Category: Personal (Page 9 of 14)

ILB’s personal posts

Starbucks

November 12, 2022 / Innocent Loverboy / 2 Comments

I have mixed feelings abut Starbucks, which (for those of you who have been living in a cave for the last few decades) is a ubiquitous coffee shop chain (actually, it probably exists in said cave). It’s everywhere, but until I was about 16 or so, there wasn’t one in my local town. Opening one was A Big Deal, and although I never actually went there – I tried to organise a trip for my birthday but nothing came of it – I was fascinated.

Strange? Maybe. I didn’t really drink a lot of coffee until I went to university (I’ve always been more of a tea drinker), but even then, the idea of going to a coffee shop kind of eluded me. Even if some of my sexual fantasies included going into Starbucks, I never actually managed to enter the shop…

…until I was 18, and applying for a job.

I still don’t know why I applied for a job at a place I’d never actually been to. I’d decided at this point that I liked coffee, which helps. But I was in the middle of my A-Levels, very nearly finished, spent pretty much every weekend travelling to Birmingham, and was going on to university in a few months. It wasn’t a good time to apply. Why I got an actual interview I’ll never know.

To my credit, though, the interview went relatively well – I’d have to tie my long, wild rockstar hair back (but that was fine) and cover up any tattoos (but I don’t have any!), and although I didn’t actually get the job in the end, the friendly manager assured me that it was purely because they were only looking for somebody full-time, and I didn’t quite fit the bill there.

Is what she said.

A week earlier, I had been sitting in Starbucks for the first time ever answering questions. It hadn’t been going badly and, although I’d never really had many job interviews, I had a good enough feeling so far.

“Can you tell me about a time you’ve used your initiative recently?” she finished with.

I mentally flicked through things I’d done at school and home and came up completely blank. I could, of course, have said something – mention jazz band or being a library monitor (I was a prefect; I could have said that!) – but I wanted something a little more interesting. It hit me like a ton of bricks…

…but how could I say it without rationalising why?

“Yes,” I said confidently. “Recently I booked a hotel room to find, when I got there, that they had forgotten my booking. After negotiating with the hôtelier, I got my reservation fee back and booked into the hotel next door. I got the room I wanted, rather than acquiescing and taking the only room the first one had available.”
“That’s impressive,” said the friendly manager, “for someone your age. Why didn’t you take the room in the first hotel?”
“Oh,” I said, before deciding to finish truthfully. “I wanted a double room. I had someone with me, you see. The first hotel only had twin rooms.”
“I see. Who was with you, if you don’t mine me asking?”
“My girlfriend. We wanted to escape life for a while.”

The friendly manager gave me a knowing smile and scribbled something like

wanted to have sex with girlfriend so changed hotels

on her notes.

“I think you’re going to enjoy working here,” she said primly, gently but firmly chivvying me out of the door. “You’ll hear back in a week.”

I didn’t get the job because they were looking for somebody full-time. That’s the reason and I’m very much sticking to that explanation.

Nottingham Vibe

October 6, 2022 / Innocent Loverboy / 1 Comment

TEAM AQUA GRUNT sent out POOCHYENA!
POOCHYENA used BITE!
What will WINGULL do?

I sat on the steps, shielded from the sun’s rays, a couple of metres from the left lion. Nottingham had been good to me for the past few days and, although I had nothing to do and nowhere to go, I could sit partially separated from the hustle and bustle of the Old Market Square and play Pokémon Sapphire.

I could get used to this, I reasoned.

Thinking back on it, I needed something to get used to. I knew Nottingham well, and was used to its intricacies, but I was not used to the activities I’d been partaking in all week. It had been too much effort for too little reward – and, since I’d been staying in hotels and eating in restaurants, too much money as well. I had also recently been called “wanker!” by somebody old and wise enough to know better.

Wiping away a tear, I carefully set aside my GBA and considered heading back to the hotel to see if they had another room. It wouldn’t have been affordable, perhaps, but maybe the pretty girl was still there. Old Market Square was lovely, but (unlike the action-packed morning I’d had the day beforehand, when an old man collapsed and I waited for the ambulance for half an hour…).

