WHO drops “diseases” BDSM, fetishism and transvestism off the sick list! Part 2

The previous post is here.

The World Health Organisation has declared that bdsm, fetishism and transvestism are not “diseases” or disorders. Its latest issue of the publication “International Classification of Diseases”, or ICD-11, has dropped these categories from its list of “paraphilic disorders”. This represents an end to years of struggle by bdsm advocates, LGBTIQ activists, also academics who pay attention to actual evidence.

This post looks at what those sexual tastes and orientations were doing there in the first place. 

The Freudian hangover

They were in the ICD in the first place for two entirely spurious reasons. The first is simply  bigotry and social disapproval, often but not always religiously based. The second was non-empirical theorising by pre-scientific writers on sex and psychology.

Freud is perhaps the most important culprit, because he managed to found a cult around himself and his musings, so that his influence lingered far longer than, really, it should have.

Also, Freud’s ideas about bdsm were so alarming, to those who took them seriously, that his followers had to give the “problem” of bdsm close attention. 

The consequence was that from 1930 to 2000, most academic writing on bdsm was by Freudians. (I’ve used academic databases, and counted.) To most psychologists, bdsm was simply a sexual taste, that some people have and some people don’t, and they didn’t look much further than that. But if the head of a cult declared it was a threat to all life, cult followers need to spend a lot of time writing about it. To a man and woman, what they wrote was evidence-free word-spinning.

Freud believed a lot of fairly odd things about bdsm, but one of the most dangerous things he wrote was that “masochists” seek to avoid pleasure, and since all life seeks pleasure, then “masochists” must be in the service of some sort of death force. This death force is fundamentally opposed to the life force.

The less sexy meaning of “please don’t spank me, Daddy.” Anna Freud walking  with her father, spanker and psychoanalyst Sigmund.

It seems likely that the only “masochist” Freud ever actually talked to (though he claimed otherwise) was his own daughter, Anna, who he used to spank over his knee when she was a little girl. Later, she went into analysis with her father, and they talked about the erotic feelings he’d aroused in his own daughter, in a “therapist/client relationship”.

Any modern therapist belonging to a professional association who did something as unethical (for multiple reasons) as that would get struck off so fast it’d make their ears spin.

Anyway, the one piece of evidence Freud had was that spankings can bring out an erotic, pleasured response. Ignoring that one piece of evidence, he built up an apocalyptic theory that “masochists”, as haters of pleasure and life, are trying to bring about the end of all life. Later, he decided that “sadists” are also part of the death force, as well as being the cause of Nazism. So bdsm is of tremendous importance, and it is disastrous. 

Apocalypse now! Zombie “sadists” and “masochists” celebrating their victory over the life force

(However bdsm people shouldn’t feel singled out. Freud also claimed that the Eqyptian king Akhenaten escaped his death, scrambled across the desert, converted to Judaism and became Moses. The fall-back position was that Moses was a priest of Akhenaten. Either position has to ignore the 500 year gap between Akhenaten and the rise of Judaic monotheism.

Have I digressed yet? And, Freud wrote, the Earl of Oxford wrote Shakespeare.)

However, if Freud was right about bdsm, then you can make some empirical predictions. For example:

  • people who practice bdsm are more likely to have spent time in jail, because of their anti-life, antisocial sexuality and their propensity for death and violence; 
  • people who practice bdsm should be earning less money, because their anti-life, anti-social sexuality would stop them from holding down a good job;
  • people who practice bdsm should have less education, because their anti-life and anti-social tendencies would stop them from staying in school, let alone going on to higher education;
  • people who practice bdsm should enjoy sex less than most people, since all the masochists are seeking to avoid sexual pleasure.

These and other predictions were eventually tested. Not, it goes without saying, by Freudians.

For the results, tune in the same time and place next week.

Wicked Wednesday: Janie’s drop Part 2

[I’m taking a break from the Maddie saga, because I’m flat out working. Here’s something I prepared earlier.]


Janie’s Drop #2

The previous episode is here


Monica was tall, dark-haired and slender, in a tight black dress. She’d kissed Paul at the door, ignoring Janie. They talked quietly. Janie looked around an ordinary room. Ordinary except for the trestle in the corner. She had to admit she knew what that was for.

Paul and Monica were watching her. Monica nodded. “Strip, dear. Completely. Kneel beside your Master.”

Janie looked at Paul, beseeching. He said, “I told you to obey her as you do me. You’re being insolent, Janie.”

Janie removed her shirt, then wriggled out of her skirt. She took off her sandals and knelt, body upright, hands by her knees. She stayed close to Paul. She was afraid of Monique.

