Date: Mon, 8 Sep 2003 22:22:18 -0700 (PDT)
From: Corrinne S <quasito_cat@yahoo.com>
Subject: Arthur's Legacy - sequel to Nicholas Story

Disclaimer: The Briarwood and Mackintosh characters
were borrowed with the permission of their creator,
Ritch Christopher.  His work is copyrighted under
Nifty and may not be used without his express
permission.  The rest of the characters are
exclusively mine and may not be used without my
written permission.  Nor may this work be archived
elsewhere.  This story is a sequel to `Nicholas
Story', posted earlier this year.  Please note that
Miguel's conversations with his mother are in Spanish
but writing such and translating into English would
have detracted from the story.  Also, no sex in this
story - it's about commitment to friendships.
Comments, if you have any, should be sent to
quasito_cat@hotmail.com

Arthur's Legacy

M.C. Gordon

   Nicholas Beswick sighed and rubbed his eyes.  It
was late; he was sleepy; and he still hadn't finished
the paper he had to turn in to his English professor
tomorrow.  Today, he corrected his mind as he looked
at the time in the corner of his laptop.

   "Dude," a voice said as a hand on his right
shoulder shook him awake, "the paper isn't due until
tomorrow afternoon.  Get some sleep and finish it
after your Latin class."

   Nicholas didn't object as his paper was saved and
the laptop shut down. He allowed himself to be led to
bed and tucked in.  "Thanks, Mike," he mumbled to his
roommate before sleep took control.

 . . .

   "He's going to live at home until he graduates,"
Ben Freeman had told his partner of many years, a
recurring subject of disagreement between them as
their son prepared for college.

   "Is not," Ray Beswisk responded.  "You can't
mother-hen him until he's old enough to draw Social
Security.  If he wants to live on campus, that's all
she wrote."

   Nicholas hated to hear his fathers argue and know
that he was the cause.  His simple statement that he
thought he'd like to experience dorm life had started
a heated argument between them.  That they seldom
differed over his future was even more upsetting,
complicated by the fact that there was no gentle voice
of reason to calm either of them.  Barbara Beswick had
gone to join her husband in peaceful sleep two weeks
after Nicholas graduated from high school.

   For the first time in eighteen years he raised his
voice to the men who had loved and raised him.  "Stop
it, both of you!" he shouted.  "I can't stand to hear
you fight with each other!"

   With tears in his eyes he turned to Ben.  "Please,
Dad," he said quietly when he had their attention,
"let me try it for one semester.  I promise that if my
grades aren't good or I give you any reason to think
I'm doing anything I shouldn't, I'll come back home
until I finish college.  I promise."

   Ben thought for a moment and finally said, "It
sounds like a reasonable compromise, Nicholas.  Very
well, you may spend at least your first semester in
the dorm.  But if Ray and I hear that you've done
any..."

   Ray interrupted his lover before he could say
another word.  " `Kay then.  That's settled.  Who
wants to go to Luigi's for pizza?"

 . . .

   In spite of having slept very little the night
before, Nicholas was awake early.  Aware that Mike was
still snoring quietly Nicholas put a pot of water on
the hotplate.  His face broke into a warm smile as he
remembered unpacking and finding several packets of
his favorite hot cocoa mix tucked inside his suitcase.
 Mike had been doing his own unpacking at the time and
had given him a questioning look when he broke into
outright laughter at the note Ray had included.

   `Aunt Maggie sent these for you.  She doesn't want
you resorting to smashed M&M's in hot water so call
her when you start to run low.'

   Nicholas had just pulled his English paper up on
his laptop and was trying to remember his train of
thought from the night before when he heard Mike begin
to wake up.  He stood and crossed to the bookshelf
that served to hold their books and kitchen pantry.
Retrieving their only two cups, he filled each with
packets of instant cocoa and hot water. He was just
beginning to stir their morning rush of chocolate
flavored caffeine when Mike began his waking ritual.
Nicholas was amazed because he'd never seen anyone go
through quite such a combination of regret and joy day
after day.

