Mr. X was the other great love in my life, (before “Hero”, the narcissist). This is the story of mr. X and me. (You will find the other parts here: The Meet,   Passion, and  The Fall)

My heart was so full of love for this man, that it overflowed and I could not keep it in anymore. One day I just said it out loud, involuntarily. I knew it wasn’t wise, but I didn’t have the energy for wisdom anymore. Going so many years unloved and lonely, will make any of us prefer the madness of love, eventually.

I was shocked when mr. X reciprocated the words, but not as shocked as he was. It was not a choice for him either, I could see that as the words fell from his lips, like drunken sailors overboard in the middle of a dark ocean. It seems he wanted to call out for help right after the words had fallen out into reality. But he quickly realized it was too late. Much too late.

The saying “time flies” never rang more true than the following 18 months.

I got to meet The Parents, who were Eastern European. They worked hard, laughed harder, and chain smoked an obscure brand of cigarrettes that I’d never heard of (and which were probably so strong they’d be illegal in this bureaucracy). They welcomed me into their home with open arms and always forced me to eat their home cooked meals which took hours to prepare. If I would say I had already had dinner, they would just dismiss my words with an impatient wave of the hand.

During these eighteen months, I would learn that mr. X was completely trustworthy. He spoke the truth and I never had to wonder if he was where he said he would be. In fact, I never had to worry, at all. There was no doubt in my mind about his love or sincerity. I could tell his moral compass had a true North of its own. He just wasn’t built for lies or deception. What you saw was exactly what you got. A strong and muscular wolf with fierce and tender lusts. We sank so deep into each other, physically and emotionally, into depths I had never believed was possible with another human being. I learned he was a doer, rather than a thinker. I would read poetry to him and he would look at me like I was an ethereal being from another realm. He wouldn’t  say much, but I could see that the words got to him. He was a man of strength and action, but I saw the admiration in his eyes, when he listened to me go on about the World of Words and its wonders. He, on his end, showed me the world of action, of leaving sorrow behind. He got me out of my head and into the Joy of Reality.

We would walk countless times in our beech forest. Every season we were there, marking our territory, making sure it was still ours. He loved to photograph and had gotten himself a real photographer’s camera and took thousands of photos of us, of nature. I did not understand it at the time, his obsession with capturing all the beauty he saw. But I came to understand it later in life. At this time, I was all about the Word. The beech forest witnessed our love, and nourished it, with its delicate light green new leaves in spring and its golden leaves of farewell in fall. Our physical connection was so strong and magnetic that once or twice we couldn’t resist, but gave in to temptation right there on the soft, thick blanket of leaves, making ourselves a part of the ground there. We were both wild, loved the thrill, gasping with excitement and hearts pounding at the thought of this beautiful, but by man forbidden, natural act. We cared not, who was to judge us? We were Adam and Eve, or beasts, we were alone but surrounded by our beech forest, our second home.

We talked for hours, about him being left behind by his parents in their home country as a child. He had no bitterness about it, he explained the poverty they had endured, and that his parents had to come here, to make a new life for themselves, work around the clock. All to be able to bring him here later on, from their close relatives in the home country. I saw the abandoned boy he tried to hide. I showed him more and more of my old wounds. All was seen, revealed, healed. When old wounds are seen and cared for by someone who loves you, they start to heal.

We lived in this rather small town, which was the home town of mr. X. I just lived there because it was the town where I had been accepted to university. We both knew there was an upcoming discussion in there, about the future. None of us wanted to have that discussion. Were we gonna live here, or in my hometown, where all my family lived?

One day we were invited for dinner at his parents’ house, just like many other days. They served us sweet wine and the father made jokes and laughed so hard that the window panes trembled a bit. They started to talk about the future and suddenly mr. X:s father said: “Well, we’re so proud of you, son. You’ll make an excellent chief of police here in town one day!”. Mr. X smiled and mumbled something about: “Yes, I guess so”.

I choked on the wine and excused myself to the bathroom. My heart sank at the thought of the father’s words. I understood. The family bond here that had once been broken to their boy, had now been reforged so strongly that they would never accept him living anywhere else than close to them. And maybe he felt the same. I could not take in what this meant. I closed my eyes and imagined us, beneath the beech trees, where we would remain lovers, forever.

To Be Continued…..