I was beginning to think I was all the "good" boys had been abducted. Most of the summer has been filled with sexually retarded or emotionally female boys. Of course, boys who say they wish my roommate was in porn or boys who cry on me like a 7 year old girl are great fodder for our quaint little blog here. However, they are wretched for our actual sex lives. But finally, the dry spell is over!

Friday's date couldn't have been more perfect, in that completely fucked up way. The sex was good and plentiful, the head was mind-blowing and flowed freely (pardon the rather nasty pun). Best of all, he knew it was just sex. In the morning, there was no awkwardness, no urge to dart out the door as quickly as possible. Simply the urge to fuck again, and say goodbye with a friendly hug.

Most girls say their faith in boys is renewed by a boy who brings flowers or does something hilariously pathetic and trite like serenade them. Pardon me while I vomit. Romance is an illusion; he isn't being sweet. He's finding quickest way into your pants via your weak, girly emotional state. My faith in boys, on the other hand, is renewed by a boy who can give me multiple orgasms and not feel the need to call me later. I love being me.

Brought to you by the letter L.