the blueprint
on paper, i don't have a type. i tell myself i am open minded, an equal opportunity flirt. but deep down, if i'm being honest, it's men over fifty. not the gym-polished kind either. the ones with a little grey creeping in, a hairline that's made peace.
there's some about that mix of confidence and decay. a man who has seen things. the body might not be perfect, but it's lived in. it's had a few spins around the block, knows it limits, but also not afraid to push boundaries.
christopher meloni checks all those boxes. he's like the blueprint. a combination of menace and warmth. he might arrest me, or he might coddle me. i look at him and think, this is a man who probably knows how to do his taxes, maybe buried a few secrets, and still remembers how to touch.
i don't care for youth anymore. i care for experience. laugh lines, salt-and-pepper stubble, someone who wants to fall asleep after sex. and sleeping in late is out of the question, because we got yard work to do in the morning.