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R(I)H(L)C(B)P

July 25, 2025 / Innocent Loverboy / 0 Comments

A scarlet starlet and she’s in my bed
A candidate for the soul mate bled
I pull the trigger and I pull the thread
I’m gonna take it on the otherside

On one of my journeys around the country, I listened – after resisting doing so for a while – to the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ album Unlimited Love. It’s a good album although I don’t quite think it reaches the heights of something like Californication or Stadium Arcadium. Still good, though.

I will admit, however, to the fact that I mostly listened to it because my colleague, Brown, told me to, and that I do whatever Brown tells me to. Pleased though I was with her recommendation (and secure in the knowledge that there was at least one other person on the staff who likes rock), I did have to wonder why she sought me out, specifically. We’ve got a colleague who genuinely used to be a rock musician. Why not him?

A couple of weekends after our conversation I had an idea. I know the chords to Otherside. Music Man taught us to play Californication and other RHCP staples, including my favourite Under the Bridge, but I independently learned Otherside and I was quite good at it once. Even Lightsinthesky said so, and he didn’t like complimenting me about anything. It might be a nice thing to do for Brown if I did a special recording of Otherside for her.

I’d need an excuse, perhaps. Maybe if I just asked when her birthday was. Or when she was getting married (she’s been with her boyfriend for yonks; I was assuming it would be soon). Or I could just say I was playing guitar and felt like hitting record while singing RHCP. It wouldn’t even be that much of a job; I had my recording stuff set up anyway.

She kindly provided me with a reason to by getting pregnant shortly afterwards.

Of course I never ended up actually doing so. A couple of years of physical exhaustion and losing all confidence in your guitar playing ability will do that to a well-intentioned ILB. I still listen to RHCP fairly regularly; I have just lost interest in covering them, even as something “nice” to do for a pregnant friend and colleague. I ended up contributing to the collection they put together for her and fawning over pictures of a baby who manages, even at the age of one, to have shrugged off looking like William Hague (all babies do) and displays both Brown’s radiant beauty and the chiselled looks of his father Green. But I didn’t once pick up my guitar.

Brown returned to work a couple of months ago and spent pretty much all her time telling everyone she’s leaving. An unscrupulous change in management is less kind towards her request to work one day a week in order to spend large amounts of time with her very young child. I was completely with her on this.

“But we’ve got so many people leaving,” I said over lunch. “Surely they must at least be considering keeping you if we’re so short of staff?”
“Apparently not,” she shrugged. “You’d think that, but they’ve told me that I can work full-time or get out. So I’m getting out.”
“I’ll miss you,” I said truthfully. “I’ve always enjoyed working with you, and you have a great taste in music.”
“I’ll still like music whether or not I’m here.”
“…but… that’s not what I — I mean, I was… just…”
“It’s okay, I’m just teasing you. You still owe me a recording of Otherside, if I remember correctly.”

I nodded mutely.

A couple of days ago I bumped into Brown on what was due to be her last day. The long, tearful and apologetic farewell I had stored up didn’t end up showing its face when she revealed that she was, in fact, staying.

“We’ve got so many people leaving,” she said over lunch. “Surely they must have been considering keeping me as we’re so short of staff? Well, they are. And they’re prepared to let me stay for one day a week like I wanted.”
“Oh, that’s great! I’m very pleased,” I ejaculated a little too enthusiastically. “Maybe we should do something to celebrate?”

I have four weeks to re-learn how to play RCHP on the guitar.

Slipslide Ride

July 1, 2025 / Innocent Loverboy / 0 Comments

“So… since you have that new boyfriend…”
“I wouldn’t really call him new, but yeah…?”

I would. As far as I was aware she had only ever had one boyfriend beforehand, and they had been together for yonks. Compared to a relationship that lasted over a couple of years and had continued apace, a few weeks still counted as “new” to me. Still, not my relationship, I guess.

“Have you been having sex in this heat?”
“Of course! I love having sex with him!”

I’d have to take her word for that. I didn’t know this guy and all I really had was a name. My mum walked into my room once immediately after she’d sent me his passport picture and said he was “grotesque”. I didn’t relay this back to her.