   Mike yawned and moaned a few times before he began
his stretching exercise.  It never varied ... arms, then
legs, then arms again.  Mike sat up and stretched his
arms up and back until his back was arched like a bow.
 Then he dropped his head toward his chest, locked his
hands together and, placing them against the back of
his neck, pulled his elbows back as far as they would
go.

   Nicholas admired the flexibility of Mike's body and
wasn't surprised that the boy was attending the
University of Chicago on an athletic scholarship.  A
pulled hamstring had kept Mike from getting a slot on
the U.S. Olympic gymnastics team in 2000 but his body
had healed well and he was on the college team, still
hoping for a chance at a gold medal.

   "Hot chocolate?" Nicholas asked as Mike made his
way back to their dorm room from the communal
bathroom.

   "Love some," Mike replied as he yawned and accepted
the steaming cup.  He glanced at Nicholas' laptop.
"How's the paper coming?  I thought you were going to
leave it until after Latin."

   "Ben taught me that one should never put things
off.  I love him to death but he totally warped my
young mind with punctuality and practicality."

   Mike cocked one dark eyebrow at Nicholas and dared
to ask, "Ben?  Friend, or lover?"  It was the first
time one of them had brought the subject into the
open, although each knew instinctively that the other
was gay.

   "Dad," Nicholas replied and bent his sandy head to
the screen of his laptop.

 . . .

   Mike ... Miguel Fuentes ... had been born and raised in
one of the many barrios of San Antonio, Texas.  In the
barrios, as in the ghettos scattered across the
country, the only way out for the poor minority was
through education or sports. Baseball and soccer were
the usual choice for most of the Hispanic youth
because football and basketball were beyond their
reach.  Most never achieved the height required for
basketball or large body mass football demanded.  As a
child, Miguel was small but as agile as a cat.  His
good nature and almost pretty good looks, with jet
black hair and eyes to match, gained the attention of
his middle school coach who quickly contacted a friend
who had a special school in the hill country northwest
of the sprawling cow-town of over a million
inhabitants.

   "Roland," Coach Johnson said as the two had
breakfast tacos one Saturday morning at Lupita's
Cocina, "I want you to take a look at a little Mexican
kid.  He's a bright little guy, but you know the
school district I teach in.  Harlandale's not the best
in the state.  In fact, it's one of the worst.  Very
few of these kids ever finish school, much less get
the chance to go to college.  Miguel shows all the
signs of being a class one gymnast.  If you take him,
it's his best chance of escaping poverty."

   Roland Romanovski, one of the many gifted men who
had fled to the United States to escape the domination
of the old Soviet Union, passed an aging hand through
his white hair and replied, "Bob, you know that I work
with troubled kids who are dealing with their sexual
identity ... not just budding gymnasts."

   "Give Miguel a few more months, Roland," the coach
replied.  "He'll have all sorts of problems coming to
grips with the fact that he's gay.  He won't
acknowledge it yet, but I know.  How many kids have
you and your wife housed at your school who were
almost suicidal when you took them in? Ten? Thirty? A
hundred?  Miguel's not at that point yet, but he will
be.  I believe his only hope is you and Katarina.  I
spoke to his mother the other day and Mrs. Fuentes is
willing to let Miguel study with you.  She knows her
son.  And like all good Mexican mothers she loves him
without question, but she knows what the gangs will do
to him once Miguel reaches sexual awareness.  This kid
has a good mind and I'd hate to read in the newspaper
one morning that some homeless guy stumbled across his
broken, dead body on Menchaca Street."

 . . .

   "Which one is your roommate?" Ben asked as he and
Ray sat with Nicholas at the first gymnastic meet of
the season.

   "There he is!" Nicholas pointed as he saw Mike
getting his wrists taped.

   "Kinda little, isn't he?" Ray asked.

   "Dad!" Nicholas exclaimed, "most young gymnasts
aren't very tall.  Like with ice skaters, it messes up
their center of gravity if they get too tall before
the rest of their bodies catch up with their height.
Mike's perfect.  Wait `till you see him when he does
his routine on the floor!  His body is amazing."