Monica looked at her the way Paul did, as if she were the most fascinating thing in the universe. She didn’t think she liked it from Monica. She loved Paul. Anyway, she didn’t like women. Not sexually. Monica smiled at her, but addressed Paul. “She has lovely breasts, and a perfectly adorable little bottom. I’m sure you make her serve you often.”

Serve, thought Janie. She pleased Paul any way he ordered, but they made love. But Paul only said, “Yes. She’ll serve you too, of course.”

Oh god no, please, Janie thought. She could feel the heat in her face.

Monica walked behind her. “Oh! And she’s been punished!”

Janie wanted the floor to swallow her. She wore the trace of Paul’s cane. Twelve strokes, for not calling her mother. Three days ago:  the marks had barely faded.

Paul smiled. “You can discipline her, for your pleasure or as punishment. But tell me if you have to punish her.”


“Why’s that, Janie?” The sharpness in his voice helped her guess.

“So you can give me the same when you return. Master.”

 “Good girl. Clever girl.” She liked his praise. Janie relaxed a little.

Paul said, “The airport’s waiting. Janie, kiss my feet.”

Janie dropped to her elbows and knees and lowered her face, touching her lips and tongue to his shoe. Her cunt felt it hard, as always: it was something loving she did for him, and it made her feel utterly and deliciously submissive.

While she moved to his other shoe, Paul said, “I expect her back in good condition. Stripes and bruises, fine, but no damage.”


Paul shook Monica’s hand. It was a transfer, thought Janie. He looked at her, hand on the door, and she knew that, harsh as he was trying to be, he’d miss her too. Then he was gone.


The next episode is here.

Masturbation Monday: The adventures of Stephanie’s ass

The previous episode is here.

I‘d told Stephanie that I’d fuck her again when, and possibly if, she could make Maires moan. Since I wanted her very much, I was intending to interpret any sexual comfort noises that Maires might make as moans. But Maires had a strong mischievous streak, and I expected that she’d be silent for a while, making Stephanie work and keeping me from entering her.

I knew that Stephanie minded my cock not being in her, which was in itself a powerfully erotic thought. She was on her knees, her ass up and her head down between Maires’s thighs, mouth and tongue on Maires’s cunt, her hands under Maires’s thighs. Maires wriggled under Stephanie, to give her better access. She let her hands rest lightly on Stephanie’s head, caressing rather than directing. 

I watched them, two beautiful women, both of whom I loved in different ways, in loving embrace. Stephanie was having a new experience. I wondered how she was feeling. But as far as I could tell she was pixified, enchanted, happily exploring Maires’s cunt and her own responses.

I was still dangerously close to coming. When I entered Stephanie, I hoped to last at least until Maires came. But just then simply entering the soft paradise of her cunt again, feeling her ass pressed against me, would bring me to release.

I tried to relax, and despite the eroticism of their mutually moving bodies, I thought for a moment about all the species of dog I could name, that began with the letter L: labrador, lowchen, wasn’t there a Lhasa something?

But Maires grunted, a pleasured sound, and then made a low groan through her nose. I said, “Labradoodle,” which fortunately they ignored, and positioned myself behind Stephanie, holding her hips.

We moved together, in time with the rhythm of Stephanie’s head between Maires’s thighs, slowly joining.

Then Stephanie gasped, like Maires had, as I pushed deeper into her, sometimes withdrawing a little then moving forward, skin sliding wetly along sensitive skin.   

I wanted to praise them both, for being beautiful, and good and loving, but just then I couldn’t do words. Maires made another pleasure noise, under Stephanie’s mouth, and I sped up, fucking Stephanie harder, faster. I knew that sound, though Stephanie hadn’t heard it before. Maires was close.

Maires lifted her knees then, thighs tightly clasping Stephanie’s head. Her hands that had rested on the back of Stephanie’s head clenched, seizing her by the hair, and pulling. Her body worked, pushing up at Stephanie’s face. Her eyes squeezed shut, and her mouth opened, a silent scream, and then her ass rose from the bed while she clawed at Stephanie’s back and growled.

Lioness, I thought. My love is like a lioness. And I leaned down to kiss the back of Stephanie’s neck, reached under her to hold her breasts, and came in her. Also growling.

Stephanie laughed, triumphant, having made us both come. But, I noted, she hadn’t come herself.

We two growling animals would have to pleasure her, next. Stephanie had fallen amongst the burning beasts.


The next episode is here.  