“Have you noticed,” I ploughed on, “that in this hot weather, with you sweating a lot already, and sex being a sweat-inducing activity by design, that it gets a bit… slippy…?”

And this is the question I’d been wanting to ask. Since our last big conversation – although we had been chatting on and off for a while – I’d started having sex. She had been doing so for a while and I was a bit of a newbie, so I was still discovering things. The last time I’d had sex, it had been in blistering heat and I’d been sliding all over the place. I had been wondering.

“lol,” she said, and then more fully, “Yes! I mean, it’s not exactly made it more difficult to have sex, is it? You just slide more if you’re moving back and forth, right? If he’s on top of me…”

I found this difficult to envision, so I stopped trying.

“…he slides back and forth quite a lot, and we’re both quite big, so there’s a lot of movement there.”
“I was wondering. It’s been happening to me. Er, us. I mean, it’s sweat so it’s a bit gross, but…”
“I like sweat.”
“Okay, sure,” I amended. “I think it’s gross. But it’s a different sensation, so I was wondering if you’re finding it hard.”

I suddenly realised what I’d just said.

“I find it hard whenever we have sex, whether or not it’s hot and sweaty!” she replied, making the joke about a millisecond before I’d finished typing something to the same effect. At least I didn’t have to debase myself by indulging in such puerile filth. “In any case, appropriately given the subject, he just got home and I’m going to have sex with him now, so I’ll talk to you later?”
“Uhm, sure, enjoy your slippy slidey sex where everything’s hard,” I signed off smoothly.

The next time I had sex, I made sure there was a towel nearby.

Dress, summer (on)

June 21, 2025 / Innocent Loverboy / 0 Comments

Deeply dippy ’bout your Spanish eyes
Sierra smile
Legs that go on for miles and miles…

On Wednesday this week, I went back to work after almost an entire seven-day period off sick with… sickness. I’m still not entirely sure what it was. Whatever. I’m sure the heat can’t have helped either,

[Pause while ILB checks the weather forecast for Tokyo in August and begins to weep quietly before continuing with the post.]

but whatever the reason, I was off and now I’m back. Fantastic. Story of my life!

On Thursday I was downing my third bottle of Sprite in the break room when one of my favourite colleagues walked in. I will admit it took me a while to work out that it was her, but then again, I’m not even sure who I am these days.

“You look very summery,” I said by way of a morning greeting.
“Thanks,” she twittered. “So do you.”

No, my friend, I do not. I’m just wearing a short-sleeved shirt with the top button undone. Eventually I will get a tan, and then the forearms on show will have visible self-harm scars which always show up in the summer. The bare skin on my bald spot will start to flake off. I’ll engender a line on my nose from when I smashed it on the floor. I look messy, and that’s fine; I always look like that in summer.

You, on the other hand, appear to be mostly legs. There is little else of you, and there’s little of you at all times, slight as you may be. But here you are, wearing what I suppose is a summer dress, except it’s one that’s too small.

Unless, of course, this is deliberate. Unlike many of my other colleagues, your legs are not carrying an abundance of body art; you may be wishing to advertise this fact. Or you could just wish to show off your legs – it’s not an unpleasant sight. On the other hand, and this is probably the actual reason, you’re just hot.

Of course, I didn’t say any of this. It’s not really my place to do so. I don’t object to people wearing what they want, after all, even in the workplace. I once went to work with a tee saying “ᴄᴀᴜᴛɪᴏɴ: ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴋᴀʀᴀᴛᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴏʀɪᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ᴡᴏʀᴅs” and nobody batted an eyelid. What I was wondering, idly, was whether or not my stringent German boss would be approving of my friendly colleague’s choice of summer dress.

Until she walked in wearing something similar, and any doubts I had evaporated almost as quickly as the duckpond outside was.

Fiction: Lift Kiss

May 31, 2025 / Innocent Loverboy / 0 Comments

It’s cooler and quieter here in the lift. As much as I purport to enjoy a good amount of heavy rock, even I have my limits. Despite the fact that this will empty me out into the street, this small – and, thankfully, empty – room is a welcome respite from the club.

Sketch of Amelia, the girl in this story, in her wheelchair. Art by ILB drawn during Eroticon Live! 2016. — I kept the sketch to hand!