   Ben's eyebrows both arched and he nearly pulled his
right ear off at Nicholas' announcement.  Ray jabbed
his lover in the side as a sign to keep quiet.  They
watched as Mike completed an amazing program of leg
lifts over and around the wooden bar, his legs
swinging so rapidly that they seemed a blur.

   Chicago brilliantly kicked Syracuse's ass during
the competition and Mike was the center of attention.

   "Champ," Ray softly spoke as he and Ben walked
their son back to his dorm, "is there something
between you and yer roommate?  `Cause if there is it's
ok.  Ya know that, don'cha?"

   "Yes, Nicholas," Ben added.  "Ray and I have no
objection if there's an attraction between the two of
you.  How could we?  We just want you to be sure that
he's the right person for you."

   Nicholas stopped on the path and stared at his
fathers.  "Mike is my roommate.  Yes, we're both gay
but we're just friends.  We don't even have time for
casual sex.  I mean, I'm busy with my studies and
staying in shape for baseball tryouts in the spring.
When Mike's not at the gym he's burning electricity
with his own class work.  We've got professors
breathing down our necks all the time.  Consider
yourselves lucky that I got a roommate who actually
wants to finish college and do something with his life
instead of one of those clowns that just wants to
party.  I won't promise that I'll never have sex.
That would be stupid.  But I know about protecting
myself, and I know it won't ever be with Mike.  I
don't want to risk losing a good friend just because
he's got a body to die for."

 . . .

   "I didn't know it got this cold anyplace in the
world," Mike said as he entered the dorm room he
shared with Nicholas one bitter morning in early
December.  "I'd be a frozen Mexisicle if you hadn't
told me about thermal underwear."  His laughter faded
as he looked at Nicholas who was sitting on the edge
of his bed crying.

   "Hey, Nick, what's wrong?" he asked as he crossed
the room and sat beside his friend.  "Did you get bad
news this afternoon?  Nothing's wrong with one of your
dads, I hope."

   Nicholas brushed away his tears and blew his nose.
"My dads are fine," he replied.  "You know that
shelter I volunteer at sometimes?  One of the kids
there died today."

   "Madre de Dios!" Mike exclaimed as he made the sign
of the cross.  "What happened?  Was there an accident
at the shelter?"

   "It's a community center and shelter for kids with
HIV and AIDS," Nicholas replied.  "It's called
`Arthur's House' and is run by the Arthur Allen
Foundation.  I knew Art; we were best friends.  His
mom started the foundation after Art died of AIDS
three years ago."  Nicholas' voice quivered and broke
before he could continue.

   "Man, that just sux," Mike said as he draped one
arm over Nicholas' shoulders in an attempt to offer
comfort.  "My mom told me a couple of gang members
from my old barrio died from AIDS, but those pendejos
were shooting drugs all the time and probably got it
from infected needles.  The bad thing was that they
screwed anybody they could get their hands on and I'll
bet they gave it to half of the west side.  I was
lucky because I got out of there before I could get
involved in the gangs."  He knew he was rambling but
hoped his voice and touch would let Nicholas know that
he wasn't alone.  "Coach and Mrs. Romanovski made sure
I got a good education and stayed too busy to get into
trouble."

   "This poor little kid, Timmy, was just thirteen.
He died of AIDS," Nicholas said as he accepted the
warmth of Mike's well muscled frame and leaned into
the welcomed embrace.

   Mike held Nicholas until his emotions were spent
then eased his friend's head to the pillow and covered
him with a warm blanket.  Going to his knees by the
side of the bed, he closed his eyes and whispered,
"Madre Santa, alivia por favor mi amigo en su hora de
la pena."  (Holy Mother, please comfort my friend in
his hour of grief.)

   The emotion charged hour had drained Mike of energy
and he lay down next to Nicholas, still providing the
touch of a human hand and heart to his grief filled
friend.  He hadn't realized he was falling asleep
until he felt a hand gently touch his shoulder.  He
jerked awake only to find Ray Beswick squatting next
to the bed signaling him to be still.

