Man In Motion - 15. Negative

September 8, 1985

Paris, France

“You understand how HIV works, do you not?” JP asked Marcel calmly. He looked frantic, like he needed to escape before he got infected, but JP's calming words relaxed him enough to prevent flight.

“It means we are all in danger of infection,” Marcel said, and looked around as if a huge virus blob was going to attack him.

“HIV is transmitted through the blood. For you to become infected, bodily fluids that are infected would have to enter your bloodstream.” JP said, going into his professorial mode. “That means that you will be completely safe here with Mouse and me as long as that does not happen. If you cut your finger, it would not be a good idea for either of us to try to kiss it and make it better.” He was trying to lighten the mood, but it didn't work.

“What about from sneezing or coughing? Or just from breathing the air?” Marcel asked, not convinced.

“It is not possible. You should avoid sex with us though,” JP said, trying to tease him out of his fear again. Marcel heard his words and was listening to him, and he was starting to relax.

“I will remember that,” he said with a smile. “Why do gay men get infected when straight people do not?” I grinned now, knowing that JP was going to have to talk about sex, and he got embarrassed when he had to do that.

“The highest risk for infection is through anal sex. The rectal walls are sensitive, and can tear quite easily. That is why the person who is getting, uh, who is, uh, being penetrated has a higher risk than the penetrator.”

“Is that how you got it? By being penetrated?” Marcel asked. I could tell he was playing with JP, but JP couldn't. He was too nervous; his senses were dull.

“I do not know how I got it.” He sighed. “But that is probably how.”

“So you like it when other men penetrate you?” he asked, and couldn't hide his grin. JP figured out that Marcel was giving him shit, so he frowned and rolled his eyes.

“That's a fair question, Dad. Aren't you going to answer?” I added, piling on.

“Now you all are teasing me, and that pisses me off,” he said good-naturedly. “Marcel, you know our secrets. You are part of our family. You can stay. But you do not have to.”

“I am not sure where I would go. My mother will certainly not be pleasant if I go home. I'm not sure if I even have a home anymore.” He seemed sad. I put my arm around him, and he flinched. He clearly was not used to a lot of physical affection.

I left my arm there until he finally relaxed. “Welcome. Let me show you to your room.” I led him off to Mouse's room, the next smallest after the studio. Mouse had stuff tossed all around. “We'll wake Mouse up and have him clean this stuff out.”

“This is his room?” Marcel looked around, as if expecting the big virus blobs he’d been so afraid of to attack him here.

“Well, sort of. The reason it is empty is because he sleeps with JP.” Marcel smiled. Robbie appeared at the door. “Will you go wake Mouse up and ask him to clean out his shit and move it to JP's room?”

Robbie vanished and a few minutes later a groggy Mouse appeared, wearing nothing but boxers. With his thin, wiry body and his short stature, he looked like a cute little doll. Marcel seemed nervous at having him here, almost naked, as if clothes would shield him from the virus, but his internal logic seemed to rectify that quickly enough.

“I am hoping that I can work things out with my mother so I do not have to impose on you,” he said politely.

“You are not imposing. As JP said, you are family to us. You now have a place that you can go, where you know you are welcome, whether you resolve things with your family or not,” I said.

“Marcel, I am heading over to the dig. Would you like to come along?” I heard JP ask. Marcel turned and was off in a flash. Mouse took his things and went back to bed.

“It seems our family has grown again,” I said to Robbie.

“Does that mean you're going to stop trying to get me pregnant?” he joked.

“No way.” I moved up to him and kissed him. I pulled away and looked into his beautiful lavender eyes. “You know, every day we are together, I love you more. I feel like I am a bigger part of you, and you are a bigger part of me.” Then we kissed again, and made love that was now beyond the physical and well into the spiritual. I lay in bed, enjoying the afterglow, only to have it interrupted by the buzz of the phone.

“There is a Monsieur Gerard Plaquet to see you,” said the concierge. I sighed in annoyance at having my sexual afterglow ruined by the arrival of Marcel's father.

“Please ask him to come up,” I said calmly, then hung up the phone and frantically threw on my clothes, smoothed my hair, and ran to the front door. I opened it just as the elevator door opened and remembered at the same time to make sure I seemed calm.