I take a deep breath, eyes closed, to centre myself. When my vision clears, the buttons on the wall blend into a smudge of illuminated blue. I need the ground floor to get out. I wheel to the corner, but can’t reach any button. Maybe I’ll have to wait. I grope in my bag for something I can use to press it. Why didn’t I bring my vibrator with me, like I do on business trips?

There is a soft, but worn, ding as the doors clatter open and he staggers in. Is he drunk? No – just tired. I can tell.

Our eyes meet.

I’m used to people looking – it happens. This, however, is different. He’s looking at me. Not my chair. Not the ‘phone I’m clutching in my hand. Not the shawl I’ve got covering my knees. Me. He’s looking at me – from my electric blue hair to my heavy red boots. He’s taking all of me in, and it’s quite clear he likes what he sees.

Oh, get a grip, Amelia. There’s no indication of that. He’s just weary at the end of a club night and looking at the girl in the wheelchair. There’s every indication that he doesn’t like you at all. Or notice you. The fact that he’s holding your gaze is probably just coincidence. I mean, look at him. That scrappy grey T-shirt doesn’t suit him. Those grey joggers have a hole in the knee. He’s hardly presenting himself well to you.

What would it be like if he wanted to kiss me?

Kiss me, that is. Not fuck me. Kiss me. If he wanted to do that I’d let him. He’d have to bend down a bit, of course. Maybe he’d gently cup my chin with one of those hands and tilt my head upwards. Our lips would brush together — no, mash together — and I’d hear him breathing heavily as we kiss. I’d reach out with my tongue. I bet his feels good – tastes good, even.

And they could dance together. Do the tarantella even if I can’t move my legs. There’s always a way.

He’d thread his fingers into my hair and he’d pull a little and then we’d break the kiss and there’s a trail of saliva breaking between us and he’s taking his shirt off and I’m unhooking my bra and he’s reaching out for my heaving breasts and the lift is broken so we can’t leave and fuck me I can’t stop I’m so wet so so so wet just bend over and kiss me please oh please oh

“Please…”

I’ve said the last word out loud. I have no idea how long he’s been looking at me. However long, it’s not been long enough. My shock back to reality coincides with a dull thump from the club downstairs.

I’m on fire.

“Do you want some help?” he says, in a voice like honey. “I can press a button for you if you want.”

Without waiting for an answer, he takes two steps forwards, leans over me and presses the ground floor button. His press has some finality to it. For a second or two, my view is full of him and only him. The scrappy tee and grey joggers stretch as he leans.

I can see every curve and contour of his body…

Ding, says the lift. The doors force themselves open and a welcome rush of outside air hits me from the busy street outside. He’s standing back, clearly waiting for me to leave first. What can I say?

I settle for a nod, this time roving my view over the entirety of him. Maybe he’s blushing as hard as I am. It’s difficult to tell in this light.

I wheel out of the door, down the corridor, through the lobby and down the ramp. As I begin to wend my way home through the milieu of late night workers and early morning risers, I have the biggest smile I have ever produced plastered firmly to my very kissable face.

[Inspired by Charlie Powell's session at Eroticon Live! 2016. See, I do write things I promise to - eventually...]

K’nex

May 29, 2025 / Innocent Loverboy / 0 Comments

Recently I managed to reconnect with an old friend who I haven’t seen for years. Mostly business – I had some data I wanted to share with him – but, over time, the banter started up. I haven’t seen him for about a decade and it’s almost like we’ve never not been in touch.

Which makes me wonder what happened to everyone else.

Okay, I’m hyperbolising. Not everyone. I am well aware where most of my friends are (including, but not really counting, the ones who live ten to fifteen minutes away and thank you London Buses!). The ones I’ve been thinking about – wondering about – dreaming about, even. Those who have faded from view.

There are also those who I was friendly with, but wouldn’t really count as friends. There’s the girl who used to touch herself while talking to me on MSN. The one who would e-mail me after every blog post with compliments and hopes for the future. The SaLT who wanted my dick. Someone I was introduced to “because she’s a Christian as well, so you’ll like her”; she was open and easy with sharing her sexual escapades, and once told me

Beaver says:
theres this guy and hes askin me all sorts of things, like whether i prefer speed or depth and if ive ever taken it up the arse

ILB says:
And you’re just telling him?

