"Are you going to be blogging this," he asked as we were laying naked on his bed.
"Yes," I said.
Last week (or so), Mike learned I have a blog. At the time, I told him I would give him the address if he asked, but I would prefer he didn't ask. I said if he were reading my blog I would feel like I would start censoring myself. And, I don't want to feel that way.
I suppose I could share the address with him, but then create a separate, secret blog [as I have done in the past]. In the end, that gets overly complicated and is not much fun.
"Yes, but I won't go into details like I used to."
I've noticed that I'm writing less explicitly about my sexual activities. Maybe it's because I can only write "I got face-fucked until my jaw hurt" in so many ways before it becomes silly and repetitive? Or maybe the idea of strangers reading about my sexual misadventures became less appealing once those strangers became friends? Or maybe it's more fun to drop little verbal clues like "my back hurts" and let my readers do the math? I'm sure your imaginations are a lot more interesting than my realities.
All of this eventually led to him asking why I blogged. I could write a lengthy explanation, but I think most people are tired of reading navel-gazing blogposts about blogging. So, I will spare your sensitive natures and simply say,
Blognito ergo sum.