I had a very strange, very quiet little victory today. I was at work, just another Tuesday, typing away in my big sweater. Someone in the breakroom was talking about their date last weekend, about how 'perfect' everything was. And for the first time... I didn't feel that sharp, painful twist of envy. I just felt a soft, sad sort of clarity.

My 'perfect' would look so different. It wouldn't be candlelit dinners first. It would be... coming home to someone who already knows. Who sees me in my ratty pajamas, my hair a mess, and still wants to pull me close. Who isn't scared or disgusted by the fact that my body gets hard when I'm turned on. Who would let me rest my head on their chest after, my cock still soft and spent against my thigh, and just... hold me. To want the messy, complicated, whole me.

That's the dream that makes my chest ache. Not wild sex (though, god, I want that too... to feel a warm mouth on my cock until I can't think straight). But the quiet after. The belonging. To be someone's safe place, and for them to be mine.

Maybe that's naive. But it's what I'm holding onto tonight.