Beaver says:
well he asked!

ILB says:
If I asked, would you tell me?

Beaver says:
lol

Beaver says:
speed

Beaver says:
and ive never taken it up the arse

Then there are those who has a profound effect on my sexual development. The friend I had who I told practically everything. The ex of a friend of an ex who wouldn’t stop talking about how horny she was. The acquaintance who not only had a crush on me, but also recommended porn for me to download. My colleague who had a thing for sex GIFs and hotel rooms. There are those, of course, who I did have sex with… and those who I didn’t.

All of the above are gone. The dearth of IM systems in favour of microblogging social networks is, I think, a major contribution to that,

[Side Note: IRC is still going strong. There are people I met on various IRC networks who I still talk to, but that depends on the network, and Real Life getting in the way. And, of course, people who vanish from IRC are often impossible to trace.]

which is a shame – no matter how much I like social networking. Can you even have these kind of conversations in meatspace? I’m sure I’ve overheard some stuff, but I do have to wonder how much of it is genuine memory, or just something I think I’ve heard once.

No matter. There aren’t likely to any very horny, very explicit women hitting me up on social media or messenger apps specifically to tell me the sort of stuff women used to hit me up on social media or messenger apps specifically to tell me. But it is nice, in a comforting sort of way, to connect with an old internet friend… even if it is all above board…

…and I won’t be touching myself while thinking about him…

…intentionally.

Soft Porn Sunday: Michelle Maylene & Moulton

May 11, 2025 / Innocent Loverboy / 0 Comments

For a couple of decades now, I’ve been looking for a shower scene in something possibly called B-Movie Classix (although that was the wraparound L!VE TV used when it temporarily replaced Exotica Erotica, so I can’t be sure). I remember the scene, though – a detective-type character having sex with a horny, large-breasted female suspect, shower raining down on them, her boobs pressed against the glass as the camera rotated slowly around them.

If you twisted my arm, I’d have to admit that (with the above as an exception) shower scenes aren’t really my thing. I’ve never had sex in the shower myself, despite trying to work out the logistics; to all intents and purposes, these are said to be very difficult scenes to film.

But what if one were to film a shower scene with no actual sex? Would that work? No idea. Let’s see. Step forward, then:

Appearance: Co-Ed Confidential, Series 1: “Clothing Optional” (2007)
Characters: Karen & Jeb

I’m struggling to remember if I’ve ever mentioned Michelle Maylene before. She’s certainly hot enough. Her character, Karen, graduates from “the party girl” in the first series to “the hottie” by the third, so although there’s no development of character there, at least her tagline is different. She also has a lot more sex in later series, including a continuous lesbian storyline in series two; in the first, sex with Karen is a rarely-seen spectacle.

I haven’t mentioned Moulton either, as I have absolutely no idea who he is. He appears as “Jeb” (this is American, see?) in two episodes of Co-Ed Confidential and then vanishes. His profile on IMDb doesn’t mention any other work and I have no idea what his real name is. Maybe he’s related to Judy Moulton… probably not, though; that’d be all types of coincidence.

Anyway.

Michelle Maylene and Moulton in "Co-Ed Confidential" (2007). — I do wonder what’s happened to Jeb’s ear…

This scene takes place in the shower. Lovable, beautiful party girl Karen is getting naked with horny idiot Jeb. It actually starts out with both of them naked (this is a Co-Ed Confidential trope; they may as well have called this episode “Clothing Not Necessary” for all they do), with Jeb kissing his way down Karen’s body. She’s wet, her hair certainly is; Jeb appears bone-dry, but who really knows?

The central crux of the scene itself is that Jeb is giving Karen head while she showers. That’s about it. It doesn’t really go anywhere else – I was expecting simulated sex, which has already happened once in this episode, but we don’t get any.

What we do get, and this is important, are shots of an increasingly shiny Karen accompanied by the back of Jed’s head. At certain points she’s standing up; at some, she may well be on a shower seat. The shower décor is very… well, shower-y; there’s even one of those spongy things that doesn’t really work. The water stays on, as well, throughout the entire scene.