   "You boys doin' ok?" Ray whispered.  "Lenore, I
mean Mrs. Allen, called and told Ben and me about
Timmy.  We got worried when Nicholas didn't come home
to let us know.  Then I figured that he's getting a
little grown up to come crying to us when something
like this happens and thought I'd just sort of drop by
for a visit."

   Mike eased himself carefully away from Nicholas and
motioned Ray to sit with him on his own bed.  "Nicky
took it really hard," he told Ray.  "I thought he'd
never stop crying."

   "He's always had a soft heart," Ray replied.  "I'm
just glad he's got a good friend like you to be with
him right now."  He rose and started to leave.  "I'd
better get on home and let Ben know that our boy's
going to be ok.  This weather is kicking the hell out
of his back and he was some kind of pissed that I
wouldn't let him come with me.  You take care of
Nicholas and I'll go calm his dad."

   "Sir?" Mike inquired before Ray could leave the
room, "you wouldn't think we're having sex or anything
if I sleep with Nicky tonight?"

   "Son," Ray replied, "I think your friendship is the
best thing in the world for him right now.  Get some
sleep and I'll call around nine tomorrow morning.  I
don't know about you, but I think we need a good
Sunday brunch."

 . . .

   Le Deux was a was a quiet, upscale bistro owned and
operated by Fran Wilson and Rob Thomason, old family
friends.  Fran and Rob had invested the profits from
their catering business into the small restaurant
after Arthur Allen's death and devoted a percentage of
the gross income from their new business to the Arthur
Allen Foundation.  Arthur's valiant fight for life,
coupled with his mother's dedication to ease the
plight of HIV children, had made the Allen family and
their friends favorites among the gay and lesbian
community of Chicago.  Since the mission of the Arthur
Allen Foundation included financing for private
research into a cure or prevention for HIV, the older
members of the community who could remember the
devastation from the initial onslaught of the virus
spent a great deal of time and money at Le Deux.

   "Will you spending the Christmas holiday with your
family?" Ben asked Mike as the nineteen-year old
finished the last bite of his third order of crepes.

   "No, Sir," Mike replied.  "I've only got my
scholarship and it doesn't include travel funds.
Mamma knew I wouldn't be home until next summer.  She
misses me but I've got four brothers and three sisters
at home to keep her busy.  My old gymnastics coach
helped her get a computer and a webcam.  I'm trying to
save enough money from my university job working dorm
security to get a webcam myself by Christmas.  If I
can get one then I'll sort of be able to spend the
holiday break at home."

   Nicholas coughed softly and stood.  "Excuse me for
a minute.  I need to ... um, you know ... the weasel."

   When Nicholas had left for the men's room Ben
turned to his lover.  "Ray, weasel?"

   Ray and Mike locked eyes and both burst into
laughter.  "I'm sorry," Ray managed between giggles.
"Ben's Canadian."

   Mike was confused, wondering if they spoke a
different kind of English in Canada.

   "You're going to pay for that when we get home,"
Ben teased.  Then he became serious.  "Mike, you're
more than welcome to spend the holiday break with us.
We already have a webcam that we use to stay in touch
with my sister, Maggie.  You can use it anytime you
want to see your mother.  We have a vacant bedroom,
and I know Nicholas would like you to stay with us
instead of being alone in the dorm."

   "Are you sure it's okay?" Mike asked.  "I mean,
thanks.  But I don't want to impose or anything."

   "No imposing allowed," Ray added.  "We're happy to
have you.  Nicholas always wanted a brother and you're
perfect for the job."

   "I don't know what to say," Mike finally managed,
surprised at the invitation and warmed by the genuine
love he felt between the two men.

   "Say yes, duffus," Nicholas said behind him.

 . . .

   Ben, Ray, and Nicholas tidied up the living room
after the morning frenzy of opening presents, politely
allowing Mike time alone with his family in their den.

   "I'm having a nice Christmas, Mamma," Mike said as
he talked to his mother on the telephone while he
waved enthusiastically at his family on the webcam.
"My roommate's parents invited me to stay with them.
You'd like them."

