No Offense, Really

This is one of those rare occasions when I really really wish that back in October - when I finally reached my threshold for spending the first 90 minutes of pretty much every other workday drafting a litany of morning-after emails to countless friends regaling them with tales of the previous evening's boy-related and generally alcohol-infused hijinks - and decided to just start a blog instead, that I'd not been quite so stringent when establishing the editorial guidelines to which I'd adhere.

Because I really just have a whole lot of nothing to say today on the topics of love, longing and/or M3's crazy body. And I'm not allowed to talk about anything else, per me.

Unless, of course, I elect to engage in writings of a more adult nature...

Dabbling in smut was actually M3's idea. Knowing of my blog but never quite having the energy to go out and find it on his own, he commented on Sunday rather astutely that given my strict insistence upon only blogging about boys, I might be finding myself a bit short of material these days. And indefinitely. Considering we'd just spent five days together and still hadn't grown weary of one another's company, there seemed little in the way of other options in that moment than to wholeheartedly concur.

So, when M3 semi-facetiously but moreso-sincerely suggested that I explore porn, I actually gave the idea some thought.

But as I find myself this evening with little in the way of anything of consequence about which to write, and reflect upon if recent events are a predictor of future behavior, how I truly think I could do the proverbial nasty with this one particular boy so many times that I eventually lose count yet still somehow fail to grow weary of his strength, his tenderness, his power, his creativity, his humor, his intensity, his mischievousness, or his triceps...there's little in the world less appealing than sharing that with all of you.

My apologies if you don't hear from me for a while.