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.

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

Man-struation

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Room 401

Compost

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

The Shadows Fall Behind You

Blogging

How and If to Continue

Erotic Fiction

Conference
driving lessons
Elegant is as Elegant does
Naked in the Rain
I’ll Watch
The Muse
Underdog
On the Dark Side
Cosmic
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

Masturbation Monday: A seagull’s cry

We were in one of the classic threesome line-ups, with Maires on her knees, ass up, getting fucked by me, with her head down between Stephanie’s thighs, her nose, lips and tongue deep in Stephanie’s centre. Stephanie lay back, slowly writhing, eyes closed.

She’d let go of Maires’s hair, and her fingers were clenched on Maires’s shoulders. There was a little smear of blood on Maires’s right shoulderblade, where Stephanie’s nails had dug into her skin. I doubt that Maires had noticed.

I’d promised Stephanie that she’d still be feeling me while I fucked Maires, and so I smacked Maires on her right thighs. Then again, so I had her attention. “Slow down, Maires. I told you to follow me. You do Stephanie at the speed I’m doing you. Remember?”

“Yes sir. Sorry, sir.” Maires raised her head from Stephanie and looked at me for a second. Beseeching.

She seemed to have forgotten her embarrassment about calling me “sir” in front of Stephanie. But she knew that she’d just been slightly disobedient, and disobedience usually got her caned, and she probably didn’t want me to cane her in front of Stephanie.

Though, dangerously for her, that idea turned me on as soon as I’d had it. So she wanted to show me she was good. She dropped her head again and kissed Stephanie’s cunt gently. She slowed down.

She put three fingers into Stephanie’s cunt, pressing upwards, and began a series of long, slow licks, from the softly creased skin below Stephanie’s cunt, slowly upwards, then around her fingers until she lapped at Stephanie’s clitoris.

Then, as I drew back from Maires, as slowly as I could, she’d lick downwards, and then reverse when I thrust forward and deeper into her. So that was our rhythm. Stephanie spread her thighs wider and lifted her knees a little. She was being a helpful girl, in case Maires needed better access. She put both hands on Maires’s head, holding handfuls of hair, and pulled her in closer. She wasn’t being dommy; just greedy.

I sped up slightly, and Maires picked up her pace, her face pressing into and pleasuring Stephanie’s cunt. She moved her fingers, thoroughly wet from Stephanie’s cunt. to press against her little asshole, and slowly enter.

Stephanie’s head fell back onto the pillow, and she moaned. I liked that sound, and wanted to hear it again, but with my cock entering her little asshole. I wanted to lean forward and kiss her, but I couldn’t just then without withdrawing from Maires.

And I needed to be in Maires just then, and she needed me.

So we picked up speed again. I fucked Maires a little harder and faster, which Maires in turn passed to Stephanie. Stephanie wailed, and that became continuous. She was going to come soon. She raised her head, and we looked at each other.

I said, “Good girl, Stephanie. I want you to come, now. Be a good girl and come, now.” Stephanie grunted, her mouth opened as if she was about to scream, but no sound came. Maires sped up again, not quite on cue from me, but unable to stop herself, her fingers and tongue working as fast as they’d go.

Stephanie stared at me, as if she was in anguish and the most terrible thing in the world was being done to her, and then she closed her eyes tight and wailed again. Her knees lifted while she cried out, a high, lost sound like a seagull’s cry, and she took her hands from Maires’s head and clutched her own breasts, squeezing tight. Then she lay back, arms fallen to her sides, gasping for breath. 

Janie’s drop, part 1

She’d kind of hoped he’d take her with him

“Why do you have to go, anyway? Can’t I come with you, Master?”

Janie knew she only sounded querulous. No one likes a whiny sub, she’d been told. She knew, too, that Paul had little choice about this trip. It was work. But Paul had never punished her for needing him.

Paul smiled. “You won’t be missing me much, Janie. You won’t have time.”

