I think of this as a venial sin. It is a sin, because it's using sex in something other than the best way, but it's not going to send me to hell. Purgatory, maybe, but not hell."
"Finally, there is sex the way God intended it. Father Schiller told me sex is the greatest gift God gave mankind, next to His divine Son, Jesus. Sex is meant to be an expression of love. St. John tells us, 'God is Love.' In its most perfect form, when it is an expression of genuine, unselfish love, sex is a participation in the love God has for humanity. It's actually something sacred. And that's true whether it's gay or straight sex. And I don't think that kind of sex is a sin at all."
When Lando finished this exposition, he looked up, to find Dermot staring off into the distance. He wondered whether he had been boring his friend.
"Lando, that's beautiful," Dermot said, relieving his mind. "I'm not buying the God and sin stuff, not now, anyway, but the way you have sexual experiences analyzed into these three kinds is really great. Unfortunately, just about all the sex I've experienced is in your first category. I'm glad you have not had those experiences. Some day, I hope to experience love in connection with sex. After my mom died, and my dad went away, I don't think I've had any love in my life, much less sex as an expression of love."
"I know, Dermot. You've had a rough time. I sure don't want to get into an argument about religion with you. But I hope you can accept the fact that, in my own mind, at least, I am sincere about my religion."
"Yeah. I thought about that when I was reading about your Lord Baltimore. For now, anyway, I'll accept you, and you accept me, okay?"
"Deal."