Category: Recollections (Page 5 of 9)

ILB recalls moments from his past, vaguely related to love, sex, or whatever else

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.

#FiveThings: Stripped

May 29, 2022 / Innocent Loverboy / 2 Comments

“Mum,” I said to my mum over dinner, “can I start sleeping naked?”

I was 12. Up until that point I had been wearing the same glow-in-the-dark Super Mario Bros. pyjamas since the age of about six. I hadn’t ever considered wearing anything else in bed, and wasn’t even aware of the concept of sleeping naked, which is why I was surprised when Robinson mentioned it.

I ploughed on with my reasons before she could answer:

1) I wanted to be more efficient.

I would have a bath most nights just before bed (these days, with my bad skin, I have a shower, but the principle is the same). Towelling off, drying my hair and getting straight into bed would be practical – see also getting up in the night to use the loo, and getting dressed in the mornings. It saved precious seconds.

2) My pyjamas were getting a bit old.

I’m very fond of wearing the same clothes for years on end (as I’ve mentioned before, I still have some of my clothes from my teens), and – fond though I was of my Mario pyjamas – they were beginning to wear a bit. I didn’t have any other pyjamas. Hypothetically, I could have just asked for more, but I didn’t think that f ahead.

3) This was a totally new concept to me…

…and I can’t leave anything that new alone.

But there’s another reason. I was going to a walking weekend with Woodcraft soon afterwards and I was only planning to take one item: a map of the area (or any area, I wasn’t actually going to use it) with the lyrics to the Pinky and the Brain theme tune hand-written on the back. You know, this one:

When Robinson pointed out that I’d at least have to take nightwear with me, I waivered a bit, until he added, “or are you going to be sleeping naked?”.

Thanks, friend.

4) I wanted to sleep naked at the Woodcraft walking weekend.

So I didn’t need to take anything other than the map-and-Pinky-and-the-Brain-lyrics combo. It only occurred to me later on that I would also need to take a couple of changes of clothes, a warm jumper, a raincoat, a pair of sturdy walking boots, a water bottle and a backpack to carry it all in.

My mother predictably said no to this. When the first day ended up being 22 miles, including through a dark forest, as opposed to the 15 they first mentioned, I was actually quite fond of my warm jumper and raincoat.

5) I was genuinely really lazy.

Okay, there are other reasons.

A couple of years later I would start to notice my body changing. The body heat you generate from sleeping naked is more noticeable than that which you do in pyjamas, so I found myself sleeping warmer. Until the age of about 16, I slept with my head under the covers too (so that my attackers wouldn’t notice me), and that was bare, so it was much easier to co-ordinate.

At the age of 17, I started having sex, and obviously then wearing anything else was completely out of the question. At university, it was much easier to have a morning orgasm (or one later in the day…) if I wasn’t wearing anything to begin with.

But at 12, I didn’t think of any of this. I just had the idea, so I asked my mother over dinner.

So I slept naked. I started that night and have done so almost every night since. Two years later, my parents bought me a new pair of pyjamas for Christmas (which I still wear now, for staying at others’ places or at camp or pyjama day at work – they never get any other action!), and then a few years ago a Mario onesie (as a kind of nostalgia effort, perhaps?).

If it’s really cold, of course, I’ll wear my Mario pants.

1,3,7-Trimethylpurine-2,6-dione

April 30, 2022 / Innocent Loverboy / 3 Comments

“Mmmmmmmm…”

As I roll over onto my back, the first thing I’m aware of is how hot it is. Humid, too. The air is like breathing soup. Through my closed eyelids, I can tell it’s bright in the room… which must mean that it’s bright outside too. At first, I wonder if I’m still dreaming – before I come to a steady realisation that I’m not. And I remember where I am.

“Wake up, sleepyhead!” she trills, which is enough to make my eyes slowly open. She’s already up. (In fact, she may have been for a while. I’ve no idea what time it is. Time has no meaning any more.) But she’s still wearing her night-dress, which is both a surprise and pleasant to see. Her hair is a mess, and her face is a bit pink; she looks for all the world as if she has herself just rolled out of bed and decided to wake me up to annoy me.

Steam rising from a white cup of hot coffee with a spoon on a saucer over a wooden table in a café. — By far the sexiest image on this blog.

“Yes, yes, good morning,” I mutter. “Just let me…”
“C’mon, wake UP,” she wheedles. “Let’s have breakfast. I’ve got so much to show you. Breakfast first. I’ve got lemonade or orange juice. Or orange juice mixed with lemonade.”
“Can I have some coffee?” I say, reluctantly crawling out from under the duvet. Her bed is like a dream – soft, smooth and easy to sink into. As a matter of fact, that describes her pretty well, too.
“Coffee?” she says dreamily, as if she’s never heard of the concept before.
“Coffee. I know you have it; it’s grown in this country. You’re aware of what it is, right?”
“Riiiiiiiight…” she says, taking my shoulder and gently guiding me back onto the bed. “Yes, coffee. I’ll get you some coffee, it’s just that…”

And then I notice that her eyes have strayed from my face. My morning wood isn’t morning wood.

