Author: Innocent Loverboy (Page 19 of 30)

Okay?

February 10, 2022 / Innocent Loverboy / 1 Comment

[11:00 pm.]

ILB: “Huh. Huh. Huh. Huh. Huuuu…”
JS: (off, from bedroom) “Are you okay?”
ILB: (from sofa) “Yesss…”
JS: “Are you sure you’re okay?”
ILB: “Yes, I’m sure, I’m…”

[Pause. ILB orgasms violently, a string of cum shooting from the tip of his throbbing penis. It lands on his supine body, leaving a continuous trail from his shoulder down to his belly.]

ILB: “Uh…”
JS: “Are you okay?!”
ILB: “Yes, I’m good!”

[ILB hauls himself from his position and gropes for the tissues. There is a lot to clean up. He starts wiping, both impressed and appalled by how much there is.]

JS: “You’re good?”
ILB: “I’m good!”

[Quiet. JS has gone to sleep. ILB crawls under the heavy duvet he has brought to the sofa. He gives a soft, satisfied sigh, upon which the CURTAIN falls.]

The Mystery Crush

February 2, 2022 / Innocent Loverboy / 0 Comments

A few months into our relationship, my ex indicated to me that she had a crush on someone else.

“She doesn’t want to say this, and she isn’t going to mention it again, or act on it,” said Oxford (although his voice sounded a lot like the Seamstress’ own), “but… there is someone else.”

My eyes, already filled with tears, started to leak. As they rolled down my cheeks, he carried on.

“As for you,” he said to the Seamstress, “what do you think you are doing, hurting this beautiful boy? You don’t want to upset anyone, and Lady Pandorah would be very upset with you, so there.“

“Right,” I whispered through a veil of tears. “Thanks, Oxford.” And I curled up to cry as the Seamstress awkwardly – but sweetly – stroked the hair of the boy she hurt.

A few months after our relationship ended, I asked the question that I’d been aching to ask since that moment.

“You know how you said, a few months in, that you had a crush on someone else? Who was that?”
“Oh… no-one.”

That didn’t make sense. It couldn’t have been no-one. She wouldn’t have said there was otherwise.

“No, I really need to know. It doesn’t matter who it was. Really.”
“Oh. No-one.”

This time, there was a finality to her voice. The conversation ended, as they tend to do, and neither of us ever mentioned it again. In fact, I don’t think I have heard her voice since.

But I still wonder who it was. It can’t have really been no-one, or she wouldn’t have indicated otherwise.

It was more than a decade ago… but it still keeps me up at nights.

TMI Tuesday: Bondage & Dwarfs

January 25, 2022 / Innocent Loverboy / 1 Comment

I opened the door
The place was crawling with dwarfs
I said, “what is this, some kind of orgy?”
But she just smiled at me as she picked up a dwarf and greased him up
Then she started wanking off Dopey…

For ~~want of content~~ your perusal, I’m once again doing this meme. Yes, I too was slightly disturbed by the title of this one. I have, incidentally, once been in a production of Snow White and Several Dwarfs (we had eight), but I’m fairly sure that’s not what this is about.

My fiancée is fairly short; let’s go with that.

1. What is one thing your significant other could do to you to rock your world?

Sexually, or generally? This is one of those open questions, so I’m not sure how to answer that.

If we’re talking sex, then the thing that affects me the most is having my nipple sucked while I wank myself off. I like having sex, of course, but since that isn’t happening, this is as close as we’re going to get. Not that this has happened, either.

On a more chaste, but no less intimate, note, they could let me spoon them in bed. We used to do this all the time, but it doesn’t happen any more.

2. You have been granted the super power you always wanted. How will you abuse that power? Why?

I’ve always wanted to be able to fly. Ever since I was very young, that’s been one of my desires – as a child, I was obsessed with the concept of freedom. Being able to take off from the ground and go anywhere was a way of escape.

I’d abuse this power by going places. I’ve always wanted to visit Japan and probably never will, so that’s the first place I’d go. I’d also be able to visit all the people I know abroad, like my hairy friend in the USA and my cousin in Australia. I’d also do a few good deeds, like Moe at the end of The Homer They Fall.