Maybe I could go to another restaurant.

My body screamed as I wrenched myself off the marble and started ambling towards The Cornerhouse. I passed a record shop in which a band had once played an intimate gig. A band which a girl I had a crush on liked. I didn’t know the band at all, but I knew she liked them.

And my thoughts ran away with that tiny memory.

What was she doing now? Where was she? Would I see her again? Was she having sex? Had she ever had sex? Would she ever have sex with me? How many people here, on this little street in Nottingham City Centre, have had sex? And how many of them have done so in the last 24 hours?

The last 12?
The last 6?
The last 3?

How many people on this street are on their way home from, or on their way to, the home (or hotel room) of someone with whom they were having sex? Maybe that confident-looking man on the other side of the street was having sex less than ten minutes ago and is still coming down from the feeling.

Last five minutes.
Three.

I wish I’d been having sex two minutes ago and was still coming down from the feeling, although unlike the confident-looking man, I probably wouldn’t be walking down the street. I might be cuddling her instead.

In all honesty, I would really like a cuddle.

By the time I got to The Cornerhouse, I was absolutely convinced that everyone I’d passed had been having beautiful sex for the entire year and, furthermore, I was the only one who had missed out on this. I felt like such an interloper, me being this physically repulsive, scruffy wanker who spent his time playing Pokémon and thinking about pretty girls, all at sea in this shining beacon of sexual energy called Nottingham, where I certainly didn’t belong even though I was living there at the time, because I sure as Hell wasn’t good enough.

Burning with shame, I found a Bella Italia which did sherbet lemons instead of after dinner mints. I took a couple and, to assuage any guilt, took a table and ordered myself some food.

The waitress who served me had definitely had sex in the last twenty-four hours.

I felt better after dinner, and walked out into the dusky city, now looking for somewhere else to spend the night.

Chanel hopping

September 11, 2022 / Innocent Loverboy / 0 Comments

Earlier this week I had two dental appointments, on two different days, with two different dentists at two different practices. I even had to rush out of work in order to make them – either by cajoling my dad into giving me a lift or making creative use of the North London bus network – but make them I did.

As a result, I now have a repaired filling on the top row of teeth, and a still-open wound on the bottom row, which feels okay most of the time but occasionally starts bleeding.

Kiss me if you want; my mouth is fascinating.

The week before last, in preparation for the same, I went to the dentist for a five-minute “sure, come back in a week” conversation that could have really happened via text…

…and bumped into “Chanel”, someone who, I suddenly remembered with a start, everyone had wanted to fuck.

Multiple warboys posing on top of... some vehicle or another, I'm not sure. — Basically a representation of what the boys at my school were like.

I didn’t really know her at school – apart from her name and what she looked like. Our predefined social circles never crossed over, and the only time I heard her mentioned it was by one of her friends (in a complimentary way) or one of the rowdy boys I never liked (in a horny way). Despite not knowing her, I remember feeling sorry for her; in every conversation, she had been added to the end, as if she were an afterthought.

It was noticeable. There was an illicit party going on around my birthday one year (it wasn’t anything to do with me, but I heard the whispers). Everyone who was anyone who was going, from what I could tell, but Chanel was also mentioned last. Every time one of the popular clique would list her friends, in whatever order, Chanel always came at the end.

And, as I said before, a lot of the boys found Chanel desirable. Not that I ever asked how she felt about this, but after reeling off a list of girls he wanted to have sex with (he used a slightly more taboo word, but I’ll abstain from repeating that here), one boy paused a second before adding, “…oh… and Chanel.”

She was also the last on the register, although she shouldn’t have been.

Which is to say, I noticed that. I don’t know if anyone else did. Mostly what I remember was her being popular, slightly aloof, quiet and reserved, and somebody who a lot of the rowdy boys wanted to fuck.

I didn’t know anything about her otherwise. But I knew the name. And what do you say, exactly, to somebody of whom your overall memory is someone at the end of every list who some rowdy boys were entirely unsavoury about?