“Welcome, Monsieur Plaquet. Please come in,” I said. I studied his looks. He was short and stocky, a solid kind of man, but there was no anger on his face. If the look could be described, it would be that of a schemer. I decided that was a good thing.

“Is Professor Crampton in?” he asked.

“He is not, but if you follow me into the study, perhaps I can help you,” I said, leading him into JP's inner sanctum.

“Is Marcel here?” he asked, looking around.

“He is not. He went with Professor Crampton to the Louvre to see the dig.”

“Marcel will enjoy that. It fascinates him, history does.” I studied him carefully. This was not a man who hated his stepson. There was a distinct fondness there. “My wife said that he threatened to stay here and that she was insulted.” He said these words without malice.

“There was an unpleasant conversation this morning, where JP–Professor Creampton–proposed a theory on Marcel's parentage that did not appeal to your wife.”

“My wife was a drugged-up whore. She has blocked that part of her past, so it is painful to be reminded of it. For all of us,” he said, letting me see how pissed off he was that her slutty ways had come back to haunt him again. “May I be candid?”

“By all means,” I said. He was so crafty, I wondered if he was ever really candid.

“Marcel is a good boy. I like him. I have been a good father to him, but not a loving father. He reminds me of my wife's past, and that is painful, as you may understand,” he said sincerely.

“I understand completely. It was noble of you to marry her and raise the boy as your own.” He grew with my flattery.

“It was what any good Christian man would do,” he said. Any good Christian man who wanted a hot wife and had no other chance but to pick one up with baggage, I thought. I nodded. “My wife is adamant that Marcel return home. I think that I could persuade her to let him stay here. I just need to offer her a good reason, some incentive.”

Now I understood his language: he was all about turning this situation into a financial windfall. “We have welcomed Marcel into our home with open arms, but there is a problem. He is only 16, so we would need to have guardianship if he were to stay with us.” He nodded, knowing what I wanted. “I can't imagine the trauma this will cause his brother and sister though. It would be painful to have their older brother move away.”

We were tracking with each other, with his somber greed and my fake sympathy creating a connection. “It would be sad and difficult for all of us,” he said soberly. His tone was so artificial it was nauseating.

“Perhaps we could help ease that pain by contributing something to fund their education? To give them opportunities for the future that they might otherwise not have?” I asked. “Please forgive me if I seem to imply that you do not have the means to care for your children. I'm sure that you do. But a little extra money may come in handy, and ease the pain?”

“I am not offended, Monsieur,” he said. “I support my family; I work hard doing it. But luxuries are not always possible.”

“Perhaps 600,000 francs would make things easier?” I offered.

He smiled, and then hid it quickly. “It would.”

“Excellent. Then I will have my attorney draw up guardianship papers. I expect to have them ready by Wednesday. Perhaps we can meet and sign them on Wednesday then?” He nodded and we shook hands. He gave me his phone number, and I promised to call him with the details.

After I escorted him out, I went up and sat on the terrace. I kicked back and smoked a joint, just relaxing and enjoying the beautiful fall weather. If Paris had a beach, it would be perfect, I thought. Mouse was napping, while Robbie had gone to the library, so I was enjoying my solitude.

There was an explosion of footsteps as Marcel charged up the stairs. He stopped when he got to the terrace and looked at me. A big grin broke out on his face. “Marijuana?”

I handed him the joint and he took a hit. JP followed him up to the terrace a little more slowly. Marcel looked at the joint nervously, but I gestured to JP. Marcel handed the joint to JP and he took it and inhaled readily. “You all smoke?” Marcel asked.

“We do. It seems you do too,” I joked.

“The dig was awesome. It was incredible. They are excavating the moat. It has been covered up for centuries. And the foundation is as perfect as when it was built!” It was so cool to see Marcel get so excited.

“Marcel liked the dig,” JP said calmly, making us laugh. “I am going to see if I can find him some work there.”

Marcel's eyes got huge. “Please, do not tease me. It would be a dream. Even emptying latrines would be wonderful.”

“I think we can do better than that,” JP said.