Sinful Sunday: Spanker’s view

There are many nice things about being spanked, I’m told. And sometimes submissive, spankable girls ask what’s in it for me. How can I be having as much fun as they’re having?

There are a lot of answers to that. But this is one of them. The view is amazing. 



WHO drops “diseases” BDSM, fetishism and transvestism off the sick list! (Part 1)

On 18 June 2018, the World Health Organisation (WHO) issued a new version of its International Classification of Diseases and Associated Health Problems (ICD). The new version, ICD-11, included a substantially re-worked version of its section on “paraphilic disorders”. 

“Paraphilia” is an interesting word, by the way. It seems to have gained currency fairly recently. (I’ve got a 1983 Oxford Concise Dictionary lying about, and it’s not in it.) It was an attempt to provide a more “neutral” word than “perversion” for non-standard sexual tastes.

Two perfectly nice girls declared sane, at last. It’s a 1930s photo, so they waited 80 years. Tess, right, says, “Yay! I’m getting a bigger violin!” Violet, left, thinks Tess will be drawing a longer bow. 

But “para” as a prefix means “beside” or “beyond”; so there’s still a buried assumption that the paraphilic person has “missed” the proper target in developing their “philia”, that is, the objects of their sexual desires.

So prejudice sneaked back in, even when the people using the word were presumably trying to avoid it. Never mind. They tried, anyway.

In all the editions of the ICD up to the 11th, the paraphilic disorders section included sexual sadism, sexual masochism, fetishism and transvestism.

This year, they’ve all been removed. Sexual sadism on non-consenting victims is still included, as of course it should be.


I’m going to give a history of how and why this change happened this time next week. (My next three posts are going to be sexy rather than analytical, so I won’t have time to get back to this topic till then.) 

Oh, all right, here’s the quick version:

In the meantime, the short-short version is that three factors in particular fed into this change: 

1  A similar change in the ICD’s sister publication, the Diagnostic Statistical Manual (DSM) in its most recent version, the DSM-V;

2  Activism by bdsm and fetishist communitiers and spokespeople, particularly in Sweden, Norway, Denmark, and in the United States;

Trust me. I’m a doktor. 

3  Research showing that people who take part in bdsm are otherwise indistinguishable from everyone else. Except for being younger and hornier than the population as a whole.

The most powerful evidence came from the Australian Study of Sexual Health and Attitudes, 2003 and 2014.

Which I was involved in. Hence the gratuitous selfie on our left of the learned Doktor Mortimer taking a bow.

(Not a real doctor; just a real actual worm.)

The next post on this topic is here.

Wicked Wednesday: Lucy’s face

I watched Lucy, her eyes fixed on mine as she bent lower, her lovely breasts descending, and then flattening as her body touched the table. Now I could only see her back, and the upper slopes of her bottom. “Put your hands under your Mistress’s thighs. Good. Hold her, and don’t let go or you’ll get extra. And where does your face go?” Lucy wriggled forward. I felt her hair against my thighs, and then her nose and mouth.


But I’m going to have to cut here, though. This has been published and my publishers don’t want free competition from me. You can read it here

Masturbation Monday: Favours and flavours exchanged

The previous episode is here.


Seconds later Maires yowled her own cry, and I felt her cunt seem to clutch at my cock. There was a series of fluttering contractions, and I gasped with the pleasure of it, which was almost too intense to bear. I said, “Ahhhh, uh,” while Maires screamed.

I reached under her and squeezed her breasts, with my thumbs and forefingers squeezing and hurting her nipples, and rode her ass hard, and fast, until she screamed again. 

There seemed to be finality in that second orgasm. Maires had no more left, for a while. So I slowed, growling like a bear, and then stopped.

Maires rested her head on Stephanie’s right thigh. Her hair was wet. 

“Two happy girls. I think this is the best thing there is.” That was inane. Neither Stephanie nor Maires answered. It was true, though.

I’d held off my own orgasm when Maires came because I’d already come in Stephanie’s mouth, when we were in the playground across the road, and that gave me the control to hold myself back. I wanted my next orgasm to be… later.

This has never seemed like a bad idea

I could come in Stephanie’s mouth again. Or in Maires’s. Or both. Maybe I just wanted to fuck Stephanie again. Or both of them. The next time I came, it would take a while to recover. And this was no time for down time. Still, I thought, maybe I could lie on my back, while Stephanie sat on my cock, riding happily, and Maires was on my face where I could tongue her.

On the other hand, maybe the next person to do Maires with their mouth should be Stephanie. Anyway, there was no such thing as a bad choice.

Still undecided, I smacked Maires’s arse again. “Keep very still.”