She remembered me. But then everyone does.

And, as it turns out, we work for exactly the same company.

And have been doing so for years.

Small world, really.

Sleep with me

September 5, 2022 / Innocent Loverboy / 0 Comments

I didn’t know, and don’t know still, if I got any sleep at all last night.

I woke up early on Sunday morning – early enough that, had I gotten myself out of bed and towards the vicinity of a cup of coffee or something, I could have gone to church. Instead of doing so, of course, I rolled over and went straight back to sleep.

Had a sex dream; 9am alarm woke me up just as sex was actually about to happen. Thoroughly annoyed by that, although it’s not the first time that’s happened. I hardly ever get to have sex in my dreams, so I wasn’t expecting it right then and there, but still…

Last night was different.

I don’t remember sleeping – although who does? A more accurate statement would be that I don’t remember dreaming! – and I still don’t know if I got any sleep whatsoever. I also don’t remember being particularly awake; I certainly had periods where I felt so. But then I don’t recall feeling any of my trademark boredom, panic, or dark thoughts that usually accompany my insomnia. The night may as well have never happened.

What I do remember, in vivid flashes, is occasional pangs of discomfort. My entire body teetering on the edge of the bed (in order to give them space), ready to fall off. My semi-hard mattress (a very bad choice on my part; I was too chicken to ask for something softer) being a problem for my back. The neck pain I’ve had since our honeymoon occasionally resurfacing with every repositioning.

And, perhaps the most vividly, me clutching onto the bunched duvet like a koala – the sheets wrapped in me, rather than the other way around.

This morning, when asked, I said I was tired. I’m still not entirely sure if I genuinely was. My colleagues and clients all were – making for a slow, calm day at work – and so I decided that I was. I wasn’t sure exactly how to describe how I was feeling, because I didn’t know myself.

But I had a very odd night, and since I have no idea how to describe that, I’m attempting to do so here.

Please forgive me.

It’s my name and you can’t have it!

August 25, 2022 / Innocent Loverboy / 1 Comment

I wonder if there is a checklist somewhere, or a flow chart, that parents have to work their way down when one of their children gets married. Of course, one of those is the egregious “why aren’t you going to have children?” discourse (GOTN has an excellent post about this) – as if that’s the default, or something. I, of course, have already given my family my reasons for this.

In fact, I’m not sure any of the five left in my generation want to have children. The family continues with my one niece and nephew!

So they moved onto the next box.

“Have you talked about what to do with your names yet?”

Strangely enough, it’s not the sort of light conversation that I had thought of having, at least not midway through our cute honeymoon in Stockholm.

I have thought about it, though.

When I was 16, I had started to envision what married life would be like if I ever managed to marry my current crush. (I even built up a sitcom-style introductory sequence in my head, complete with theme tune.) At that point, I was dead set on taking her last name, rather than having her take mine. I quite liked the way it sounded, and if you add the fact that her father (for whom I used to work) did the same thing, it kind of made sense to continue the tradition.

I’m not overly keen on my surname anyway. It’s difficult to spell – since it’s a homophone for another word that already exists and people keep spelling it that way – people have had issues pronouncing it, too. In fact, I have the same first, middle, and surnames of my great-great-grandfather… and his father… and his father… and, you’ll never guess what… his father.

And they were all butchers, apart from Grandad, who made weapons.

I am so pleased my dad became an actor.

I feel, as you may understand, very little connection to this family who were founded on principles which I believe to be ethically wrong, and our coat of arms is particularly stupid (it’s a red cock on a shield and there’s nothing else). My immediate family is very important to me, sure, but historically? No. I don’t really need my surname.

But then of course there’s the issue of my wife’s name, one which is also impossible to spell and pronounce, plus it’s their dad’s surname, and they never had a particularly good relationship with their dad. Their assumed Internet name of “Sleight” suits her much better, and I’ve ever started thinking of them as “Jill Sleight” in my head.