Then Marcel's look of joy changed to a more somber look. “My mother will not allow it. She will stop me just to be spiteful.”

“I have already taken care of that,” I said. Marcel looked at me in amazement, but he wasn’t as amazed as JP.

“And how exactly have you done that?” JP asked.

“Marcel's father came over while you were gone. He has agreed to sign over guardianship of Marcel to me. I told him that we'd have the papers drawn up by Wednesday. Do you have a lawyer here in Paris?” I asked.

“I will by tomorrow,” he said, smiling. “And Monsieur Plaquet was fine with that?”

“He required an incentive,” I said. Marcel got pissed.

“With him it is all about money. He is selling me.”

I got up and sat next to him, putting my arm around him. “That is true. And I am buying you. I will not ask you to do anything too kinky.”

He stared at me, horrified, until he saw my barely suppressed grin and smiled back. “Alright. But remember, not too kinky.”

September 11, 1985

Paris, France

I blew off my studio today to hang out with JP. He had some appointments, and I was in the mood to keep him company. “This is an unexpected surprise,” JP said as we got on the Metro. “You are going to fail your class.”

“I don't really care,” I said. He looked at me and raised an eyebrow to indicate how much that surprised him.

“Indeed?” JP asked.

“I'm not really enjoying it,” I said candidly. “I thought it would be a lot of fun, but my professors don't think I'm being very creative. They are disappointed in me, and so I don't want to paint.”

“So you don't care about grades?” Grades were a big deal to him.

“No, I don't. I worked my ass off at Yale, and I did well.” He nodded and smiled. He was proud of me for that. “But here, it does not seem important to me, so I have decided that I am going to enjoy life, enjoy spending time with you, and not worry about it. For the first time in my life, I just don't give a shit.”

He laughed, which really shocked me. “If you were someone for whom that was the norm, I would be upset, but for you, I think that is good. And fine with me.” I smiled. His approval was something I craved, even when I didn't want to admit it. “Besides, this way I can spend more time with you.”

We got to the hospital and headed to the lab. We were waiting in front of the elevator when the door opened to reveal a man and two nurses, chatting about something technical. The man was clearly a doctor, and he looked vaguely familiar. I searched my memory until I realized he was Armand’s little brother. Armand was the man who had been my sexual guide when I was a teenager, and any skill I had in the bedroom I owed to his teaching.

“Bertrand?” I asked. He looked up in surprise, probably going through the same mental backflips I’d just gone through in an effort to figure out who I was. The nurses glared at me because Bertrand was a hunk and they wanted his attention.

“Bradley! And Professor Crampton! This is a complete surprise! A pleasant surprise!” Bertrand exclaimed. We chatted briefly while we headed to the laboratory. He was on the staff here, doing the US equivalent of his residency. “And what are you here for?” he asked.

“I am HIV-positive,” JP said. “I am here to get my T-cell levels checked.”

“I am sorry to hear that,” Bertrand said. “That is bad news, but it is good news that you seem so healthy. We have seen some HIV patients remain healthy for quite a while before developing AIDS.”

“You are familiar with the virus?” I asked him.

“It has become my life's work. After Armand died, I have focused on this plague. That is why I am here. This is the best HIV research facility in all of Europe.” He left us at the lab and headed off, agreeing to visit us and bring his fiancée along so we could meet her.

We checked in with the nurse then took a seat. “I am nervous,” JP said to me.

“Why?”

“I just got my T-cell levels checked on Friday and they want to check them again.” Now I was nervous too. I reached over and grabbed his hand until they came in to get him.

We expected them to simply draw blood, but instead they surprised us. “Doctor Brissuet would like to see you Professor,” a nurse said. We just nodded, and then she led us back through the maze to JP's doctor. It was a sign of JP's status that she led us right into his office.

“Good morning, JP,” he said. “I wanted to speak to you privately.”

“This is my son, Bradley. He can stay.” I shook hands with the doctor.

“Thank you, by the way, for your generous donation to our hospital.” So it wasn't just JP’s status that was getting him the red-carpet treatment. I internally rolled my eyes at how money seemed to rule the world.

“Your work more than justifies it,” JP replied.

“Yours is a most remarkable case.”

“And why is that?” JP asked curiously.

