The porn star gurn: photos in this blog 1

A reader commented that my gratuitous damn pictures aren’t safe for work. I don’t think she was seriously complaining; it was just that a pic of a pretty girl having a shower had popped up on my blog, and on her computer screen, just as her tutor was looking over her shoulder. And so she was outed as a reader of mildly kinky erotica. 

Anyway, I said I’d explain the rationale behind my use of illustrations. So here goes… 

1  Resemblance

The first thing is that all of the stories I tell here are true, except where I’ve indicated otherwise.

Cute socks. But the paddling should only happen to someone who has the right not to be paddled

Nice little kilt, cute socks. But paddling should only happen to someone who has the right to choose not to be in a relationship in which she gets her ass paddled. So I’ll never paddle a real schoolgirl: only fake ones.

I wrote a “spanked schoolgirl” story for a woman who really liked that story-universe. But I’ve never spanked a schoolgirl. Never would. An adult woman in a little kilt is a different question. And in a recent story I borrowed an incident that’d happened with a different woman, and moved it into the story I was telling at the time. I think those are the only exceptions.  

Qing is a real person, and so is Raylene. And so is Senimelia, Ana, Sa’afia, and so on. However, I’ve changed their names and anything else that might be an identifying piece of information, and I’m not going to use a real photo of them.

I look for photos that capture something of the way they looked, at least to me, but that are also different enough to misdirect anyone who actually happens to know the people concerned. I don’t quite know why I try for that kind of resemblance. It just feels right. But it can take hours, by the way.

2 “Realness”

Yeah, I know: “Like, what is Real?” asked Jesting Pilate. “What’s that even mean?”

A picture otherwise unlikely to appear on this blog

A picture otherwise unlikely to appear on this blog

I know that the women who work in mainstream porn are “real” people, and I don’t mean any disrespect to them. But I tend to avoid pictures of bodies that are too sculptured or fake tanned, and I’m put off by pictures that include breasts, eyes and mouths that look like they’ve had what’s called “work”. 

I prefer pictures – and women, in real life – who look “natural”. I know that straight men underestimate how much make-up it sometimes takes to make a woman look like she isn’t wearing make-up. I know that “real”, “natural”, and their opposites, don’t mean as much as we like to think. And “looks natural” means something very different from “natural”.

“Natural” is too hard to define, or recognise. That’s why I wrote “looks natural”.

Still, I tend to fancy a woman who works at a bookshop I drop in at, or who is doing check-out at a supermarket, or is just strolling down the street, much more than I fancy most porn stars. They seem more “real”. So the pictures I choose reflect that. Not out of policy; to me they just look better.

3 The porn star gurn

Demonstrating the porn star gurn

Demonstrating the porn star gurn: she may also make dry moan and say, “yes, yes, yes!”

I know lesbians – well, bi girls, mostly – who find girl-on-girl porn made for men depressing because the girls’ cunts are dry: they may have a lubrication glaze, but they are obviously not turned on. An equivalent is the face a bored model pulls to show she’s in the throes of sexual ecstasy.

Even if she’s an attractive woman, the porn star gurn shows that she’s not interested, which is a turn-off. And she thinks her audience is so stupid that they won’t know, which is an additional turn-off.

Anyway, I try to keep gurning, sex-related or otherwise, out of this blog’s Magic Toyshop of images. 

The non-porn gurn

Demonstrating the non-porn gurn

“Gurning”, by the way, is an Irish term that means pulling an extreme face to make the gurner’s head look very, very weird. It’s a kind of transformation that the heroes do, on a bigger scale, in many Gaelic epics. Anyway, gurning is a thing. They have competitions for it. 

I don’t how long other people take to select photos. Anyway, I’m out of time for this post, but have more to say about images. So I’ll continue this tomorrow. 

By the way, I had a great-uncle who used to go in for gurning competitions in the pub in his town, which had a lot of ex-patriate Irish. He won certificates for it, which was honourable if not profitable. To give a better idea of the type of guy he was, he also used to say: “Have a Great Day! Day, not Dane. Jesussss…” This will be his only mention in this blog. 