But back to me. I’m keeping my own name for the simple reason that the legal hoops I’d have to jump through would be a massive headache. I’d need to change bank details, passport, work details, qualifications, student loan accounts, Government documents… I’ve claimed benefits for a while so that would be changed, too. Not to mention the subscriptions I have for Nintendo, Cineworld, and Green Party membership. Oh, and my trade union membership and probably about a million other things that I’ve forgotten to list here.

And people refer to me by my last name at work, so I’d need to deal with that somehow.

I’d need to pay to change it, as well.

Just thinking about this makes my head hurt, and I wouldn’t wish to foist this extra amount of stress onto my wife. I’m fairly sure neither of us want to burden the other with a surname which carries an amount of baggage, and seeing as how only one of the married couples I know (Robinson and Lovely) have taken that step (and it took her years, as well), I can very much see the rational behind it.

But then it hit me that I’m married now. I did it. It’s done. We have a life to lead, and as to what my wife’s name is, I genuinely don’t care.

It’s their decision and I’ll go along with whatever they decide, because it really shouldn’t be an issue.

My family can move on to the “so are you going to buy a house?” question whenever they want. I’ll give them time for that one.

TMI Tuesday: Doin’ it on the line

August 2, 2022 / Innocent Loverboy / 6 Comments

On LiveJournal, LiveJournal
Makin’ fun of your friends behind their back
LiveJournal, LiveJournal
Chronicle your gerbil’s heart attack on LiveJournal

Oh boy, oh boy, oh (innocent lover)boy. This has been a really busy week so far and it’s only going to get busier. Bashing out a few blog posts was something on the back of my mind – say, one every day leading up to my wedding and one the day afterwards – but that may not be the most realisable thing. We shall see.

Anyway, here’s the meme I’m using in lieu of writing any real content. Today’s TMI Tuesday is almost entirely about online dating.

LiveJournal: Because you can't masturbate all the time. — My first
relationship
started here!

I’ll point out here that I haven’t actually done a lot of online dating. It is true that I have met all four girlfriends online, and even then it’s been via blogging rather than dating sites – LiveJournal, Blogger and WordPress are my dating sites. In a few days’ time I’m marrying someone I nominally met on Twitter.

But I have set up profiles on dating sites – mostly adult ones. I’ve also had a stab at some of the more conventional ones. Were I single now, I’d almost certainly be trying one of the hookup apps… but then, I’m not single, am I?

1. What is your go-to question to ask in online dating?

This is difficult, because I don’t like asking questions; I’m much better at answering them. That’s not just an excuse to talk about me, it’s just something I’m more comfortable doing!

I like popular culture, so sometimes I’ll ask a question in that direction. The French au pair I once met on a dating site wasn’t very forthcoming with conversation until I asked her if she had seen The King’s Speech. She hadn’t, but she liked Natalie Portman and wanted to see Black Swan.

In the end I went to see Black Swan on my own. She moved back to France shortly after this.

2. How old is the picture you use for your online dating profile?

Since I don’t have an active profile, I can’t really answer that fairly.

Here’s something fun. When I was about 25, I got a picture taken of me in which I looked perhaps my best ever. It wasn’t truly representative of what I actually look like, but I did look pretty good in it, so for a while I used it for everything – Facebook profile picture, MySpace avatar, LiveJournal icon, and, yes, dating site image.

On my about page is a digital recreation of that very picture – it’s the one I sent to Boots for reference. I even once tried to use that as my profile picture on FUCK.com (but they weren’t happy about that!).

So, yes, that was my dating site image.

3. What is your biggest dating pet peeve?

Ghosting. I can’t stand it.

I’ve been ghosted many, many times – by people I’m talking to online, people who I’ve arranged to meet and haven’t turned up, and of course I’ve been a jobseeker, so I’m used to potential leads just vanishing into the ether.

It probably isn’t too difficult to say something like, “I’m sorry, but I’ve found someone / I’m not interested / I’m too busy / You are about as attractive as a buffalo’s bum,” or maybe that is difficult (I’ve never turned someone down so I wouldn’t know!), but it’s much politer than to just leave someone hanging.

