I haven't updated this for the better part of a month, and honestly, it seems like updates are probably going to come to an end soon. However, leaving off without any explanation is unfair to whatever few readers I may have, so I guess I should explain.
This blog is my public sex journal. It's a collection of the sexual adventures I have and the fantasies of the sexual adventures I want to have. Some people are embarrassed when talking about sex. For most, it's a largely taboo subject. For me, though, the physical aspect of sex was never something to be ashamed of. I find it exciting, thrilling, invigorating. Stories of sex and sports are the same to me, filled with the nitty-gritty details, and the best draw me in to make me feel like I'm part of the action. In the stories I've written here, both true and fictional, I hope I've described them in such a way that the reader feels like he was me, or at least there with me, and the fucking and kissing and grinding that goes on are part of his life too.
All that said, I'm a private person when it comes to my emotions and feelings. For the most part, I've kept the physical aspect of sex separate from the emotional. I've fucked some 19 boys at this point, and if I had fallen for everyone of them, or even a few of them, I'd be an emotional wreck. I know how to keep emotions and sex separate. Or at least I thought so.
Ralphie came back. A week ago, he climbed back in bed with me. The same Ralph who is reminded of his sister's death when he sleeps with me. Who told me a few weeks back that he couldn't sleep with me anymore. Who I held tightly in my arms when he told me that. Who I realized after he left that I actually cared for him.
I spent a day missing him, then I moved on. But now he's back. Three times in the past week alone. And I can't talk about fucking him. And I'm not emo enough to write four hundred posts about feelings. So, until this blows over, I'm not writing for awhile.