Of course, I’d save a packet on commuting too.

3. For sexy play, would you rather be tied up or tie someone else up? Why?

As regular readers will know, bondage really isn’t my thing, although I have been talked into it.

On the few times that I have indulged, I’ve always been the one doing the tying up. I can’t stand being constrained – it does odd things to my brain – and, anyway, I don’t like pain, and the tight knots experienced practitioners use always look painful.

4. What is your best physical and non physical asset?

My best physical asset is, unequivocally and without doubt, my eyes. They’re a lovely shade of medium blue and shine ‘just so’ in the light. They even look pretty when I cry, which is a feat all on its own. I’m not happy with the rest of my body… but I have good eyes.

My best non-physical asset is probably my honest, unwavering heart.

5. Referring to Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, if they were naming new dwarfs beyond the seven, what would your name be and why?

Trivia time! Disney had a long list of dwarf names before deciding on seven; he rejected a lot of alternate adjectives before making his choice.

I think I’d probably be “Pretentious”. You don’t really need to do much except reading my blog to see why.

Seastorm

January 20, 2022 / Innocent Loverboy / 0 Comments

For the fourth time that day, I regretted not bringing a hat to Chessington. Although the continuous beat of the sun had proven quite effective in baking off the water I was covered in from Professor Burp’s Bubbleworks, it was still feeling quite oppressive as we stood patiently in the queue for Seastorm.

Lightsinthesky had left us a while ago, accusing us of living in “pencil-land” when we both refused to go on Rameses’ Revenge. Einstein and I were enjoying ourselves, however.

What neither of them knew was that I had had A Moment™ earlier that day. As usual, nobody had wanted to sit next to me on the bus, so I had a double seat to myself – most of the rowdy boys opposite me were more concerned with making V-signs at lorry drivers than haranguing me, so I had a quiet journey. As we pulled into Chessington, however, the radio blasted an Elton John track the instant the second bus came into view.

The first person I saw through the window was Zebra, the girl I had a crush on. Granted, she was the only one I’d been looking for, but the combination of the music’s swell and her long, dark hair (and beautiful toothy smile) had a profound effect on me. At that moment, all I felt was love, love, love, and the dark and difficult year I’d just had seemed to simply melt away.

As Einstein and I clambered onto Seastorm, she hovered into view again (and I mean that – her feet never seemed to touch the ground), accompanied by her short, cheeky friend and two tall, white girls with glasses. Eventually, I’d end up with a crush on all of them. But, at the time, I only had eyes for her.

“Look, there’s…” I started, but I never got to finish my sentence, as she faded into a blur when Seastorm started moving. I held on, let out a few whoops every now and again, and thought to myself, this is all right. Everything’s all right.

For the rest of the day, I kept an eye out for her, although the milieu of warm bodies throughout the park was too dense to make out her shape. I went on as many rides as I could, for sure, but I never did see her after Seastorm.

As it grew darker, the teachers corralled us and we were duly shepherded back onto our respective buses. I sat in the same seat, the multitudes prepared their V-sign fingers, and I trained my eyes on the window I’d seen Zebra sitting at that morning. As I’d hoped, she materialised in exactly the same place, smile fixed to her face, looking straight forwards.

She wouldn’t see me unless she turned to the right.

So I stared…

Ring

January 15, 2022 / Innocent Loverboy / 0 Comments

Ring ring
Is that you on the ‘phone?
You think you’re clever
But you’re never saying nothing at all

It was the middle of a lazy Saturday afternoon when the ‘phone began to ring. My parents were out, my sister was away, my gran was at a day centre, and my dog couldn’t use a ‘phone. Moreover, the landline was just outside my bedroom, so it was easy for me to get.

The problem being that I wasn’t really available to answer it. We had decided to take advantage of the empty house and spend an hour or so of having very energetic, very messy and very loud sex; not content with re-aligning her spine on a regular basis, we were now trying to murder my mattress. She was certainly making all the right sort of noises, and tight around my shaft…

I was going to come inside her. I was so close (and she was approaching something like her second or third orgasm), so I couldn’t just stop now, could I?