I tend to invest a lot in romance, and I put a lot of effort into this sort of thing, so to be casually cast aside without being told I was cast aside did a massive number on my self-confidence.

At one point in my life I was responsible for hiring. I wrote back to every single applicant, even if they were applying on-spec when there weren’t any vacancies. I felt like I should be able to do for them what I wish had been done for me.

4. What are your goals with online dating?

Yeah,

So.

On the few times I set up online dating profiles, I was really just looking for sex. Anything else would have been a bonus.

This was, once, relatively successful. The… whatever I had… with Alicia was the result of flirting on an adult dating site. We had great sex and shared good company with nice food. It was never going to be a long-term thing, but for what it was, this was a brief success story for me.

It also broke my years-long dry spell, so I was grateful to find that I still had the knack.

5. Have you ever slid into a stranger’s DMs? Did they respond?

“Slid” sounds wrong. I’m aware that “slid” is both the simple past and past participle of the verb “to slide”, but it sounds wrong. Mind you, so do “slad” and “slud”.

What was this question about again?

Oh, yes. I’ve never sent a DM to a stranger with some sort of ulterior motive, and never really to flirt, If I want to talk to someone I know on social media, I’ll follow them first, at least. If I’ve got a lot to say, e-mail is there for that purpose!

I didn’t use this to date. But to flirt, sure…

When I used to spent a lot of time on sexchat, I got a lot of unsolicited DMs (known as “PMs” or “queries” on IRC), mostly from angry, horny men who didn’t realise that I wasn’t a lady, since I had a fairly gender-neutral IRC handle and was both chatty and smart in the channels, which was usually a sign of someone not being a dude looking for cyber.

These I mainly ignored.

Bonus: Do you think a couple’s finances should be together or separate?

This question came up recently. I was aghast at the assumption that my fiancée and I had a joint account.

I’ve actually got three: my current account (which is always overdrawn), my savings account (empty), and a third account to pay rent and bills with (which is – as of today – also empty). My other half has two, although I’m not sure how much is in either of those.

We’re going to need money for our honeymoon. I’ll puzzle that one out later.

I genuinely don’t see the point of going through the rigmarole of setting up a shared bank account for two people earning different amounts of money at different times. Having separate accounts, where one of us bails the other out, has saved our lives at a few points.

Plus, I don’t think I’ll ever do it. My sister did it with her ex, and they broke up shortly afterwards. She lost a lot of money from that.

Thirteen of ILB’s best blog posts (a flailing compilation thereof)

July 25, 2022 / Innocent Loverboy / 0 Comments

I’m meant to be writing more these days, but probably because of that, I’m not actually doing so. I mean, I’m in the middle of planning a wedding, but that’s no excuse. I am one of those disillusioned bloggers that GOTN mentions in this post, and I’ve certainly had a massive dip in my traffic…

…so I’m jacking her idea.

Rather than hottest blog posts, I’m going to go for my favourite ones. They’re not all filthy – although there’s quite a lot of sex on this here sex blog – they may just be funny, or touching, or I may just like them for no apparent reason. I’ve been sex blogging since 2007, so it’s impossible to just choose a couple; I’m going for 13. Because, as I said, GOTN’s idea. Blame her.

Some of these posts are hosted on my old blog, so you may need to click a couple of times to get through to them. It’s never been an issue for me, though.

Popular ones

Sweat Naked – Tuesday, 12 February 2013

This is the one that was featured in an issue of Glamour during their sex blog highlight feature. It’s one of my most read, as a result. I meant for it to be at least a little humorous, and I think I may have managed that.

An Empty Condom, An Empty Bed, And Subtext – Wednesday, 03 August 2016

This doesn’t count, as it was originally posted elsewhere as an article I submitted, and was quite well-received at the time, but since that website went down, I managed to scrape the article from my archives, re-wrote it to make it more of a readable thing, and posted it as… bonus content, I suppose? It’s one of my favourite posts, as it’s lengthy and detailed, but sad.