This is a more radical thing than you’d think. In a lot of these – the ones in Emmanuelle in Space leap to mind – the water mysteriously turns itself off after a while, so the characters can have sex in the bath. Here, not only are they not having sex, but they’ve left the water on (or at least the sound effect is going on).

Michelle Maylene in "Co-Ed Confidential" (2007). — Karen’s so into this she’s singing along to the song.

Which reminds me. As well as the continuing tinklesplash of the shower, we get a soundtrack to this too. Michelle Maylene’s moans and gasps (which are plentiful, and loud) wrestle for prominence with a catchy pop song which I don’t recognise. A quick Google of the lyrics doesn’t reveal anything either, which makes me wonder if it was the creation of the programme itself. The theme tune, Never Better Than Me, has never had a band credited for its performance either.

The more I think about it, the more I’m coming round to the opinion that Co-Ed Confidential has one of the best soundtracks from soft porn. There’s an essay in that somewhere…

“That was a big splash,” says Karen, because of course she does.

There’s an epilogue to this, too. Freddy (who has a crush on Karen) walks in on them towelling off. Her excuse for the presence of a naked Jed is that he was fixing her plumbing; his classic exhortation that Freddy take a picture is his last line in everything ever, and he disappears into the nethersphere having mysteriously gained a shirt.

Why, then, this short scene, without sex and a fairly forgettable, if hunky, male lead? Is it sexy? Is it worthwhile? Does it make me horny, which is basically the point of this entire meme? It certainly bears no relation to the rest of the episode (it’s mostly abut stripping).

Well, yes. Karen has always been my favourite character in the series. Her cheerful, carefree sexiness is addictive and charming. Michelle Maylene herself is absolutely beautiful, too. A wonderful body, pretty face, lovely tummy piercing and great hair (wet or not!), she is a sight to behold. She’s a great actor, too – believable, and putting in a huge amount of effort.

And sexy moans.

Which is, I suppose, one reason we need to keep track of side characters. They all have their part to play, and it’s often those that get the best reaction. Talkie Toaster in Red Dwarf, Big Mac in My Little Pony and Larry Duff in Father Ted are all incidental characters that made a return due to audience appreciation. So why not Karen in Co-Ed Confidential? She certainly has something to do.

If only she could eventually find some clothes.

Sail on, silver girl

April 24, 2025 / Innocent Loverboy / 0 Comments

“OK, your turn.”

I blinked, partially due to the bright sunlight, but also to conceal my surprise. I hadn’t really considered that I’d be expected to volunteer information. Having said that, all three younger people in the conversation had been up front and blasé about their “most embarrassing moments”. Since I turned 40, I’ve been feeling the age gap between me and my younger friends a little more.

It’s all a little more real.

Plus, I don’t have a most embarrassing moment. My entire life is a continuous series of embarrassing moments.

I cast around in my head for something that was:
a) embarrassing;
b) suitable for a mixed audience;
c) something that couldn’t be used against me;
d) amusing;
e) not too revealing.

“Okay, fine, I’ve got just one,” I lied smoothly instantly before one clicked into place. “When I was in secondary school, one of the bullies found out who my crush was, and shouted it out in the middle of a class. The whole school suddenly found out.”
Everyone in the group cringed.
“That’s one of the worst things I’ve ever heard,” one of them said.
“Yeah, well, they’re not called bullies for nothing, are they?” replied another.
“Right, that’s mine,” I said, mentally congratulating myself at picking something both embarrassing and inoffensive, and also safe in the knowledge that this was vague enough to be forgettable. They probably have forgotten about it, really.

But I’ll never forget about it and now I can’t stop thinking about how embarrassed I was, and how awkward her life was about to become.

Thanks a lot, memory.

Top Class Girls

April 15, 2025 / Innocent Loverboy / 0 Comments

“So this is Microsoft Publisher,” the IT teacher stated. “It’s important you need to learn this, because in the future, Publisher will be the thing everyone uses. It’s probably going to last forever!” (She cleared her throat and began to stride around the class as she continued.) “I’d like you to create a webpage using Publisher. You don’t need to know any HTML for this. Just design something about… (here she gesticulated vaguely) …our school.”