Ring ring. Ring ring. Ring ring.

“How long does it take you to answer the ‘phone?” squawked Lightsinthesky by way of a greeting. “We were wondering if you were going to come and sit in when we record the song?”

The song! I’d totally forgotten about it. I’d even written a verse myself and hovered in the music room making suggestions while Music Man strummed chords. I owed it to them – and my token black friend (whose song it was, nominally) – to turn up.

“I was… was… going to…”
“Are you coming back to bed, love?” she said, loudly and breathily, grabbing my arm and hauling.
“Yes, yes,” I gabbled. “I’ll come…” (at which point she laughed) “…I’ve just got to finish something first. I’ll be there, I’ll be…”

She took the ‘receiver from my hand and hung up. We went back to bed, and half an hour later with my cock still tender and her full of cum, we turned up at Lightsinthesky’s house. None of those present had ever met her before, but one supposes meeting someone in their “just got railed” state isn’t an entirely unpleasant experience.

*

Later that day my mother deemed it prudent to ask the perfectly innocuous question of what we had been doing that afternoon.

“We went to Lightsinthesky’s house,” I said, perfectly truthfully, “and recorded the song we wrote for my token black friend. It was very good; she was still singing the chorus afterwards.”
“Did you say hello to Dane?”
“Dane. The builder, Dane.”

I knew Dane. He had helped to convert our attic into a third bedroom. But I’d no idea he had been present. Maybe he had come by while I was at Lightinthesky’s?

“I didn’t see him – when was he here?”
“He’s been here all afternoon, finishing the bathroom floor! You didn’t see him? What were you doing for most of the afternoon?”

😳

He’d certainly done a good job on that bathroom floor. Six years later and I was still fucking on it.

TMI Tuesday: Lord knows, it’d be the first time

January 11, 2022 / Innocent Loverboy / 2 Comments

Swirly colours with text "First Time for Everything" superimposed — *Doctor Who Theme*

It’s the second week of 2022 (possibly – time has very little meaning any more) and the first time I’m doing this meme. Hmmm, that isn’t as snappy a sentence as I thought at… wait for it…

…at first.

When you’ve finished rolling in the aisles and being carried out helpless with mirth, would you mind reading the rest of this post? Cheers.

1. First app you check in the morning?

This is Twitter. I don’t have any other apps on my phone – I use Facebook, but rarely, and primarily on my computer, and I don’t have any other accounts – ie. I don’t use Instagram, Snapchat, TikTok et al. (edit the preceding sentence according to the year). I routinely check Twitter, since it genuinely is my only link to the outside world.

I’ve got WhatsApp too, which I guess is an app of a sort, but I’ll check Twitter first.

2. First kiss location?

In her bedroom, on her bed, just after asking her to be my girlfriend. I’d never been kissed before, and I had no idea how to do it. It was messy, deep and surprising – I didn’t even imagine that there would be so much tongue – but so, so good.

She kissed me again afterwards, which was also a surprise!

3. First major purchase over £1,000?

I don’t think I’ve ever bought something that cost over £1,000 (not even rent – the rent here is £950 per month and the deposit was paid by my grandparents)… and, even if I wanted to, I would never be able to afford that!

My biggest purchases have been video game consoles. My Switch set me back a couple of hundred.

4. First song choice in a karaoke song book?

For someone who can’t shut up once he’s started singing, I’ve got very little experience with karaoke. I know all the lyrics to the greatest hits of James, so I’d go for those (as long as it isn’t Sit Down), and I’d sing anything by Smash Mouth by virtue of them being my second-favourite band. But, generally, I’d sing anything.

The first and only time I’ve ever tried karaoke, I sang Gangnam Style. No, I can’t read Korean, but I knew the words phonetically… to a point, at least.

5. First internet screen name?

Benvolio. We were studying Romeo & Juliet (and I was reading Doctor Faustus, in which he also appears), and it seemed an appropriate enough sobriquet.

6. First break-up reason?

Oh, well done on opening up that wound.