“…change of plan. Can we have sex first, then coffee?”
“We had sex three times last night. You’re ready for some more? Is that what you’re saying?”

At which I realise we are both too far gone. She isn’t wearing anything under her night-dress, and I’m far too hard and far too willing to do anything but sigh as I feel her soft folds splitting, her sex contracting around my shaft as she kindly – but firmly – sinks down onto me.

“Sex first,” she repeats as she begins to ride me. “Then coffee.”
“Sex first,” I echo. “Then… uh…”
“Sex. Now shhhhh…” she whispered, placing a finger on my mouth and flashing me a toothy, full-beam smile as bright as the sun outside. “I want to enjoy this.”
“Hah…”
“Ooh…”

I’m still on my back, but this time I’m covered in sweat. Her hair is messier than it was. She’s still wearing her night-dress, but you couldn’t really tell. The main difference, as she’ll tell me a few minutes later, is that she’s full of cum, and had been buzzing for it ever since she woke up. Her head is on my chest, her breathing steady and body warm.

She speaks first.

“Yes. That’s what I meant. Now let’s go. I’ve got so much to show you. Breakfast first. I’ve got lemonade or orange juice, or…”

She stops to laugh at the arrested look on my face.

“…fine. Coffee. And then we’ll get on with our day, okay, sleepyhead?”
“All right,” I acquiesce, hunting around for something to put on. “What are we doing after breakfast, assuming I get my coffee?”

There is a pause.

“Sex?” she offers.

Should’ve gone to Specsavers

March 14, 2022 / Innocent Loverboy / 1 Comment

It was a very sleepy Monday. For reasons unrelated to each other (but I suspect “it’s the middle of the term and there aren’t any holidays in sight” was probably a big factor), none of us had had a restful weekend. Nobody wanted to be in school, and you could tell that the staff felt largely the same way. Nevertheless, I tried to make the best of it.

“Hi, Ant.”
“GET YOUR EYES TESTED!” shouted Ant at maximum volume, and he stormed off.

Tuesday was a little better, although the weather was proving to be muggy and uncomfortable. I spent most of my breaks in the library, anyway, but it was still a relief to get inside. Ant came by at one point, and I raised a hand in friendly greeting.

“I TOLD YOU TO GET YOUR EYES TESTED!” he yelled in my face before walking off in a huff.

On Wednesday, I was sitting with my friends in the dining hall when Ant came up to me from behind.

“HAVE YOU HAD YOUR EYES TESTED YET?” he caterwauled into an ear that hadn’t worked properly ever since.
“I have, but my astigmatism is very mild,” I replied pleasantly while he stood there giving me a frown so hard it was very clear he wished me nothing but a slow and painful death. “Am I ever going to find out what this is about, or have you just started this and don’t know where you’re going with it?”

[NB: This last statement was used as the basis for ABC’s Lost, a few years later.]

“It’s because you can’t see,” hissed Ant – which I can’t fault him for; that’s the usual reason you should get an eye test.
“I thought I could, unless I’m actually dreaming and this is all an illusion…?”
“No, I mean you can’t see. Ugliness. You can’t see that she’s ugly.”
“…Who?”

This was a genuine question on my part. He could have been referring to Ann Widdecombe and wouldn’t have been wrong, either.

“You know who I’m referring to. That girl… the one you sit opposite in Science.”

‘That girl’ had a name, which everyone knew, including Ant, who had been in the same classes as her for five years.

“Oh,” I said softly. “But I don’t think she’s ugly.”
“Well, you need to get your eyes tested, then,” said Ant. “Because she is. And I heard you fancy her, so you need to…”
“…get my eyes tested,” I supplied. “But your information is wrong. I don’t fancy her. I just want to have sex with her.”

Okay, maybe I didn’t say that last bit. But it wasn’t false. I didn’t fancy this girl and I never had, but we had been friends for a long time and I really, really, really wanted to have sex with her. I’d been having dreams about the subject since year 7.

“Sure you don’t,” retorted Ant sardonically. “I heard otherwise. You’ve had dreams about kissing her.”

My dreams were more about how well my penis might fit into her vagina, but I wasn’t going to say that either.

“I have,” I admitted, “but you always dream about crazy stuff. I’ve had two dreams in which I found out I was Jesus. In the first of those, I used my divine powers to turn into a dinosaur.”
“You what?”
“And in any case,” I ploughed on, “you’ve had strange dreams yourself. You told me about that one you had about Britney…”
“I HAVE MANLY NEEDS!” Ant screamed like a banshee, and without another word, he turned and steamrollered off, right into a wall that had been there since we started and you may think he might have noticed.

