Love breaks chains - English version

Chapter one

Can this day get any worse? In my head, a crew of lumberjacks chops tree trunks into matchsticks, my eyes ache. The words on the screen begin to flicker. It's cold and dark outside, and my boss has just told me that I have to work overtime today. Because our client wants the layout for his new website on the table tomorrow. And I just want to go home. A portion of pasta and a glass of wine, my bed and some sleep. Like every evening.

But that wish is receding into the distance right now. I lean back in my chair, let myself fall back slightly and close my eyes. With circular movements I massage my temples, it provides a slight relief of my pain. On days like these, I'm glad to be single. This way I don't have to rob my partner of the illusion of a romantic dinner for two followed by a cozy evening watching TV. My days always follow the same pattern. I wake up, go to the bathroom and get in the shower. Alone. As the warm water runs over my body, the outline of a man forms in the steam.

They are blurred, existing only in my imagination. And yet they are always the same. In my imagination he whispers words in my ear, his lips lightly touch my earlobe and I feel the fine tickle of his breath on my neck. Strong hands glide over my body, fingertips gently touch my heated skin, tracing a path from my shoulders over my chest, down to my belly. Soft kisses down my neck, breathed, light, sensual. I imagine his body pressing against mine. Demanding, but also gentle. With circular movements of his pelvis, he drives my pleasure. Words in my head, without voice. Images in my head, without destination. A feeling of freedom, carefree and light. The path of redemption right in front of me I come with a name on my lips that always surprises me.

The rest of the act of showering is routine. Lather, rub, rinse. With wet skin and dripping hair, I brush my teeth. The mirror reveals to me the face of a man with blue eyes as bright as the ocean and hair as black as the soul of the demon lord from the nightmares of my childhood. Breakfast is always the same. Black coffee, a bowl of cereal with fruit and the newspaper. I read the newspaper every morning. A real, genuine newspaper. Printed on paper, with small black letters and big bold letters telling me the latest from the world. The printer's ink on my hands always makes me feel a little melancholy. It has always been my parents' ritual to share the newspaper at the breakfast table. Dad always started with the sports section and Mum with the local news. It's still like that today.

On the way to work, I squeeze into the New York subway with thousands of other people. It takes a bit of strength out of me every morning. I'm not comfortable with a lot of people in a small space. But since I don't like driving and New York traffic is hell, I take this hurdle. I don't like to use elevators, the stairs are my friend. Every day I climb the steps to the sixth floor. My legs are well trained and this daily small sports program also contributes to my general fitness. On the weekends, I go running in Central Park or swimming with my childhood friend. It's the only day of the week I feel free. With him, I'm not Alec the shy kid from the back row with the too-long legs and always a head taller than everyone else. With him, I'm just Alec. His childhood friend.

My sister tried so many times to hook me up with a guy she met at clubs or her work, boyfriend's bar. I went on a few dates too. But either the men just wanted a quick fling, or they couldn't handle my shy nature. Because let's face it. Gay men are hormone-driven. They don't want the nice guy next door who will get them the stars from the sky. They want the bad boy who grabs them by the collar in the club, pulls them into the next dim corner and fucks their brains out.

My sexual experiences are limited to a few blowjobs and sex once. The lucky guy for my deflowering was my friend in college. Andrew. To this day I still think about what could have been and what it was like. Had it not been for my shyness. My childhood friend is of the opinion that Andrew was not the one. Jace is a romantic before the Lord. He carries his wife on his hands and lays the world at her feet. He believes in the only true love. And also in the fact that one day a man will come into my life who will break the chains around my soul. A man who will unexpectedly come into my life and change my world.

And some days I think he is right in what he says. Because really unexpectedly he came into my life. Copperfield. A misdirected message six months ago brought us together. I don't know him. And yet he is closer to me than anyone else. He knows things about me that I have told no one else. My fears and longings. My feelings and thoughts. With him I can talk. Or rather, write. With Copperfield, I'm not shy. I am Alec, writing freely, openly and honestly. It surprises me every day. And every day I eagerly await his message of the day. He is a stranger. But he is my stranger. He is Copperfield.

The vibrating of my phone brings me out of my thoughts. The headache disappears and overtime is no longer a concern.

Copperfield
Hello my handsome.
How was your day? I hope good and you're home. Because I'm still on the road. On a crowded smelly train and trying to fight fatigue. The appointment was good, the client happy. But Chicago was cold. Very cold. I don't like the cold. Or winter. I don't like snow either. It is simply too cold for me. And I have a fear that the same cold awaits me at home. So RobinHood, tell me about your day.

With a smile on my face, I read his message. I don't like winter either. Too cold and too wet. My day isn't as bad as I thought after all. It ends well. Even very well.