This is still unresolved, and won’t ever be. I think the most simple reason is “dumped me for someone else”, but I’m fairly certain there were multiple other reasons for what happened. She was reading The Ethical Slut before breaking up with me, and I’m pretty sure that was a contributing factor.

The fact remains that I was being cheated on (and I knew it was happening and didn’t say anything on the assumption that it would end soon), and as a result, I find it incredibly difficult to trust my partners, especially if they have a celebrity crush.

It’s a silly thought, but it stems from how my first relationship ended. One word from anyone else and they’d be out the door.

7. First concert and how old were you?

Green Day 2002. I was 17.

I’ve been to a lot of concerts (I almost saw Staind before Green Day, but Music Man also promised the ticket to his then-girlfriend), and prior to this I saw a lot of classical music at the Barbican. I am assuming that you mean rock concerts, though, and therefore The Mad Hatter’s Tea Party at the age of 12 probably doesn’t count.

It took me long enough to get to a concert. I had tickets for blink-182 the previous year, but then 9/11 happened and all the flights got cancelled. Then Tom broke his back. I eventually saw blink-182 in 2004… I was going to go with my girlfriend, but – well, see above…

8. First crush?

My first crush was a very quiet girl who sat in the most inaccessible corner or every classroom. I had a crush on her for a very long time, actually, and until the end of school, I still sneaked a few looks at her. We eventually became friends.

At the time, I gave all my crushes code names. Hers was The Zebra Project.

Bonus: What was the title of your very first blog post?

It was “I really don’t understand some people.” The first sentence was:

It’s so unfair, sometimes. I try my damn hardest not to get so upset about everything and yet some things just whistle by.
2001 ilb

Most of my earliest blog posts were angsty teen rants from a boy who desperately wanted a girlfriend – more intimate and love-fuelled posts than I had in my paper diaries, but still on a public space and intended to be read. My early blog posts weren’t good reads, but looking back on them, they do provide something of an insight into the teenage male mind, and maybe that proved useful…

…to a point?

#FiveThings: Journal

January 7, 2022 / Innocent Loverboy / 3 Comments

First post of 2022 and it’s a meme. ILB, you predictable bastard.

In any case, this is my attempt at taking part in the new Five Things meme, with thanks to Julie from MPB for coming up with the concept. The prompt is “journals, diaries and planners.” I can do that, I’m sure.

When I was in my teens, before I stated blogging, I kept a journal. I wrote it, diligently – almost religiously – every single day. Occasionally my entry would be a couple of sentences (on two occasions I wrote “too tired to write”, read: “too lazy to write”), but more often than not, I managed to fill the whole page. So here ae five things about my handwritten journaling days.

1) My journal was written purely to entertain.

From the instant I started writing, I knew that the intent was for my journal to be read. Once it got out that I had a journal, I knew people would want to read it, and I knew that I liked to write. My aim wasn’t to keep secrets, nor was it to mention anything too explicit. I wanted my writing to be read and I kept that in mind.

2) Once it was read, it became wildly popular.

Maybe “wildly popular” is a little hyperbolic, but for a while, it was one of the few things any of us brought to read on residential trips, holidays, etc. – and I certainly took a few of them. Since I didn’t mind my journal being read (and it was written for that purpose), I was quite pleased to let it be passed around the group and let everyone read my words. (This may come as a shock to you, but some writers are self-obsessed, wanting people to actually read their content. I know: amazing, isn’t it?)

3) Other journallers were confused by my attitude.

Our year 9 History teacher once asked if any of us wrote a journal; three hands went up. His question was about reading – did any of us let anyone else read their diary? Both girls who had also raised their hands confessed to letting each other read (they were best friends who, at this point, lived together), but that it was private. I said, truthfully, that my journal was an open book (quite literally, heh…) and that I would willingly read bits out if people wanted me to. Neither girl understood this, but they both ended up reading it.

4) I wrote my journal with an incredibly specific style and structure.