   He explained to her about the family he had been
invited to join.  "Nick is adopted and his fathers are
really nice.  I can make a little extra money working
for Mr. Freeman when I have time.  All I have to do is
help clean up kennels for rescued animals.  And Mr.
Beswick said I can have a job with his construction
company during the summer if I want.  No, Mamma, Nick
doesn't work for either of his fathers.  He spends
most of his spare time volunteering at a place for
kids with HIV and AIDS.  What?  Oh, he's going into
medicine so that he can help find a cure for it."

   "I'm very happy that you have such nice friends,
Miguel," Alfonsa Fuentes told her son.  "But if you
work during the summer you won't be home to visit."

   "Yes I will, Mamma," he replied.  "I already talked
to Coach Romanovski and he invited all of us,
including Nick and his dads, to spend some time at his
ranch.  Nick's fathers like the idea, especially Mr.
Freeman because he used to ride horses when he lived
in Canada.  We worked it out with Coach to go down as
soon as school lets out for the summer and spend June
in Texas.  Mrs. Romanovski is supposed to talk to you
about it."

   What Mike didn't tell Alfonsa was that the
Romanovski's housekeeper had retired and they were
going to offer her the position.  It would mean
relocating her family from the San Antonio barrio to
the thousand acre ranch near Helotes which housed,
educated, and trained potential Olympic gymnasts.  It
would also provide the remaining Fuentes children with
an excellent private education, freedom from poverty,
and escape from the crime ridden atmosphere created by
gangs.

   Mike had an uninterrupted hour with his mother and
siblings before Nicholas, Ben, and Ray entered the den
one at a time to be introduced to the Fuentes family.
He watched his siblings open their presents from him,
all Chicago Bulls t-shirts and caps for that was what
he could afford.  His gift for his mother had been
difficult because he wanted something special for her.
 Ben had come up with the idea of a scrap book of his
first semester at the university with pictures of Mike
at various places on the campus, with classmates and
professors, and with the gymnastics team.  It quickly
became a duel effort with Nicholas taking most of the
pictures.

   Alfonsa recognized Nicholas from the few pictures
of him with her son and was profuse in expressing her
gratitude to the family that had opened their home and
their hearts to Mike.

   When everyone had said everything that they could
possibly think of and Mike bid his family goodbye, Ray
announced that it was time for Christmas dinner.

   "Fran and Sylvia have us over every year since my
grandma died," Nicholas said.  "And you'll get to meet
my other best friend, Sofia Rose.  Everyone used to
think we might get married one day but that was before
I realized I was born gay.  She's still one of my best
friends."

   "Our Champ here was a late bloomer," Ray remarked
as he tousled his son's hair and they headed out the
door for one of Fran's feasts.

 . . .

   Nicholas was doing so well with his studies that
Ben agreed he could continue to live on campus and the
spring semester finally came to an end.  Nicholas had
considered going home because the dormitory was loud
with continuous parties, but Mike's scholarship
specified that he live on campus and Nicholas wasn't
about to leave his new friend.

   Their flight from Chicago to San Antonio was
uneventful and Roland Romanovski met them at the
airport in his modified Suburban.

"We usually have one gymnastic meet a week and I do a
lot of driving with at least half a dozen kids," he
explained as his guests eyed the extra luggage room
and apartment sized, fully functional refrigerator.
"The kids lose a lot of body liquid and minerals so I
keep a stock of sports drinks.  And they don't eat
before a match so there's also granola bars, yogurt,
and fresh fruit to keep them alive until we can get
home to some of my cook's chicken fajitas."

   Most of the drive was filled with Mike catching up
with his former coach on how his friends were doing.
Although the weather in San Antonio was hot and humid,
it became more pleasant during the drive west toward
Helotes.

   "Is this your only vehicle?" Ray finally asked ^Ö
visions in his head of having to drive the SUV if he
needed to run to any kind of store for a newspaper,
video, or condoms.

   "Not at all," Roland answered.  "I have a '57
Belair, '65 Mustang, and a '63 Corvette.  My wife, my
practical half, drives an '03 Intrepid.  Why?"

   "I just wondered, in case I need to go shopping ...
or something."