Historical Conversation ones

Klassic Kamp Konversations Kreating Komedy! – Friday, 08 August 2008

Something from my very early days of sex blogging and the first time I went to Woodcraft Camp since I started. It’s cheeky, short, and gleeful. I have a lot of blog posts about conversations with my friends; this may be one of the first.

Truth will open, truth will out – Wednesday, 12 May 2021

It took me long enough to write about the conversation at school that happened when everyone found out I’d lost my virginity! Eventually, however, I dredged this from my memory, and wrote it up. I love this one.

Wistful ones

The Zebra Project – Thursday, 21 October 2010

One of the saddest posts I’ve ever written, about my first ever failed crush. I still think about her sometimes, and wonder what happened to her after she vanished halfway through sixth form.

Look and Read – Tuesday, 02 September 2014

A reflection on what the best kind of masturbation is (spoiler: masturbation is great; they’re good wanks, Brent), coupled with a true story of the same. I like the writing in this, and particularly the use of the phrase “a little ball of cute”, which I don’t recall writing, but I’m now pleased I did!

Watering Hole – Sunday, February 07, 2021

You really need to have the track playing to genuinely enjoy this one. It takes me back to those times in my youth where I had rainy nighttime coach journeys pretty much every week. I was terribly remiss in having Whiplash playing during my most recent coach trip… maybe next time.

Filthy ones

Je t’adore – Friday, 29 August 2008

Was one of my favourite, and most explicit, posts when I’d first written it, although it is sex with someone about whom I still have very confused feelings. From my first year of blogging, it’s one of the first times I wrote so openly about sex, to general fanfare.

Beautiful Music – Wednesday, 16 August 2017

I’d almost forgotten this one, about my (imaginary) girlfriend and the (real) band we were in. It’s one of my favourites, as it gives you a bit of insight into the lonely male twenty-something’s mind and contains one of the best sex scenes that I’ve ever written.

Soaked – Monday, 06 September 2021

Also written in response to something GOTN wrote! It’s a fun, sexy story, sticks largely to the topic, and even contains a DKC3 reference, so what’s not to love?

Back in the game. – Tuesday, 19 October 2021

Although it may not surprise you to hear that I still haven’t had full-on penetrative sex since long before I write this, this was genuinely one of the best times I’ve had for a very long period. I love oral sex. And I loved writing about it, so much so that I had to take a break to relieve myself halfway through writing it!

ILB’s Top Picks

You’re not you when you’re horny… – Wednesday, 27 September 2017

A memory from my past, and a really funny one with a healthy streak of frustration running through it, this is my favourite post to read aloud, especially if you’re adept at doing three different voices. It may, at some point, lend itself to stand-up, if I ever get to read somewhere again!

Go play some video games… – Monday, August 31 2020

I do a lot of dream posts, because I have a lot of very interesting dreams. This one doesn’t really capture the “novelise the entire thing as a fantasy epic” project I did in my late teens vibe, but I felt it worthy of writing up anyway. I haven’t yet managed to have such a tantalising dream since. Maybe it will happen at some point.

And…

Boom, clap, I’m in me friend’s car – Wednesday, July 08 2020

More people need to read this one. It’s the one I link to the most (you can tell by the number of pingbacks), and the one that’s an immediate go-to if I get asked for an example of a blog post I like. It’s funny, sexy, silly and takes me back to happy times. The recent heat makes it even more prescient, in a way.

[GOTN is collating other bloggers’ contributions to this theme over on her post. Go read those too!]

Duvet Days

July 20, 2022 / Innocent Loverboy / 0 Comments

For a long period since I was a very small child, well into my teens and beyond – maybe even extending into my early twenties – I slept under the duvet; that is to say that I slept entirely under it. Body, hands, feet, head… everything. I developed a method of getting fresh air – create a little opening around my mouth so I could breathe – but I was absolutely adamant that I couldn’t emerge from where I was. I had to remain hidden.

All night.