Einstein and I set to work first. Our design didn’t end up featured on the “good work” display, but then again, it wasn’t particularly interesting.

What did end up featured was something my bully produced with the title “Top Class Girls” in a bizarre font. It went on to explain that our school had “many young and beautifull [sic] girls” and, following a few pictures of several such girls, went on to categorise them into “Class A” and “Class B”.

I tried to point out that this was sexist, but our head of year, who laughed like a sheep, shrugged it off with something like, “ehh… the design’s quite good.” I also vaguely wondered what my bully’s girlfriend would think about being halfway down the “Class B” list. The Floof was actually quite pleased with being on it at all.

Will Schuester (Matthew Morrison) holding up a copy of the Glist from the "Glee" episode "Bad Reputation". — It wasn’t quite the same as this, but…

Right at the top of the “Class A” category – and in a slightly bigger font size than the rest – was someone named [here ILB casts around randomly for a female name] “Dani”. I didn’t know who she was; she hadn’t gone to my primary school and wasn’t in any of my classes, but she was clearly a known name. I did, of course, become acquainted with her soon afterwards, because she pinched my bum.

No, I don’t know why either. Bum-pinching had become the hot girls’ preferred way of communicating with me. It wasn’t something the staff would notice, especially when we were cramming into the assembly hall; they presumably also liked the squeal I let out and how high I’d jump in the air. I did occasionally wonder how my sexually-obsessed bully would have reacted had any girl pinched his bum.

But the images weren’t fun, so I stopped wondering.

They also weren’t keen on denying it, either. “You should recognise me,” Dani said at one point, “because I pinched your bum yesterday and you saw it was me.”
“You could have just said hello,” I pointed out.
“Nah, that’s no fun.”
“What, and my bum is?”
“…”
“…”
“…I mean… yes…?”

Einstein and I weren’t the only ones left off the board in favour of institutionalised sexism. Lightsinthesky’s design was left off too, although (as I pointed out) I didn’t think “METALLICA GENERALLY RULE” in huge black text was much of a design. Still, it would have been better content than “Top Class Girls”.

“Some of the girls on that one are really fit, though,” he said, because of course he did.
“I don’t know, really,” I admitted. “I don’t really talk to any of them, but I’ve met Dani, because she pinched my bum and…”
“DANI PINCHED YOUR BUM?!”
“Yes. Anyway, I turned around to see who it was and…”
“YOU WHAT? YOU’RE THE LUCKIEST GUY IN THE SCHOOL! ANYONE ELSE WOULD WANT DANI TO PINCH THEIR BUM! I’VE HAD DREAMS ABOUT THAT!”
“I actually felt a bit violated.”
“YOU IDIOT! USE THAT! HAVE YOU EVEN THOUGHT OF HOW [my bully’s name] WOULD REACT IF HE FOUND THAT OUT?”

I had, of course, thought about that, but I’m sure he’d find some way to weaponise having my arse grabbed by presumably the most beautiful girl in the school. I don’t quite know how. But he’d have found a way.

Years later, in the carefree sixth form days when everyone had kind of loosened up a bit and Dani had left the school, the Floof and a gaggle of the other girls made their own list of the boys. They’d put me in at number 10 initially, before bumping me down to 11 because they’d forgotten about Brad. He took my place and I was unceremoniously crossed off.

“How do you feel about that?” asked one of the other hot girls who had pinched my bum five years prior.
“Oh, I don’t know…” I said vaguely. “I guess that makes me Class B…”

And I’m still annoyed that nobody got the reference!

This post doesn’t actually exist!

April 9, 2025 / Innocent Loverboy / 0 Comments

There’s a grainy, indistinct picture of me barely visible on Google Street View. You can see me through the window of the maisonette I used to live in; I’m hunched over my computer screen. It doesn’t take a genius to work out what I’m doing.

I wonder how many people have seen this, I think to myself, and if any of them think it’s hot? Has anyone masturbated to the suggestion of me masturbating? Would Google even approve?

Then I remember there’s another picture of me taken in the flat I currently live in. You can’t really see well through the slatted blinds, but it’s slightly clearer; the resolution’s a bit better, and if you look very carefully, it is suggestive of the bare-faced truth: that I am naked. You can’t see everything, obviously, but this one is definitely ILB, to the eagle-eyed viewer.