This is something I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone else ever do. Every journal entry had to have:

(i) A title – usually a pun, or a sentence, or a couple of key words… like a blog post does. This would range from “Xmas Day” (my very first entry) to things like “Venture On In!” (a Venturer day out) or “Droit du seigneur” (when we’d first done sex ed in school and I was amused by it). I did this accidentally at the beginning and liked it so much I carried on doing it for all three journals I managed to fill.

(ii) A quote of the day. This was something funny, clever or memorable that somebody had said throughout the day. My favourite was “I shall never make soap”, but that takes a bit of explanation to justify.

(iii) In later years, I’d add a statistic or fact (one that I knew; I was too lazy to look anything up) relevant to the day’s events. This went after the quote and was rarely a replacement for it…

(iv) …and/or a “moral learnt”, which was later still and only really appeared in “Journal III”, the final one. This was intended to provide a bit of humour – everything I write is meant to be humorous, really – but throughout the year it became more and more bitter and self-deprecating.

(v) Cross-posting appeal. My first diary was a little longer than my second, so I would write each entry twice: once in my first journal, and then again – word for word – in my second. Towards the end of my third, I started a LiveJournal, and when I didn’t have anything new to add for a journal entry, I would print out that day’s LJ entry and stick it on the page.

5) It wasn’t just a journal.

Because I’m… well… me, although my main intent was to write an entertaining, humorous, self-deprecating account of my life, my journal was used for more. Every now and again, snippets of fiction that I was working on, bits of a playscript (I finished the play, eventually, after photocopying journal pages), song lyrics I’d written, schematics for a droid I wanted, or emotional short-form poetry.

I started my journal when I was 14. At 16, I genuinely wasn’t sure who I was or what I wanted to be… but I was pretty certain that I could write anything I wanted. About anything. In any form.

So I did.

And I still do.

2021 #orgasmcount (aka: “Zounds, More Of This Shit?”)

December 31, 2021 / Innocent Loverboy / 1 Comment

After a difficult, depressing 2020, 2021 was certainly different: a rough-and-tumble, tumultuous assemblage of a year, starting with sea shanty TikTok and ending with an absent Prime Minister. I, personally, have been through several highs and lows throughout the year and, now that it’s over, I’m not entirely sure how to feel about that.

The Year

I had quite a good Spring. After being jettisoned from my beloved job at the end of 2019, I had struggled to find anything else for a while, until just before my birthday, when I was given a lifeline until the Summer. I was very sad to have to leave that job, although the last few weeks of June were slightly tempered by the fact that I’d spent a week in hospital and been diagnosed with myotonic dystrophy (which was both a surprise and a relief).

Summer was a confusing mess, overshadowed largely by the fact that Willow died at the beginning (but I did enjoy a free August). I didn’t enjoy Autumn much – as the result of working at a new job where it was made clear that I didn’t fit in – but I had an okay Winter… at least until a couple of weeks before Christmas, where I had to battle off COVID-19 for two weeks, only for my nan to die a few days later. Christmas was a sad one, although it did go well enough, considering the circumstances (and I got everything I wanted – thanks, Jesus!)

I’ve spent the last few days trying to be calm. I’m not good at being calm, but I’ve been trying. For the past couple, I’ve been achieving it. This morning I even managed to get up early and make myself a hot chocolate – how’s that for progress?

The Orgasms

Right, back to what I was originally intending to post about. In 2020 I had 113 orgasms; this was down from 2019’s 134 (but 2019 was a better year!). This year I had long periods of not being able to touch myself – being in hospital and sick with COVID, plus some relatively severe periods of depression at points – so I wasn’t sure how many I would have had by now.

Fortunately, I kept a record….

131– the number of orgasms I’ve had this year (as denoted by a ★ in my WHSmith mid-year diary)

That’s markedly more than last year. I am genuinely surprised by this; I thought it’d be less.

35.89% – the number of orgasms in a year, compared to the number of days in a year, expressed as a percentage

More than a third. That’s an awful lot of time with my dick in my hand.

