I’m 24 years old. To my family and friends, I’m just an ordinary person. I go to work on time, chat with colleagues normally, and spend weekends at home watching anime and sci-fi works. I look no different from people my age. But only I know that behind my calm appearance lies a secret I dare not tell anyone — I feel no attraction at all to men or women in real life. All my longing and desire belong only to virtual tentacle creatures and alien beings in the 2D world.
I’ve kept this secret for eight whole years.
I first felt something strange about virtual tentacle-like creatures in high school. I accidentally came across a sci-fi anime with soft, fantasy-style tentacle aliens. They weren’t terrifying or ferocious; instead, they had an inexplicable sense of mystery and unique charm. In that moment, it was as if a door I’d never known existed opened in my heart, and an unprecedented thrill rushed over me.
After that, I couldn’t look away from these virtual non-human creatures. I started searching for anime, illustrations, and artbooks featuring tentacles and alien beings. Looking at these figures that only existed in the virtual world filled me with indescribable excitement and peace.
My classmates started dating in secret, talking about crushes in real life and sharing their feelings for others, but I could never fit in. People confessed to me, and others tried to set me up on dates. But when I faced real people, I only felt distant, awkward, even resistant. No matter how kind or excellent they were, I couldn’t feel the slightest spark, let alone any desire for intimacy.
I tried forcing myself to fit into mainstream preferences, pushing myself to look at attractive people in real life and chat with others flirtatiously, but every attempt failed. That forced pretense exhausted me, leaving me empty inside. Only when I went back to my room and looked at those 2D virtual creatures could I feel like myself again, and find my own joy.
Nighttime is my most relaxed and private moment. I turn off the lights, put on headphones, and my mind is filled with images of virtual tentacle creatures — their soft texture, fantastical shapes, and interactions that exist only in imagination. There’s no real-world drama, no fear of rejection, no arguments or hurt in relationships. Just a pure, imaginary world that belongs to me alone.
I often doubted myself late at night. Is something wrong with me? Am I the “pervert” people talk about? I didn’t dare tell my parents, afraid they’d think I was twisted. I didn’t dare tell my friends, scared they’d look at me differently. I couldn’t reveal a thing in real life, so I locked this niche, bizarre preference deep in my heart.
I even searched for information online secretly, terrified I had some kind of mental disorder. But the more I looked, the more I realized I hadn’t hurt anyone, and I never confused fantasy with reality. I simply had a preference for non-human creatures in the virtual world — that was all.
Later, I mustered the courage to join a small subculture community, and finally found out I was never alone. The community had many people like me — students, office workers, young people my age. We all shared the same secret, loved virtual tentacles, aliens, and mythical creatures, and felt nothing for real-life relationships.
We communicated anonymously, shared our favorite virtual characters, and spoke our minds. No pretense, no fear of judgment, no need to hide. I realized so many of us had given all our desire and longing to the 2D virtual world.
We never bring our fantasies into reality, let alone do anything against laws or ethics. We know clearly that fantasy is fantasy, and reality is reality. We only build our own spiritual utopia in our minds. In that world, there’s no societal judgment, no mainstream constraints — just us and the virtual creatures we love.
Now, I’ve slowly learned to accept myself. I no longer feel ashamed of my niche preferences, no longer anxious about not feeling attracted to real people, and no longer force myself to meet others’ expectations.
I know my desire will always belong to virtual tentacle creatures in the 2D world. It’s my own private joy. I don’t need others’ understanding or approval. As long as I keep the line between fantasy and reality, hurt no one, and disturb no one, this hidden preference is worth cherishing.
By day, I’m an ordinary person living in reality. By night, I’m a dreamer lost in the virtual world. These two identities coexist peacefully, without interfering with each other.
To others, my preference may seem weird and bizarre. But to me, this is the real me. It’s my warmest solace late at night, a unique joy known only to myself.