The doctor got up and walked to his window, then turned to look at us. “Your T-cell counts are not only normal; they are actually a little higher than before. That is most unusual. So I asked you to come here so we could make sure there wasn't a testing error. With your permission, I plan to run a few other tests as well.”

“Be my guest, Doctor,” JP said. “I am confident that I am in capable hands.”

“Perhaps you would be willing to stop in next Monday, at say, 11am? I should have the results by then, and we can go over them,” the doctor said.

“I will see you then,” JP replied. We shook hands and left.

“That's great news, Dad!” I said enthusiastically. “You're doing really well.”

“I am. I feel terrific,” he said, his enthusiasm tinged with nervousness.

The next stop was at the lawyer's office. The lawyer, a nice older man, ushered us into a conference room where Marcel's parents were already waiting. His mother was glaring daggers at us, while his father appeared quite pleased.

“I cannot believe that you have walked into my life and stolen my son away from me,” Madame Plaquet said to us.

“He will have a better life with them. Be quiet and sign the papers!” Monsieur Plaquet ordered. She glared at him, but she signed them anyway.

“Madame,” JP said. “I do not like you. You lie to your son about his parentage, and you are so stubborn about it that you will end up losing him. He is a gifted young man. He is smart, he is inquisitive, and he has a passion for things that interest him.”

“I do not like you either. You have turned my whole household upside down, and turned my husband into a slave trader, selling my son for a lousy 400,000 francs.” I raised my eyebrows at that. The deal we’d agreed to was for 600,000 francs. Evidently, Monsieur Plaquet was going to stash 200,000 francs away for himself.

“You are going to be without a husband if you do not shut your mouth,” her husband said rudely to her.

“Regardless, Marcel has a real interest in history, and I can help him foster that,” JP said. “I am the chair of the History Department at Stanford University, and while I am here I have been working diligently at the Louvre dig project. I have even arranged for Marcel to work on the site.”

“And give up his job at the restaurant?” she asked. We just stared at her in amazement.

“Of course. Have you lost your mind?” her husband said with a scowl. “It is much better for him, doing something he likes instead of washing dishes.”

After the papers were signed by all parties and duly registered, I handed M. Plaquet the envelope with the check. He gave me a slight smile, as if to thank me for not blowing his secret. How ironic that, in the end, Marcel's stepfather seemed more concerned with him and his future than his own mother did.

They got up and headed to the door. Just before she walked out, his mother turned to me. “Please take good care of my son.” It was almost a plea.

“I will. He will have the world at his feet.” And then they were gone.

September 16, 1985

Paris, France

“Thank you for coming with me,” JP said nervously as we walked into the hospital. “I try to hide it, but this makes me nervous.”

“I know, Dad. It's no problem. Besides, you can't hide it from me. I can read you pretty well,” I said. It was hilarious to see how much that irritated him.

“Indeed?” he asked curiously.

“I can,” I asserted. “I've been studying your facial expressions for years.”

“You have, eh?” he asked.

“I have. I knew you were a pretty closed person, very private, but getting past that shell has always been my goal. I really love you, Dad,” I said to him sincerely. I saw him get a tear in his eye.

He stopped and hugged me. A tight hug, one of our hugs where we seemed to exchange energy. Whichever one of us was weaker in the moment, it seemed we'd draw emotional strength from the stronger one. Today, I was stronger, and it made me feel so good to be able to give something to this extraordinary man who had raised me and treated me just like his own son. “I love you too, Brad.”

We broke our embrace and headed into the doctor's office. We waited less than five minutes, even though there were several people sitting around. The nurse led us back to see the doctor, who was standing there waiting for us.

“Professor Crampton. It is good to see you today. And you too, Bradley,” he said cheerfully.

“Thank you, Doctor,” JP said as we shook hands with him and then took a seat as he indicated.

“Your test results are most extraordinary,” he said. We just stared at him, waiting. “As I mentioned before, your blood work is very odd. The blood you gave last week shows that your T-cell count is still high, almost the same as your prior tests. I reviewed your chart, the records you brought with you. You were diagnosed with HIV using an ELISA test, which is a very good indicator. Unfortunately, it sometimes is not accurate. Occasionally, it will yield a false positive or a false negative. That is why we are all working so hard to develop a better test.”