24/11 to 09/12 – a period of time in which I didn’t have any orgasms at all

This was the week (and surrounding days) when I had COVID. I was pretty much knocked out by COVID and, although I had feverish sex dreams during, I barely had the energy to move, never mind wank. I also didn’t do so when I was in hospital, but I’ll talk about that later…

28/06 and 05/11 – dates on which I had notably powerful, effective or satisfying orgasms (as denoted by !!! in my diary)

The first of these being the day after I got out of hospital. It was also, in fact, the first orgasm in my parents’ house (where I was staying) for years. Bonus fact for you there.

27/01, 03/03, 07/04, 01/06, 03/08, 13/12 and 16/12 – the one date on which I had more than one orgasm (as denoted by “x2”) in my diary

I’ve been a busy little bee this year. Buzz, buzz, buzz.

03/04 – a day where I wrote the single word “jump!” after the ★. I remember this one: I was angled in such a way that my jizz did a Dick Fosbury move in the air before coming down to land. Holy jumping semen, Batman!

The Audacity

This marks post number 65 in 2021, compared to 79 in 2020, so I certainly didn’t manage to make 2020 Escape Velocity this year. Maybe next year… we’ll see. As long as I don’t get laid up with a mysterious illness at any point, I’m sure I’ll be okay.

I have an interesting year planned for 2022 – although with caution, as I’m pretty sure nobody knows how ’22 is going to go. Nevertheless, I can pretty much guarantee it will be interesting. Let’s hope it’s actually interesting in a more entertaining way than the last two years have been.

Join ILB in 2022 for more sex, porn and wanking chat. See you there.

Seventeen

December 28, 2021 / Innocent Loverboy / 2 Comments

Seventeen years ago, on this day – the twenty-eighth of December, 2004, something happened.

2004 hadn’t started well for me (apart from this, but those four days don’t count), and it was only by the summer that I had really managed to restart my life… or what could really be counted as a “life”. That summer, I spent seventeen days in that which I will term Good Company. By autumn, I was fairly confident, insofar as who I was.

And I had a crush.

Seventeen days into December, the list of those going to the DF event that spans the useless void between Christmas and New Year was released. I was on it, of course, I was the first to book; a quick scan of the names revealed the fact that Leaf was on it too. I’d seen her in the summer, of course, and in the autumn… but this was winter: a chilly, but romantic, season – and we’d be out in the countryside somewhere. If we got together, we could hold hands and look at the stars without any London light pollution.

Don’t be silly, ILB, said my brain. You’re not going to get together with her. She is younger and prettier and popular and wittier. And besides, she’s seventeen.

I was twenty, but I didn’t want to push that.

On the twenty-seventh, I fell into a ditch on the way to the event. I was largely unhurt, but I’d ripped a hole in my new trousers. At the venue, my kind redheaded friend sewed it up. Leaf wasn’t watching, but I’d seen her there.

There were seventeen steps up to the attic room where the Secret Friend envelopes were. I wasn’t her Secret Friend, but since the scheme was meant to be done in secret, you could hypothetically put anything anywhere. I deposited some things I’d bought for her in York in her envelope, in addition to a couple of handmade things, including a felt heart on which I’d painted “She’s A Star” in yellow. I stopped short of putting an “I fancy you”-type message in (I was never that bold). I also had to leave some space for her real Secret Friend.

I’m not sure that what I was doing those days was trying. Lots of kisses and flirting and coupling up and sex happened at DF events, but I never got to do any of those things (going some way to explain my opinion that I’m not very attractive). On the twenty-seventh, I held Leaf as I guided her up a slippery path. That evening I told her, “I like you”, which could have meant anything. I danced until two and got no sleep that night.

Seventeen years ago, on the twenty-eighth, I was in the bedroom I shared with a few others, chatting casually away until Leaf came in, slightly tipsy and high on the general euphoria. She’d also just kissed three people and was hungry for more.

“Who wants to be the fourth?” she called, lying supine on the closest bed.

Don’t do it
Don’t do it
Don’t do it
Don’t do it
Don’t do it
Don’t do it

My heart thumping seventeen times a second in my chest, I walked over, bent down and pressed my lips to hers. She had the scent of woodsmoke and tasted like alcohol and pineapple. She slid her tongue into my mouth and we melted into a full-on snog – messy, inexpert, experimental. And maybe a little too long.