Huh? “Master?”

“You’re meeting my friend Monica. She’s in charge of you this weekend. You’ll address her as Mistress, and you’ll obey her just like you obey me. Until I collect you on Monday. Understood?”

Janie felt near-terror. She’d never obeyed, or served, anyone but him. “Yes, Master?”

This was her calm space, and they were both leaving it

Yes, Jane.”

“How can I- ?” She wanted to say, “serve anyone but you?”, but she knew this was already decided. And although this frightened her, she didn’t want to displease Paul. “How do I get to her place? Do you have her address?”

“I will deliver you, little love, and I’ll come to collect you when I’m back. And we’re leaving right now.”

Panic! She felt the sudden jolt, the lift in her heart rate. “Master! Please! I, I have to pack!”

“You’re wearing your collar. You won’t take that off, and you won’t need anything else. Now, girl.”

 

The next episode is here.

Wicked Wednesday: Darkness and light

I’m a dom. When I go to meet a bunch of people who also do bdsm, I’m likely to wear black: black boots with metal rings, black jeans with zips all over the place, black t-shirt, black jacket.

That’s traditional. It’s probably only thirty to forty years old, as traditions go, but I tend to go with traditions where they’re harmless. But in general I’m not an enormous fan of black or darkness.

Dr Frederick Wertham was quite right to say there was a strong fetishistic streak in comic book characters. (That’s Superman and Power Girl, by the way.)

For example I always preferred Superman to Batman; Superman’s story is about optimism and ethical issues, while Batman’s story is about poor Bruce Wayne being psychologically messed up because he saw his parents murdered in front of him.

Superman’s problem is essentially that he’s a god, and he has to work out ways of using his powers to help humanity without getting in their way too much. To me that’s more interesting and actually far more relatable that Batman’s dead-parents-bitterness problem.

Because we all have some power, and we all need to work out how to use our allocation of power to make things better.

 (Don’t get me wrong. I like the Batman mythos and I ain’t dissing Bruce Wayne. I just prefer Superman’s world. And worldview.)

Wertham’s mistake was in thinking there’s anything wrong with that. (Batman with Catwoman.)

Similarly, I’m not really interested in the problems of the traditional powers of darkness. I could never take vampires, werewolves, ghosts, demons and devils seriously. I don’t just mean that I don’t think they’re real. It’s that as story elements they seem kind of silly, rather than sexy or stylish or chilling or whatever. I can’t be scared by a vampire story or movie, because they just don’t feel real. 

Darkness, when I’m writing, tends to come in the shape of a corrupt or authoritarian politician, a racist cop, a violent husband.

Or just malign chance, like disease or car accident. 

Most of the people in stories I write, including the erotica, are well-meaning. They may get ratty, and thoughtless, but that’s because they’re under stress. Given time to relax and think, they behave better. I write that kind of interaction not because it’s a fantasy world I want to live in: it’s actually the way that most real people actually do behave. I also think it’s more interesting: the struggle people have, in trying to find and make themselves do the right thing. And conflict between people who both think they’re doing the right thing, and are well-meaning, is more interesting that struggles between “good” and “evil”. 

Once we’ve got our black gears on, all male doms think we look like this. In our dreams…

As a dom, I give control, restraint and certain kinds of pain to women who want that, to be controlled, held tight, bound, given carefully measured touches of pain, while knowing that they are loved and looked after.

That doesn’t seem to me to be “dark”, or enhanced by pretending that it is. It’s colourful, the colours of blush and arousal, which vary with different skin colours, but are seldom really “black”. Sex, and especially bdsm, is not at all monochrome. 

It’s an exchange, for love, or at least affection, and pleasure on both sides. We give each other things that the other fiercely needs, while receiving the equivalent from them.

So I don’t deal much in darkness, or in black. Except for the clothes. 

 

I’ll be back to Maddie’s saga next week.