“What are you saying, Doctor?” I asked impatiently.

“We did a second ELISA screening and it came up negative. This test is much more likely to be falsely positive than falsely negative. It would appear that your prior test was faulty. I am almost certain that you are not HIV-positive.”

I stared at the doctor, stunned, and then looked at JP. We both shed our shock then grinned, big huge grins, and he leaned over and hugged me. I felt tears pouring from my eyes but I didn't care. These were tears of joy, and this was one of those times when it was OK to cry. JP finally composed himself.

“I'm sorry to have lost my composure, Doctor,” JP said formally, as if to shed that emotional moment. “I was overcome because this is such good news.”

“I understand,” he said with a smile, then he sighed and the smile vanished. “It is a pleasure to be able to give out good news for a change. It is a rare occurrence.” My heart went out to him. What hell it must be, working as a physician, dealing with AIDS patients, watching them die and not being able to do anything for them.

“I am glad I was able to brighten your day,” JP said, unwilling to be jolted from his joy at finding out he was negative.

“There is a little bit of bad news,” he said, shattering our moods. “It seems that the false positive came because you do have a problem with your immune system. It seems you have the beginnings of arthritis.”

“Better to be old and creaky, than not to be old at all,” I told him. We literally skipped out of the hospital and headed to a nearby cafe to grab some lunch.

We had a really good time celebrating, but there was a big downside to this news; he just hadn't mentioned it yet. I finally decided to raise the issue.“What about Mouse, Dad?” I asked.

“You think I should dump him now that I am not positive?” he asked me rudely. I saw the regret on his face, the same thing that I’d felt when I accidentally thought out loud.

“I don't know. He loves you, and you love him. I think it would be cruel to dump him. But I don't want you to get the disease.” He nodded. “Do you use condoms?”

He bristled at that. “My son is having safe sex conversations with me?” he grumbled.

“Are you?”

“Of course I am.” He sighed. “I am the, uh, penetrator anyway. That helps reduce the risk too.”

“I always thought you were a bottom,” I teased.

“I was, but Mouse has brought out the top in me,” he said, then got frustrated when he realized he was talking candidly about his sex life. “Now can we please stop discussing my sex life?”

“There's nothing to be embarrassed about,” I said, then chuckled. “Besides, I've seen you having sex before.”

“When?” he asked, horrified.

“Well, the hottest time was back in high school when I peeked in on you and Roger. You were lying on your back, on top of him, while he fucked you. He reached up and started stroking your dick right before I turned and shut the door,” I said. It was a good thing I was sitting down because just remembering that scene was causing a definite reaction in my groin.

JP was blushing and smiling at the same time, then got a hint of melancholy as he remembered Roger. He finally relented and continued our conversation. “Well, with Mouse it's different. When I used to have sex with Stefan, we'd alternate. But with Mouse, I always end up fucking him.” He stopped, realizing and regretting how open he'd been.

“I can see that,” I said, blowing off his discomfort over this topic. “Mouse has a submissive nature. I remember after Billy died and we were both really upset, I ran into him in the studio and he was about to hurt himself. He did that back then, when he was upset and couldn't find someone to fuck him. I remember how I was pissed off at him for that, but there was something about him that just brought out the animal in me. I ripped his clothes off and just fucked him really hard. It was really intense, something I'll never forget.” He smiled at me. Somehow JP and I had crossed a line into a new world of intimacy, where we could share even anecdotes of sexual experiences. And he seemed fine with that.

“It's funny to hear you say that. Mouse told me about that. Remembering it got him really fired up.” I laughed. That was pretty flattering. “So what do you think I should do?”

“I think that you should stay with him. You love him; he loves you. I think you need to evaluate how you have sex though.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don't want to lose you, Dad. You have to be safe. Fucking could be dangerous.” He nodded. “How big are your hands?” I asked, making the beak shape for fisting. He shook his head while I laughed.

We got back to the apartment later in the afternoon, completely shitfaced. We'd been to a few bars and kept celebrating and celebrating. Finally we’d had to get a cab to take us home, even though we were only four or five blocks away. The cab driver was pissed until I tipped him really well. The concierge grinned at us knowingly, and helped us get in the elevator. We made it to the fourth floor, both of us fumbling for our keys.