The first shot is similar to that famous one of Luigi Mangione, I think. You can’t see my face… maybe I should post it on my blog!

I haven’t posted anything on my blog for a while. I keep meaning to do that. Let’s post a picture and see how many people react.

I open my laptop and hit Print Screen, but before I can paste what I capture into Paint, everything goes dark, my mousepad stops working, my laptop morphs into amorphous goo and it’s a dream, isn’t it, it’s a bloody dream, I finally get something to blog about and it isn’t even fucking real, I mean, seriously…

Maybe I’ll think of something else.

I get up to use the bathroom. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I have an UNUSUALLY LARGE PENIS.

I can’t post a picture of that, I rationalise, but maybe I can write about my penis. I haven’t done that for a while.

Then I suddenly check myself. My penis is only UNUSUALLY LARGE when it’s erect. It definitely isn’t just as big when flaccid. Unless something odd happened in the past 24 hours, this must be another dream. Yet again something that doesn’t belong in my blog.

I give a salute to the mounted soldiers who ride past the open-topped bus I’m suddenly on, use a Tesco carrier bag to hide my junk because I’m otherwise wearing absolutely nothing, get home to the crumbling manor house/hotel thingy in which I now live, hide myself from my housemates and think about putting some clothes on, except I don’t do that.

When I finally do wake up I’m both amused at how odd my brain is and annoyed that I can’t put any of this on my blog.

And I’m really annoyed about this… so I put it on my blog.

40

March 16, 2025 / Innocent Loverboy / 0 Comments

Today is the last day of my 30s.

I should probably be 40 already. I was born a week late (my mother claims I was still in there reading The Beano) and, for a while, it looked as if I wasn’t going to make it. Eventually, however, I was born on St Patrick’s Day, a date that becomes even more humorous when I tell people I don’t drink.

For a very long time (in fact, since I started this thing back in 2007) I’ve been wondering what to do when I turn 40. I did assume (as it turns out, correctly) that I’d still be blogging by this point, but as whom? At forty years old, am I still really a boy? I’ve always considered myself one. So do I change my name? Accept that I am finally into the adulthood I have been so strenuously resisting for twenty-four years and shed the moniker of “Innocent Loverboy” to which I have always painfully clung?

I could always go with “Innocent LB”, I thought. That’s my blog URL and social media handle. I could just do that and then refuse to explain what the LB stands for.

But then I look back at the ILB from 2007 and compare it to now. 18 years later (this blog could be a full adult) and it does seem like very little has changed. I still play Nintendo games. I’m still a fan of Knightmare, Star Wars and Pokémon. Additionally, I read DC Comics; I write songs; I listen to James. I remain a member of Woodcraft and the Green Party, I have a similar taste in movies (classical, contemporary and – of course – smutty). And I still have stories to tell. I even work in the same industry…

At least my logo has changed.

The more I think about it, the more ILB at 40 sounds to all intents and purposes like ILB at 22. People around me evolve all the time; just this morning I was talking over breakfast with Einstein about how many friends have ventured into the “having children” malarkey. 40 sounds incredibly old – I mean, that’s practically 60, and that’s practically dead. Bang, and I’m in my declining years!

Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose…

But no matter how I age (dis)gracefully, something still ties me to my “boy” identity, and by extension, my “Innocent Loverboy” moniker. If I’m the same person I was then, that’s the name I should be using. If GOTN can be a girl on the net, there’s really no reason I can’t be a loverboy. I mean, I still love… and I’m still kind of innocent…

…right? RIGHT?!

But here’s the rub. At the age of 40, does my content need to be any different? Do I need to move along from soft porn reviews, funny/awkward/sexy bits from my past, conversations with my friends, excessive parenthetical comments and awful self-deprecation?

There’s an answer to this: no. It’s all part of my brand. For years now I’ve been entertaining dozens, if not hundreds, of readers with pretty much the same claptrap. People still read, they still see, and they still interact (even if they don’t do as much any more…); blogging may not be as huge a medium as it used to be, but I persist.

Societal pressures, of course, tell me I should really do something for my 40th. And so I’ll announce it here:

Hi, I’m ILB. I’m really old.