I kept an online journal. Everyone had a nickname for the sake of privacy. Tickles, The Dread, Das Goot, and Mr. Duplicity come immediately to mind. But there were no truly private details pertaining to others shared, only my feelings about events in my day to day life. I'm not even sure oNE could discern from my entries which of them I'd had sex with and which if them I'd only dated. You could probably tell whom I loved, who loved me back, and who broke my heart. You could certainly tell whom I wanted to see more of, whom I never wanted to see again, and why.
I knew about one co-worker's dick because he was fucking my best friend. We didn't tell any of my other co-workers about it. I'm pretty sure I saw it myself at some point. Even before he started dating my bestie we were at his house a whole lot and he was almost always high at home. We may or may not have sometimes inhaled too. But I'll put it this way: I do remember eating noodles that were nearly raw. I do remember we all changed into his pajamas in his living room. He called himself The Fat Kid From New Jersey. If I blogged about any of my time with him, I'm sure I did too.
Nah. There is no way I'm talking about anyone's dick with a blabbermouth who would violate the sanctity of my gossip circle. I've known my gossip girls for 3 decades. Ain't no way. If I haven't known you long enough and intimately enough that your mother has bandaged my skinned knees, let me sleep next to her after a nightmare and told me either by word or deed that she would mother me after my own mother died, you are not privy to these conversations. Sisters only.
Like Imma trust some coworker with the type of talk that could get me fired/sued. Please!