There was a pause.

“What was all that about?” asked Einstein as we carried on with our lunch.
“I’m not sure,” I shrugged. “Maybe he needs his eyes tested.”

Smart casual

March 7, 2022 / Innocent Loverboy / 0 Comments

“What’s up?” asked Lightsinthesky, once the hustle and bustle of the younger students had calmed down. The little recess in the corridor, which housed the door to the library, was always a good place to have a conversation without being overheard.

Or so we thought.

“I’ve been having too much casual sex lately,” said Music Man blithely.

Everyone laughed – although not unkindly. Attractive though he may have been, Music Man hadn’t had any casual sex. In fact, none of us had. The first of us to have any sort of sex was still yet to happen, although – by this point – we were all of legal age. Music Man just said random things like that. We loved how random he was in any case.

“Who’s been having casual sex?” asked our careers advisor, opening the door to his office (which also opened onto the little recess). It was always a gamble whether or not he’d be in there – although it was pleasing when he was; he was always up for a chat about musical theatre, a shared interest between both of us. I’d also allowed him access once to a BBC contract for my work experience placement in year 10, something he was very excited about.

“Music Man,” we all said, pointing to him. Our careers advisor cocked an eyebrow.
“Well, make sure you use protection,” he said. “Anyway, it’s none of my business. I’ve got to finish getting ready for the weekend.”
“Paris again, is it?” I asked innocently.
“Amsterdam, actually,” he said. “If you’ll excuse me…”

He retreated into his room and locked the door.

“I can think of one person who really is having casual sex,” grinned Lightsinthesky as we finally made our way into the library.
“Actually, that reminds me,” I said quietly.
“What, casual sex?”
“No! The office! If he’s in it I can’t have my session with Eleanor!”

Which was entirely true. Eleanor, who was a year older than me, was my unofficial counsellor thanks to a youth outreach programme they had started offering the sixth form. We’d been using our careers advisor’s office as a space since he was hardly ever there and she had a key.

“Why, what is it you’re doing with Eleanor every week, anyway?” asked Einstein.
“Oh, you know…” I said. “Music Man’s been having too much…”

“CASUAL SEX!” shouted Lightsinthesky, at which everyone in the library looked around.

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.

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.

ILB History (part two)

November 21, 2021 / Innocent Loverboy / 0 Comments

…and continued from here.

At the end of 2010 I made a New Year’s Resolution to be more sexually adventurous, and with it, to have more sex. I’d kind of been taking steps in that direction anyway, starting to attend the CCK socials and such, but I felt like I needed to come out of my shell a little more.

Typically, the following day, the Seamstress ended our two-and-two-thirds-year relationship, thus throwing me back into the depression maelstrom I had worked so hard to get out of… and with no idea of any direction in which to go. In a kind of desperate flail, I started going to Spiritual Space, which gave me a little peace.

Fast forward to Autumn 2012 and I’d be in a similar situation with a different lifeline.

The rinse cycle

I wasn’t ready for a new relationship so soon after my second one ended, and although I soon after went on what could technically be termed a ‘date’, it didn’t really go anywhere. By the summer of 2011 I was in a relationship, but I still wasn’t ready, really. I still was having (and still do have dreams) about the Seamstress, and even though I was starting to do more things with what could loosely be termed ‘the community’, the cutieloveheartgirl wasn’t keen.

Which is an understatement. She was furious that I had started to go to Erotic Meet (nothing happened) and livid that I had Rose staying over for the night (nothing happened). In February 2012, I attended Eroticon for the first time, which was like an unforgivable sin. I’d just about managed to reconnect with my identity, and here she was, telling me that I shouldn’t be writing my sex blog any more. I genuinely didn’t know how to feel about it.

And so towards the end of the summer I found myself single once again and completely unsure of myself. Gone were the overpriced meals of the CCK socials and late night Jesus chat of Spiritual Space; my escape manifested in the dark gloomy corners of the Green Carnation with the miscreants that attended Erotic Meet.

The tenderness years

For the first few months I attended Erotic Meet, I was – although certainly very social – relatively chaste. Certain moments where I could’ve are still burned into my mind, and although I certainly got the chance a couple of times, I didn’t. I was still in a relationship, anyway, and even if it wasn’t a healthy one, I couldn’t just start cavorting with people I’d met at EM, no matter how hot they were.

Not cheating was difficult. I’m surprised to hear myself say that, as it’s genuinely something I’m very much against (since my first relationship ended that way), but while I was attending EM, I was also in a difficult, angry, sex-free relationship and, although there was still a lot of love there, we were both fairly sure that it was going to end at one point.

