Tootsie roll bites...

I was a bad boy. I had a small bowl of Tootsie Roll bites on the shelf where I keep my keys and wallet because I like to take a couple of them with me when I go out. If I have a low-blood-sugar episode, they're good for combating that. Before them, I'd kept Starlight peppermints. I should have stuck with those.

I had a wild attack of needing chocolate, this evening, so ate all the Tootsie Rolls. With a glass of milk, at least, to mitigate some of it. But now I'm feeling weird. ODing on the candy? Damn. I'm so fucking self-indulgent.

BUT...I got through two passes on Chapter Three of DW. Fleshed out the boys Adam is roomed with...well, each in his own room. Because each takes care of his male clients in his room.

Rory, Eric, Trey, Luc, Carlo and Tevean, all in the 15 to 17 year-old range. I made a note in the story that the age of consent in Canada in the middle 90s was 14, with some restrictions, but also this is violating all sorts of laws against prostitution so it's rather moot. I think the current age of consent is 16.

Nothing that happens sexually is detailed. I don't want anyone claiming this is kiddie porn. The fact is, I don't like writing about having sex with underage boys. It's just plain nasty. I lust over men, like Chris Evans. Especially since he's a daddy, now. I wouldn't mind doing some father-fucking with him.

Anyway, this is part of Adam's past and important to the story, later. This part includes him finding out he loves poetry, thanks to one visitor who just wants him to read it to him. No sex. Just companionship. So he writes about it in his journal...and it's what keeps him from becoming an uncaring beast.

Like the world around him is becoming.