Loving Men-Story of Us (Artem Stories)

If there’s one thing thing that Artem and I have promised to never forget is the miracle of Artem Jacketour lives. You see, we are keenly aware that the life we lead is a miracle. It’s a miracle how we met, its a miracle how we’ve sustained, and it’s a miracle for the future we have forged. Against all odds God had brought us together and it’s God that keeps us together.

Every time we kiss it’s as though a universal God is kissing us. This isn’t a fantasy or an infatuation. We are all too aware that the love we share is a love forged out of steel. Much like King Arthur’s infamous Excalibur, our love has been shaped by distance not closeness. We treasure every chat, every text and every telephone call. We see each other as a soul mate. We are bound by our hearts. We have been blind to physical attraction. Our hearts see for us. Our hearts have perfect vision. And so I want to share with my readers, The Story of Us.

I’m not embarrassed to admit that we met on an online dating site. We had both signed up at the same time and on the same day. I was busy flagging texts from potential suitors as I had been surprisingly popular. Then I happened upon his text.

“Hi,” he said, “I think you’re handsome.”

What happened next was unbelievable. I set eyes on his photograph. It was simply beguiling. Here was this younger, stunningly handsome man sitting on the ledge of a concrete wall. He was so handsome that I was immediately bewitched. His half-smile, his muscular thighs, his delicate hands must’ve been captured by a lover. Only a lover, I’d thought, only a lover would take a photograph like that. So he had a lover.

I shot him a text back to him, “Well, if you think I’m handsome, then you are gorgeous,” I confessed.

“You are handsome. Very handsome. I love your face, your beard, your eyes. You look so handsome and confident,” he added.

Me? I thought to myself, Me? I introduced myself and gave him my email address and suggested that we leave the world of the dating sight and communicate via email. He said he’d write immediately.

A day passed. No email. I went back to the dating sight and texted him. I gave you my email address, but you didn’t write. I won’t bother you again.

“Wait,” he responded, “Ive been busy. Do you give up so easily?”

Do I, I thought, do I give up so easily? Surely he’s been busy with his lover and couldn’t find free time to write. I responded, No I don’t give up so easily. I’m just not in the habit of stalking my prey.

“I’ll write to you today, I promise,” he texted back.

And he did and then I did. Pages and pages and pages of emails. I finally understood what we were doing: BedSpeak. That confessing of secrets post-loving. We were strengthening a bond. Then I asked was it a lover that took his photographs?

“I don’t have a love,” he replied to me, “You’re my love.”

And so it began, our little miracle in a world that doesn’t believe in miracles. I don’t know if the world at large is jaded or cynical, but I’ve often wondered what God thinks about her humans. I can just hear her now: “I give them miracles but no one sees. That is, no one but these two men. Blessed be they and their love for one another.”