“I gotta pee,” I said. JP tried to get the key in the lock but couldn't make it. “Hurry up. I'm gonna pee my pants!” I said urgently, which just made us laugh even harder. Finally the door opened up, saving us from dealing with the difficult lock. Robbie looked at us, curious at first, and then got a slight smile on his face, the smile of someone who isn't drunk in the presence of someone who is. “Gotta pee,” I said, pushing past him and racing to the bathroom. I heard JP laughing.

There is nothing quite so satisfying as peeing after holding it in for so long, and while I’d taken care of that problem, I was still drunk off my ass. I came staggering out of the bathroom and fell over a table in the hallway, knocking books and a lamp all over the place. Robbie stooped to help me up. “Ow,” I said. He laughed. “We have to fuck.” I said.

“In a little bit.” He kissed me gently, but I just latched onto him, wrapping myself around him like a python. He peeled me off, laughing. “In a bit. I promise.”

“What's going on?” Mouse said, coming out of the bedroom. He must have been napping, because he had that pissed off 'you just woke me up' look on his face.

“We're drunk,” I told him. JP started laughing. “We were celebrating.”

“And just what were you celebrating?” Mouse asked, even more irritated.

JP glanced at me, and then focused on Mouse and Robbie. “They retested me. I'm negative.”

Robbie got a huge grin on his face and jumped up, whooping loudly. “That is fucking awesome. God, that is such good news.”

Mouse looked really conflicted and I knew why: he was worried he’d lose JP. “That's the best news ever, JP. I'm so happy for you,” he said softly. He grabbed his coat and made to run away but I grabbed him, holding him back. “Let me go. Fuck.” He struggled, and while I was stronger than him, I was too drunk to hold onto him. Fortunately Robbie grabbed Mouse from behind and held him in place, so my drunk mind finally processed that meant I could let Mouse go.

“Slow down, Mouse,” Robbie said calmly.

JP walked up to Mouse and Robbie released him into JP's arms. JP kissed him passionately. “This changes nothing. I still love you.”

“And when you sober up? And when your family insists that you dump me?” he demanded bitterly.

That pissed me off, and I was too drunk to have any control. “Fuck you, Mouse. Just fuck you, you fucking ungrateful little piece of shit,” I said, really irate.

“Brad,” JP said, trying to calm me down, but Mouse was really pissed at me and was gearing up to really let me have it. JP turned his attention back to Mouse. “Brad's just mad because he spent the afternoon advocating that I stay with you. Not that I needed persuasion.” I stood there with my eyes glaring and my nostrils flaring, ready to rip the little asshole into pieces.

Mouse looked at me. “I'm sorry. I should have known better. You've always been there for me.” I felt my anger fade. Then I smiled.

“That's OK. I'm just going to go take it out on Robbie. Come on,” I told him. He followed me into the bedroom. I started taking off my clothes. “Strip,” I ordered, and he started stripping. I moved up and kissed him hard. “I love you so much. God, I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“I want to really fuck you. I want to fuck you really hard. Is that OK?” I asked. His eyes bulged. He grabbed a condom and slipped it on me, threw some lube on, and lay flat on his back. He grabbed his ankles, exposing his hole to me. “Fuck me, stud,” he said.

I entered him slowly, and then, after a couple of strokes, I just went nuts. I fucked him so hard I was worried I'd hurt him, but he was with me for the whole ride. He let his legs go and they slammed into my shoulders, so I wrapped my arms around them and used them for more leverage. I felt the sweat pouring down my chest, making his legs slick against me. Then one of his calves brushed across my nipple, and that set me over the edge. I screamed when I came, a loud, animal roar, while Robbie yelled almost as loudly as I did. I came forever, blasting and blasting into the condom, while he shot rope after rope of cum across his abdomen and chest. When we were finished with our orgasms, I stood there panting, and then noticed Robbie looking to the side. There, standing in the doorway watching us, was Marcel. He blushed and hurriedly closed the door, but not before I could see that his pants were tenting big time.