   Roland laughed.  "Usually if we're just going to
pick up something small or want to get away for a
little privacy, we just saddle up one of the horses."

 . . .

   "I'm gonna die," Ray announced as he dismounted
from a blood bay quarter horse mare.

   "You're not going to die," Ben hissed at him.

   "Am too.  Or maybe my ass is just gonna to fall off
to escape the pain in my legs.  I'm from Chicago,
f'godsake, not the badlands of Canada or some cow
ranch in Texas.  You talked me into riding, husband of
mine, and if my balls never work again it's your
fault."

   "I believe it's called a cattle ranch, Ray, and the
badlands you refer to are in New Mexico," Ben gently
corrected, completely disregarding his lover's
comments about his testicles.

   "What the hell ever!  This thing hates me, I know
it does!"

   "Actually, Mr. Beswick," Mike said as he patted the
muzzle of the sorrel stallion he had been riding,
"Antigua likes you.  She can sense that you're a
novice rider and was pretty gentle.  I've ridden her
before and she likes to show off. I've seen her stop
on a dime and kill a rattler with her hooves."

   "That she does," Roland added, dismounting from the
huge black he rode.  "She's a good work horse, one of
the finest I own.  Her pedigree goes back to Cooper
Bottom, Shiloh, and Steel Dust.  She's a fine mare and
her colts and fillies by my black, Inferno - a
descendant of Old Sorrell and Hickory Bill - sell for
a good price, enough to keep the school solvent."

   "Do you sell at auction or to private buyers?" Ben
asked, sucked into the lore of horseflesh so important
to the Canadian Mounties he had retired from years
earlier while Ray looked around to see if a snake was
lurking in the shadows.

   "Both," Roland replied.  "My students actually tend
some of the foals from the ranch every year.  When the
colts and fillies are yearlings they're entered in the
local stock show and rodeo where they're up for
auction.  The kids get to keep the money in a college
fund and the ponies go to race tracks, rodeos, or
ranches.  Manuel showed Antigua's half-brother,
Tortuga, and he races at Retama Park now.  When Manuel
got his scholarship to the University of Chicago he
turned his prize money back to the school."

   Ray grumbled about his aching body parts until he
eased himself into the Jacuzzi in the gymnasium of the
Romanovski school where jets of hot water began to
ease the pain in parts of his body he wished to remain
intact and in working order.  He was about to drift
off to sleep when he heard loud voices and reluctantly
left the blissful warmth.

   "Oh my God!" he said out loud as he looked at what
had caused the excitement.  Mike was on the rings, his
body doing things no human could possibly accomplish.
Ray actually gritted his teeth as he watched the
gymnast slowly raise himself from a perpendicular
position until his feet were directly over his head,
the muscles in his arms and legs strong and steady.
Mike quickly swung himself around several times until
his legs were parallel to the ground behind himself
and he held steady, horizontal to the ground.  A few
more swings and Mike was upside down, his knees
pressing against his forehead as his toes pointed
toward the ceiling.

   "Isn't he great, Dad?" Nicholas asked, appearing
from nowhere.

   "I have only one thing to say, son," Ray replied.
"Why aren't you sleeping with him?"

 . . .

   June ended too quickly for the boys and they
reluctantly bid farewell to Mike's family, the
Romanovski's, and the fifty-odd boys and girls who
were spending the summer at the ranch.  There were
promises to call, write, or email for Mike had renewed
old friendships and Nicholas had formed new ones.  Ray
even reluctantly admitted that he wouldn't mind
visiting every summer as long as he could keep his
feet firmly planted on the ground.  Cleaning stalls
literally stank, but he preferred that to the thought
of ever getting on a horse again.

   Roland and Ben quickly made friends and the coach
didn't mind Ben's long and tedious conversations about
the Chicago Animal Rescue League.  Ben was, in fact,
so convincing that Roland was considering the idea of
adopting greyhounds whose racing days were finished.
A thousand acres and nearly one hundred intelligent,
athletic young people would make a good home for them.