As a clever, but nervous and sensitive, young boy, it was easy for me to develop irrational fears and complexes, which I did in abundance. Couple that with a fear of the dark, wallpaper which made a scary face when I looked at it, and my constant anxiety that I was about to be attacked, and it’s understandable. In order to survive, the only thing I could do was hide.

I did, of course, sleep naked – I almost always have – but that didn’t make a difference under the covers. Revealing something as sensitive as my head, unprotected, exposed a vulnerability, the sort of which would be advantageous to my adversaries. I could be vulnerable during the day – school bullying would heal – but, during the night, I hid.

If I did sleep, it would be a fitful slumber.

As I grew older, and the invisible enemies gave way to obsessive dark thoughts, I started to believe that I wasn’t about to be fatally assaulted at night, but continued to sleep with my head concealed. It was still, I rationalised, safer – and, besides, I’d been doing it for long enough and hadn’t died yet. In my early twenties, when I started to share my bed with people, I gradually learned to bring myself out of it.

With someone else, I was safe. There would be cuddles. There would be kisses. There would be sex. There would be peace.

And it would be much easier to breathe.

I felt a bit odd about it all, but I felt more confident exposing my vulnerability, and gradually began to eschew my duvet shield.

For the past few nights, I have been sleeping as nature intended – on a mattress, on my own. No duvet, no sheets, maybe one pillow to support my head.

Naked.

Vulnerable though this may make me feel, it’s genuinely the safest way to spend these nights.

Plus, if anyone were to attack me, they’d probably burn their hands with the amount of heat I appear to have internalised.

Stag Snapshots

July 9, 2022 / Innocent Loverboy / 0 Comments

“I think I may have broken my neck,” I wince as I gingerly haul myself out of the Kiddi Koaster car. Ahead of me, the rest of Adventure Island makes for an impressive vista, but it doesn’t take away the pain in my neck, which was – I’m sure – not designed for such a small coaster with jerky stops and starts. I’ve been on all the other coasters, except for the big one H and 47 went on, on which they both felt they would die.

The view from the top of the Ferris wheel in Southend. — View from the other side.

It isn’t the same Adventure Island as the one Robinson and I used to go and routinely rescue from a wide array of villains every playtime in Year 5… and yet Robinson is still here with me, and he has managed to not hurt his neck at all.

Because he’s short, probably.

We have less than five minutes to go if we can manage to escape the escape room. The other group – Mane, Mane Jr., H and my friend-who-is-a-teacher – have already escaped from theirs. We can hear the laughter, so we know.

The wizard prison theme goes completely out of the window as we finally unearth Thanos’ glove from somewhere. 47 places it on a sensor by the back door and we are out. Everyone collapses into laughter and I decide it best not to mention that I noticed the door we came in through wasn’t locked.

Everyone’s several drinks in when I suggest we play a game of I Have Never. The usual ones are rolled out – everyone else drinks when Einstein leads with “never have I ever had a crush on a co-worker” – and then 47 hits on the idea of doing ones specifically designed for me.

“Never have I ever written and published reviews of porn,” he says. I drink.
“Never have I ever written and published reviews of sex toys,” says Mane. I drink.
“Never have I ever had anal sex,” says Mane Jr. I drink.

“Never have I ever had sex with someone whose gender identity is the same as mine,” I say carefully.
“What’s that?” someone asks. “What’s wrong with the term ‘gay sex’?”
“Nothing at all,” I shrug. “Gay is great. I’ve just also had sex with an enby, so I can’t in all honestly say I’ve only ever had straight sex.”
I’m not sure I’ve explained it right. But a couple of people drink anyway.

I don’t drink alcohol. I’ve imbibed a lot of sugar. I’m relatively high when we decide to go to a pub for more drinks.

I still want to play this with sex bloggers.

“I don’t like Mr. Brightside,” I yell over the guy in the corner who’s singing it while banging out the chords on his guitar.
“You’re not having it at your wedding?”
“No! I don’t like it!”
“But it’s played at every wedding!”
“And it shouldn’t be! It’s about being cheated on! It’s not an appropriate song for a celebration of true love!”

Pause.