New Year

I was up a mountain last night, where I made some resolutions, something I hardly ever do. But this year I’m going to:

That's me at bottom right. Hypothetically. Except in Canada and places that rhyme with "cunt".

That’s me at bottom right. Hypothetically. Except in Canada and places that rhyme with “cunt”.

1 Get fitter;

2 Drink more water;

3 Get more sleep;

4 Do less paid work;

5 Set up a business I enjoy, and then do more paid work;

6 Spend more time engaged in bdsm.

7 Erm, that’s it.

Thanks to all my readers in 2015, and I hope you all have a fantastic 2016!

Christmas greeting! Undress us, one and all!

kiltI’ve always thought of New Year as the distinctively Scots festival. But I’ve got to acknowledge the fact that they invented the kilt and put girls in it, the perverts. And that you can’t have Christmas elves and such without pretty girls in kilts.

I suppose the rest of us fell into line with liking kilts, as worn by women, because the colours are cheerful, and with the right stride they’re very flappy little skirts.

They’re supremely, easily liftable, too, if the kilted woman is in that mood. Something like a tight little black cocktail dress can take a lot of tugging and shuffling, to get it off.

But a kilt … well, as I mentioned, a puff of wind can do it. Engineering genius.

seasons greetinAnd in Scots dialect “greeting” means crying. So there are lots of “Season’s greetings” puns right there. 

The Scots probably didn’t invent dakryphilia, which is the sexual appreciation of tears. Maybe the fact that “dakryphilia” is coined by a German from a Greek root is the clue, there.  

Still, the people who gave us the kilt and the word “greeting” are already bdsm legends. And let’s not forget that other Scots invention, the tawse.

germanHere’s a tawsed girl, showing the effectiveness of that implement in behaviour modification. And skin decoration, too. 

The girl is the beautiful “Linda”, and she’s German, not Scots. So’s the man wielding the tawse.

(I can always recognise that guy’s work because he always straps or canes on that angle, and – ask me – he aims a little too high.)

Anyway the Scots contribution isn’t as cool as their being mainly responsible for the Enlightenment. Still, perving up Christmas is a significant cultural achievement. 

So I hope you all have some sort of sexually complicated Christmas, possibly involving nudity and activity, and greetin’: the cheers, tears, yowls and howls of happy people. 

Closer to what I'd hope for

What I’d hope for (with a North American socket), but I hope everybody gets what they want.

For those who like blokes: here's a crew of thematic guys.

For those who like blokes: here’s a crew of thematic guys. I covet the antlers, but. 


Crazy monkey attack woman!

This, apparently, is a Sexy Monkey costume. I'm not sure that real monkeys would recognise it.

This, apparently, is a Sexy Monkey costume. I’m not sure that real monkeys would recognise it.

Someone just found this blog by typing this into a search engine: نساء سس مع قرود.

So I put that Arabic phrase into Google, and it took me to a whole lot of sites about monkeys sexually attacking women. Hey, there’s porn of it! “Crazy monkey attack hot women!” “Two girls, one monkey!” And so on and suchlike. 

Which led me to wondering how the guy (we’ll assume it’s a guy, shall we?) who typed that got directed to my blog.

I’ve never posted anything that catered for his taste. I’m not into humans having sex with animals. Not just “not interested”;  I hate disapproving of things, but I disapprove of people fucking animals, or setting things up so the animal has to fuck a human.

If I was arguing the case against bestiality I’d say it’s wrong because it’s non-consensual, since animals can’t consent. (Ah-hah! Someone could say: you reckon animals consent to be killed and eaten?)

Then I’d say it tends to be cruel. (And someone could work out some arrangement in which the animal was neither hurt nor frightened, and the human was consenting.)

And then I’d fall back on the yuck factor. Bestiality squicks me. That’s no basis for making law and policy (plenty of people are still squicked by sex between men), so I don’t have a very strong case. Still, I can do what I like, and not do what I don’t like, on my own blog.

Anyway, I guess he found one of my posts about bonobos, which would have included the words “monkeys”, at least as in “bonobos are not monkeys”, “sex” and “woman”. And I hope he also found complete satisfaction. 

Apologia pro vita sua (my lousy excuse for a life)

Sorry about the lack of posts.