   With the thought of pleasant summer vacations for
many years to come, Ray, Ben, Nicholas, and Mike
boarded their plane for Chicago.

 . . .

   "Ed," Professor Mark Tinesley said as he relaxed in
the spacious den of the two-story house provided for
him as one of the staff at the University of Chicago,
"did you get the video I mailed you?"

   "I watched it at least four times," Dr. Edward
Middleton replied from his office at the Cole
Institute in Briarwood.  "That young man is quite a
spokesperson for someone so young."

   Mark laughed, "Nick Beswick only looks young, Ed.
Sometimes I think he's older than we are."

   "Is this the student in your Microbiology class you
mentioned to me last month?"

   "One and the same," Mark said.  "He's been around
HIV and AIDS victims most of his life.  His love for
and dedication to the memory of Arthur Allen made him
give up his dream of being the first man to walk on
Mars and turned his brilliance to the idea of medical
research instead."

   "I could feel his passion," Ed responded as he
recalled brief clips from the video taken during a
fund raising dinner for the Arthur Allen Foundation.

    `It is an outrage that medical science has gone no
further than a stop-gap effort at curbing the
onslaught of Human Immune Deficiency Syndrome," the
twenty-two year old had said.  `And do you know why?
I can tell you.  Money.  Profit.  Movies, television,
music videos, and advertising today all promote the
idea of sex without fear of anything going wrong.  And
so today we have an epidemic of teenage pregnancy.

    `We also have an epidemic of HIV and AIDS
worldwide.  What happened to the concept of safe sex?
The pharmaceutical companies have given us a bandaid
with their concoction of drugs instead of the cure or
prevention that is so desperately needed.  Did anyone
doubt that there would be a rise in the number of new
cases each year when a livable treatment was
discovered?  A pill a day falls far short of the
reality of twenty or more pills daily.  In the United
States alone the cost is estimated to exceed $15,000
per year per patient, and it continues to rise.

    `Education seems to have failed, where valid sex
education is offered.  And that is in precious few
schools or churches because there are still vast
numbers of our citizenry who believe that if sex is
never mentioned it will simply go away.  The public
goes about the business of hiding from reality while
prostitutes earn a living the only way they know how ...
and are turned into heroin addicts by their pimps.
One HIV infected prostitute passes her used needle to
another and babies are born whose lives, if they have
lives at all, are a continuous struggle for survival
from one day to the next.  I know because my dearest
friend in the world, Arthur, was an HIV child.

    `Today's young gays live under the illusion that
they are invincible and will live forever.  AIDS will
find someone else as a victim.  But not me.  Oh, no.
Not me.  I don't need to wonder if I've eaten nachos,
brushed my teeth, chomped on popcorn, gotten a cavity,
or scratched my gum while removing a bit of chicken
from my teeth with a toothpick.  Why should I use a
condom during oral sex? I am young, gay, immortal.
And six months or a year from now when I find an
abrasion that won't heal or an ugly blotch on my skin
I'll be shocked to learn that I've got HIV.  Will the
rest of the world notice when I turn to drugs or
suicide to escape the inevitable?

    `Funding for public research has dwindled to a
pittance.  Our government would rather promote the use
of the bandaid drugs now available at astronomic
prices.  The only ultimate beneficiary is big
business.  The government has attempted to stop true
research into prevention or cure.  The only viable
hope is in privately funded research ... without
government constraint.

    `On behalf of Lenore and Art, I want to thank each
and every one of you for attending tonight's benefit.
Your emotional support means as much, if not more,
than your financial support.'

   Ed had been stunned by the straightforward words
and passionate plea.  "We're familiar with the Arthur
Allen Foundation," he finally said.  "They do
wonderful work with children and have only branched
out into research in recent years.  In fact, I believe
we might be contributors to the Foundation but I'll
have to double check with Cliff.  Say, do you think
your young man would like to visit the Institute and
see exactly what private research is accomplishing?"

   Mark laughed.  "He's not `my' young man, Ed.  You
know I'm going to die as straight as I was the day I
was born.  Nick's no one's young man but his own.
However, if he does agree to visit the Institute I
think it only fair to warn you that he'll probably be
shadowed by someone who carries around an invisible
sign that says, `He's mine'."