Seventeen seconds of bliss.

I gave her a quick peck as an ending, stood up and walked out, slightly dazed at what had just happened.

I’ve just kissed Leaf. I’ve kissed the one person I came here wanting to kiss and I’ve just managed to do it. I’ve been wanting to kiss her for months and never thought I would and I’ve just kissed her. Take me away now; I’m done.

For the rest of that evening, I was very giggly. I went back into the makeshift club night, but somebody was playing hardcore trance, so I went into the kitchen and danced to Build Me Up Buttercup on an old, clapped-out CD player with my closest friends.

I took seventeen pictures with my new digital camera over those few days. On the bus on the way back to civilisation, Leaf pulled a silly face for me to snap. Years came and went, as they do, and although I saw her on seventeen more occasions, neither one of us ever acknowledged that we had shared a drunken kiss on a bed in winter 2004.

I’m fairly certain that, as I was kiss number four, I was nothing more than a statistic to her. But, for me, that was a life-changing event.

Because it proved to me that, given the right circumstances, place, time, and mood, I was indeed – if not dateable, or even shaggable – at the very least kissable.

I didn’t kiss anyone for the next few years, and in the seventeen years since then, I have kissed six other people. Every time, I’ve enjoyed it.

I will be forever grateful to Leaf.

Feliz Navidead

December 24, 2021 / Innocent Loverboy / 1 Comment

So.

My aim to write more posts in December didn’t happen, did it? I’ve been fairly active on Twitter, but (on account of the fact that I’ve been off work for a couple of weeks now) I was fully aware of the fact that I was in possession of the precious time I need to write blog posts, and wasn’t using it to do so.

So why not?

On Monday the 20th, one day before her eighty-ninth birthday, my Nanna died, suddenly and unexpectedly. CPR administered by my grandfather, mother, uncle and auntie – followed by a team of paramedics who arrived 50 minutes later – managed to recover a faint heartbeat, but she had stopped breathing. A few moments later, quietly, she died.

Grief is an odd thing, and it’s become apparent to me quite quickly that I don’t know how to do it. When I turned up at Nanna’s house that morning, I was the only one of my generation who wasn’t crying. Given the fact that I cry at the drop of a hat, and howled like a banshee when Willow died earlier this year, I spent the day abundantly aware of the fact that I wasn’t doing so. As the one religious person left in the family, I said prayers for her, and that was the closest I got.

I feel sad, and I feel the loss, but I don’t feel inconsolable, like my mother is, and for that reason, I also feel a little guilty – like I’m not sad enough. I don’t know how that works.

Additionally, as a result, I’ve been spending a lot more time with my family. This isn’t a new thing, as my family are all incredibly close. We make very little distinction between siblings and cousins, our houses are within the same mile or each other (and we have keys to all of them) and we spend every single milestone together – however minimal. Birthdays and Christmas, sure, but also anniversaries, graduations, Rogation Sunday, to celebrate my grandfather having his foreskin removed… really, any excuse.

But my generation, in particular, have been leaning heavily on each other this week. We’ve barely spent any time apart, and although it seems awful to say this, I’m enjoying myself. Our priority at the moment appears to be supporting my one remaining grandparent (he met Nanna when they were 15, bunking into a cinema – stay classy, South London – and hasn’t really been apart from her since), who now has to spend the rest of his life in the cavernous semi-detached house full of her stuff… alone. We are trying (and, for the most part, managing) to keep him busy over Christmas.

January will be spent organising a funeral. Amongst other things. I’m meant to be planning a wedding, and I don’t even have the emotional energy to do that.

I haven’t been blogging because I’ve been busy, sure, but also because I have very little to say. I wasn’t even sure if I should mention Nanna’s death on here, but then factored in the fact that I should, because it’s an important event in my life and the public needs to know.

I don’t know what the next step is, and I don’t know how I’m going to deal with it, and how I’m going to display the grief (or even if it will feel like I’m doing so enough), but at this moment I’m just going to let it happen.

Because I really can’t do anything else.