I’ve been unreasonably busy on life stuff, organising and hosting a munch, taking a half a ton of iron and wood to the tip, dismantling someone else’s carpentry (an old workbench) and doing some of my own (posts for a trellis, for growing loganberries, passionfruit and kiwifruit). Plus all that sordid earning a living stuff. The worst thing about work is that you have to do things you don’t especially feel like. 

And there’s something else that may make this a blog written by a more cheerful man, but it’d be, oh, you know, inappropriate to talk about that. 

I’ll get on with the Raylene story soon, so that she finally gets off the stairs, after getting off on the stairs, but I’ll only have time to write that in the next couple of days. 

So to prove this is still a live blog, and it’s about bdsm here’s … 

Nuns aren't my thing, so I'm never going to write about them. So if you like bdsm nuns, this is just for you.

Nuns aren’t my thing, so I’m never going to write about them. So if you like bdsm nuns, this is just for you.

Complete obedience to loving authority. Ah, it must be Wonder Woman.

Complete obedience to loving authority. Ah, it must be Wonder Woman.

Contact form, and a portrait of the writer

Lovely girl, just behind me. Heart of stone.

Lovely girl, just behind me. Heart of stone.

This blog is getting readers. I’m very pleased. has been going for quite a while now, and it’s nice to know all those words aren’t just hitting a wall somewhere and sliding down to the floor.

It does mean I have to be a little more careful about fixing my first drafts before I post them. I used to put stuff up unedited and un-proofread, and fix it a day or so later, because it didn’t matter: I knew no-one was reading it anyway. Now I’ve got readers I’m more careful about making sure the posts make sense. 

As for you readers, I’d love to hear from you now you’re out there. I’ll answer questions, and probably even grant the odd blog topic request. 

There’s a Contact Us button, for writing to me. (There’s no “us”; this vast blogging and research empire; it’s just me.) Ask me anything! 

Jerusalem Mortimer on Pinterest

I’ve got a Pinterest page. I pin selected mildly erotic pictures on it, which are mostly taken from this blog. 

I get the impression that Pinterest is a pretty chaste affair, so even though I’ve been selecting photos that don’t show genitals or fucking, I’m probably pushing the boundaries even by showing nipples. So my page may not be there forever.

But what struck me as interesting is this: it’s been going a few days, and it has five followers.  But it’s just photos taken from the internet with my wordy words removed. 

My blog, on the other hand, shows off maybe a million words, most of them organised and put into the right order by me, and it’s been going for nearly three years. Do you know how many followers this blog has? 

I’m sorry, but it’s none.

I know I have readers, so I’m happy: “fit audience find, though few”, and all that. You’re discerning people, all of you.

Still, my motley and random collection of light bdsm images is going to eat this blog alive. (Bangs head on desk.) Anyway, word fans, the real business is and will always be here. I’m about the words. 

If you want to look at the inoffensive Pinterest set, it’s here


Future posts

Posts planned for the next couple of weeks. 

1  Finishing off the thoughts about domming and shame;

2  A piece about the sexual overtones of corporal punishment in schools, and how it has linked with and led to child rape, and why those countries (eg the US) that haven’t banned it yet should get their shit together and ban it now;

3  The story of Eloise and Abelard, as bdsm love story; 

4  Because Eloise and Abelard is, genuinely and historically, a semi-consensual turned fully consensual schoolgirl spanking story, I’ll finish off the schoolgirl spanking story involving “Cindy”, just for the sake of writing something hot and uncomplicated. 

And that’ll hold us for a while. I thought I’d managed to drive my cold off, but it’s back with a vengeance, and I’m off to bed.

Becoming happy again

They say a Master without a submissive is a slightly ludicrous figure. Ah well, I managed to carry it off with great wisdom and dignity. Didn’t I?

Anyway, I may be on the way to becoming less ridiculous. I won’t say much else. I may be completely wrong about what’s happening. Anyway, people don’t get written about in this blog except with their permission or if the story is more five years old. So for now there may not be a lot of details.

But the tone may get happier, if I’m lucky. (Unless I crash and burn, of course. Then it’ll really get emo, in here.)