   "Is this someone we should fear?" Ed chuckled.

   "Only if you fear the 2004 Olympic gymnastic gold
medalist, Miguel Fuentes," Mark replied.

   Silence ensued followed by, "Well, damn.  Now I owe
Jay fifty bucks because he pegged the kid and I
didn't."

  . . .

   "How was the trip?" Ray asked as he and Ben met
Nicholas and Mike at O'Hare International Airport.

   The morning sky was still dark since it was only
five o'clock and a slight drizzle covered the Chicago
area.

   "It was really nice, Mr. Beswick," Mike replied.
"Briarwood is a beautiful town.  We even went to a
football game at Briarwood University with Father
Cliff, Dr. Ed, and what they call their Briarwood
boys.  Well, the ones who were in Briarwood at the
time anyway.  And we attended Mass at St. Genesius,
Father Cliff's church.  I was more comfortable there
than I ever was at Mission San Jose back home."

   "What did you think of the Cole Institute?" Ben
asked Nicholas, turning slightly in the front seat of
Ray's GTO so he could look at the young men.

   "It was fantastic, Dad," Nicholas said.  "They're
doing cutting edge work prohibited to the public
sector because of governmental control over research
funding.  Not all of their stem cell subjects show
complete remission of the virus, but just one success
story makes the prospect extremely encouraging.  We
even got some really neat recipes for broccoli."

   Their conversation remained centered on the Cole
Institute until they pulled into the driveway of the
Beswick-Freeman home.  The morning air had a definite
chill so Ben started a pot of coffee for himself and
Ray, and some hot chocolate for Nicholas and Mike.

   They all relaxed in front of the crackling
fireplace, allowing hot liquid to warm their veins.
To Nicholas, the house still echoed with his
grandparents' voices, and the love he had known his
entire life.  His fathers had always been comfortable
holding hands, hugging, and kissing in front of him
and Grandma and Grandpa Beswick.

   "We spent a week in a little place called
Mackintosh," he finally said when all of his
marshmallows had melted in his cocoa.  "We met a lot
of really nice people ... men, women, older teenagers.
All of them had gone there to die until Father Jeff,
his brother Alex Clayton, and their lovers Johnny Kane
and Ted Hampton decided they could make a difference.
I know they had a great influence on Mike."

   Ray and Ben both looked quizzically at Mike and he
blushed under their questioning eyes.  "I'm going to
change the direction of my medical degree," he finally
said.  "I had planned to specialize in sports
psychology.  I decided I can do more good if I work
with Hiv/Aids patients.  I learned in Mackintosh that
you don't have to give up hope just because you're
diagnosed HIV+.  There's no absolute promise of a
prevention or cure, but there's hope.  And I saw some
shocking statistics about suicide among Hiv/Aids
victims.  It's appalling the number of people who
takes their lives because they're afraid their
families and friends will find out they're positive
and treat them like pariahs."

   "Good for you, Mike," Ben responded.  "That's a
wonderful calling.  And with your compassion, you'll
make an excellent counselor."

   "So," Ray asked after a short silence, "did ya meet
a lot of gay couples?"

   "We met several in Briarwood and again in
Mackintosh," Nicholas said.  "It was nice to be around
folks who aren't afraid to be themselves, like you and
Dad Ben."

   A slightly awkward moment followed as both Nicholas
and Mike blushed.

   "What's up, you two?" Ray asked.

   "Well, Sir," Mike stammered.  "I asked Nicholas if
he'd ... well, kind of marry me."

Additonal notes:

Information on the pedigree of the quarter horses was
obtained from a website maintained by the University
of Oklahoma which has the finest encyclopedia of
horseflesh I've been able to find.

Parts of Nicholas' speech at the fundraiser were a
gift from a friend of mine, M. Hudson, and are either
a direct quote or paraphrased when I asked him how
Nicholas should address the issue of sexual behavior
among the most at risk of today's gay teens.

Comments to: quasito_cat@hotmail.com