“I hadn’t considered that…”

It’s after midnight and we’ve found a bus stop to drop H off at. It’s quite eerie, what with the neon lights of the bus station and the midnight silence, but at least I know it, and I know it’ll take her where she needs to go. There is a moment of calm when Robinson, 47 and I were the only ones left in the car.

“Right!” he says, revving the gas pedal. “Where to now? Stag stag stag!”

And then I realise what I should have known all along. That’s what love is.

Burnout

May 9, 2022 / Innocent Loverboy / 1 Comment

First of all, this isn’t an “I’m quitting blogging” post, so maybe it isn’t really abut burnout… but there’s still quite a bit to address, so here we go…

This year, so far, has been a lot. The first four months of the year, for what it’s worth, were characterised by two things: planning a wedding, and not having a job. As it turns out, planning a huge and expensive event (followed by a huge and expensive holiday) when you are literally living by virtue of the tiny amount the Tory government gives you (and occasional boosts by your parents) is actually quite stressful.

[It’s fine, by the way; everything is sorted, we are getting married in August as planned, there are only a few kinks remaining to be ironed out. I don’t know how to iron, but that will come in time.]

Just after Easter Monday a few weeks back I started my shiny new, permanent job, with a contract and sick pay and pensions and holidays and everything. Yes, I am stupidly excited by this; this is compounded by the fact that I have – since I was about 22 – wanted to work at this place. This was the fifth time I have applied, the second time I have interviewed, and I still managed to get the job despite having fallen in a huge patch of mud immediately beforehand, so clearly I was doing something right.

A few weeks before that I came around the idea that I genuinely need to self-care, which is something I’ve never been good at. I’ve been making… an attempt. I’ve cancelled the gym membership I never use (I used it five times before I had a job, but now…), I’ve sorted out the books I want to read, and I’m steadily working towards cleaning our flat, which is too much for one person, but I’m doing what I can. The other week I actually baked some cakes, which I used to do every week, but just… stopped doing for whatever reason.

Every day I’m trying to do at least one thing that I enjoy (going to work doesn’t count), whether it’s an hour playing the new Kirby game on the Switch, strumming my guitar until my one working arm hurts, or reading a chapter of the book I’ve got about the North Korean film industry. If I can do that, then I can regain some sense of self, and maybe I can work on myself a little more. Is the idea, anyway.

So. I have a new job, which (despite kind hours which give me most of my afternoon) is physically exhausting – but I’ll get used to it, dammit! – and I’m planning a wedding, and I’m doing a lot of domestic duties in this here flat, and I’m trying my best to self-care by doing things I enjoy. The time I could otherwise spend blogging is now taken up by things like washing dishes and lying down; I am aware that both my mental and physical health are not at their greatest right now, and although I’d hazard a guess that I am “coping”, I’m not doing so very well, especially when it comes to time management.

Astute readers of this here blog may have realised that most of the posts I’ve done this year have been meme contributions. There’s nothing specifically wrong with that – I’ve been saying since my session at Eroticon 2017 that memes are an excellent resource for the uninspired blogger – but it does mean that the things I started this blog for, such as funny sexy memories or unsolicited love posts – have been rather thin on the ground by comparison. Even contributions to my own meme (which is what gets me most of my traffic) have become increasingly rare, and the only reason I’m able to write long posts like this is because I’m off sick with gastroenteritis.

I know what this sounds like; it’s like I’m about to say that I am suffering from extreme burnout and that blogging is going to fall by the wayside or I’m about to take on a hiatus without a fixed duration or embark on an art project that will take most of my time. Realistically, I’m not going to do either of those things. Looking at my life objectively, my blog is the thing of which I’m most proud, and I’m not going to let something like this go, specifically since I hardly ever feel proud of anything!

But please excuse the dearth of regular posts and the overabundance of memes. I want to create entertaining content, I really do, and I’m going to make an effort over the coming months. Time is not on my side right now, but while the flesh is weak, the spirit is still willing.

Having said that, if anyone could buy me a truckload of coffee, that would probably help.