Someone (someone specific, but I won’t name her here) once told me that she would have sex with me that night if I was single, and asked if I was. I told her that I wasn’t and we couldn’t have sex… but, if I had lied, we would have done.

Starting a relationship with Jilly was probably the best decision I’ve ever made in my life. We were clearly attracted to each other, and had been building up a flirty friendship for all the time we had attended the same events, so when we actually started dating, it felt like the natural conclusion to what had been ~~Agatha~~ there all along.

And so I found myself in a fourth relationship, now with somebody who was completely accepting and aware of all sides of my identity…

To be continued…

ILB History (part one)

November 14, 2021 / Innocent Loverboy / 2 Comments

While there was a definite, complete and very sudden turning point in my sexual development in my youth, there’s something more significant that is also significantly harder to define.

I came up with the idea to start a sex blog where I get all my ideas – in the shower. I didn’t really have a name, or a concept, or anything I wanted to say that I was entirely sure hadn’t been said before, but I had just read Girl with a One-Track Mind and had managed to convince myself that I could do something similar. By the end of my shower, I had decided that “innocent loverboy” – something I had written on a list of Battle Royale characters to describe Hiroki Sugimura – was an appropriate enough sobriquet.

The rest could come later.

I almost didn’t start this. Halfway through signing up to Blogger, I thought it was a bad idea (and too much faff) and closed Firefox. A second later, I opened the browser again and started from the beginning.

That one second could have changed my life.

Imagine, for a moment, that I didn’t have that moment of decision and decided to keep the browser closed, letting my idea of starting a sex blog go and carrying on with my life as it was at the age of 22. Let that roll around in your head for a while. If you yourself write one of your own, what would it have been like without it? If you had your own spar of indecision and went along the other path?

I’ve heard people wonder aloud at how impactful something as simple as an online diary can actually be to a person, even its author – but then, they may not have experienced what I have. Blogging caused a seismic shift in my life which set me off on a completely new trajectory: something I never would have sensed, or dreamed of, the day before I wrote my first post.

After the beginning

I did wonder, at the beginning, if I would manage to get laid as a result of blogging. What I didn’t expect was three long-term relationships coming from the emergent community. Blogging did give me the confidence to approach people – the two that I did have sex with first off, snowdrop and Lilly, were from other sources – but the girlfriends that came afterwards were different. They were genuine and interesting. These were relationships – something I’d desired for so long – and they were real and adult and exciting.

Without my blog, I wouldn’t have been beguiled by gin-soaked kisses on Broad Street in the centre of Oxford. I wouldn’t have set foot in Yorkshire, never mind go for rambling walks in the Northern wilds with someone almost as tall as me. I almost certainly wouldn’t have ended up living with a queer Belgian. And I certainly, certainly, wouldn’t have had as much sex.

I’d like to think that I’m more sexually aware, although how much of that comes from the sex blogging community and how much from a cultural shift remains a mystery. I’m more aware of terminology concerning gender and sexual orientation and proclivities (I also now know what “proclivities” means) than I was when my only connection to sex was through IRC. I now enough to be able to teach others, which is exciting in its own way.

The fact remains that I have never had any sort of romantic or sexual interest from anyone who hasn’t read my blog since 2008. While there were certainly attractive people in the circles I travelled in – there still are – my involvement in those circles was beginning to erode. (While the youth camp in summer 2007 was the last time I saw some key players in my life up until that point, its end was like the termination of something. I retained my crush on Leaf for months afterwards, despite not having her in my life any more.)

I am aware, realistically, that I’m not a particularly attractive guy. Physically I’m not and have never been much to look at, and the amount of idiotic glossolalia that comes out of my mouth is astounding. At the very least, though, those who found something to be attracted to through my writing was – although confusing – something I was (and am) extremely grateful for.

The second step

While not without their issues, the real-life events that I was finally persuaded to go to – Erotic Meet and Eroticon shortly afterwards – were transformative, not only insofar as facilitating being able to meet, mingle and shoot the breeze with other sex bloggers (there has been such an explosion in the community since the fledgling days on 2007!), but also simply being able to introduce myself as “Innocent Loverboy” and actually have people recognise that name.

I didn’t start going earlier due to the fact that the cutieloveheartgirl I was with at the time was particularly resistant to the concept, although by that point she wasn’t happy with the fact that I still wrote a sex blog (despite being attracted by that in the first place). I went along anyway, while politely befuddled by the hectic anarchy of Erotic Meet and feeling gleefully adventurous on my way to the first Eroticon.

In the bathrooms at Telephone Avenue in Bristol, I paused for a while to look at myself in the mirror.

“I know who I am,” I said to myself. “I’m me…” (here I inserted my other IRL nickname) “…and I’m ILB, and I’m okay with that.”

This, for what it’s worth, was another turning point.