Maires froze obediently, and I pulled out of her cunt, very slowly. And very carefully; it would take very little to make me come, just then. I rolled Maires over onto her side, and we kissed. Then, without needing to speak, we both moved up the bed, where Stephanie held out her arms, welcoming both of us.

We kissed, the three of us, the two women side by side like the base of a triangle. I was the apex, above them, my cock comfortably held between their hips. Stephanie kissed Maires, and looked at her. Some understanding passed between them, though I didn’t know what it was.

But Stephanie put her hand on my cock. She squeezed, and I gasped again: her cock-puppet. Then she opened her legs again. “You said you’d be in me, once I got onto the bed.”

“Oh. I did, didn’t I?” I slipped my cock between Stephanie’s thighs, the head just touching her cunt. It was a good promise, and I wanted to keep it. But I didn’t push forward. Not yet. Stephanie gazed up at me, puzzled. What was keeping me? 

I said, “Maires? When was the last time Stephanie licked you?”

Maires grinned, while Stephanie looked briefly apprehensive. The answer was ‘never’. I’d be willing to bet that Stephanie had never used any part of her body to pleasure another girl in her life. I kissed Stephanie, then. “Maires just made you come. Do you think you can return the favour?”

“I’ll try.” Then Stephanie looked across at Maires. “Maires, if I’m doing it wrong, please tell me. And tell me what to do. I’m not very – Well, I’m not even slightly experienced.”

Maires hugged her, one hand on her breast, her cunt pressed firmly against Stephanie’s hip. “The only thing you can do wrong, darling, is not enjoy yourself.”

Stephanie’s experience of my belt was still hypothetical. But all three of us knew it was going to happen. Though we didn’t know when.

I said, because it seemed time to reclaim one particular kind of erotic tension, “Or not try hard enough. You’ll show enthusiasm, Stephanie.”

Stephanie grinned and squeezed my cock again. She weren’t afraid of no doms. So I put growl back into my voice. “My belt is on the floor, at the moment. And you haven’t felt it across your arse, yet. Both of those things can change, girl.”

Stephanie only stroked my cock. But Maires knew what was happening. She said, “Sir, I think she does need the belt. And I really want to watch while she gets it.”

Stephanie raised her eyebrows at that, but I could feel her mood changing back. I was in command again. I said, “Onto your back, Maires. And Stephanie, onto your knees. You know what to do.”

Same as before (but the women have swapped positions)

Maires rolled out from under me, and held out her arms for Stephanie. She wanted her. I thought Stephanie would like the new experience, and feel proud of herself when Maires came. But Stephanie didn’t move. She said, “What about you?”

“The first time we hear Maires moan, you’ll get my cock back. Where it belongs, pretty girl.”

So Stephanie rolled onto her tummy, head between Maires’s thighs. Slowly, and spectacularly, her ass rose.


The next episode is here.




Sinful Sunday: Zoë Keeler

This reminds me of Christine Keeler’s famous chair photo. The Tories were in at the time, so it’s to my right —>

Except that Ms Keeler had a significantly smaller chair. And my lovely model, being a dancer, has better legs.

And my model is leaning back, as if that chair is a bucking bronco.

She is, in fact, rocking that chair. (Only in the fashion sense, of course.) 



E[lust] 107: All bad children live in heaven!

Photo courtesy of Cammies on the Floor

Welcome to Elust 107

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #108? Start with the rules, come back July 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Baby making…

I thought of GotN while fucking


~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Room 401


~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

The Shadows Fall Behind You


How and If to Continue

Erotic Fiction

driving lessons
Elegant is as Elegant does
Naked in the Rain
I’ll Watch
The Muse
On the Dark Side
The Shadows Fall Behind You
The Key to Room 237 – The Embrace.

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

On Letting Go
Not Bad, but Not Good
His Voice (and other things)
Compersion and the Green-Eyed Femdom
Kinky Fuckery

Erotic Non-Fiction

Our Largest Organ
The lovers joined
The Comfort of Familiar Sex

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Outside the Bubble
Are you on Collarspace.com? Read this
Selling Worn Knickers
My naked Mistress

Wicked Wednesday: Maddie’s tale

I clambered up onto his desk, aware of both Lucy and Sir watching me. So I sat on the middle, my knees up, arms over my knees, looking at them. He said, “Good girl. Now skootch a little further back. So you’re on the far side of the desk. When my chair is.” 

I skootched. His desk was oak. The wood was so hard and cold, under my bottom and thighs. “Sir?” 


But I’m going to have to cut here, though. This has been published and my publishers don’t want free competition from me. You can read it here