Alien Sex Secrets, Raelian Encounters and Sweet 16 Years of Marital Love and Pleasure Sex
We’re between TV shows at the moment, doing a little of this and some of that, celebrating our Sweet 16th wedding anniversary, doing delectable dinners and dynamite radio, moving Bonoboville into the next stage of beta, trying to figure out how to take over the world and survive the recession and, most importantly, sharing beautiful orgasms of all dimensions.
My Dinner with Raël
Last week, I had dinner with Raël, internationally renowned connoisseur of pleasure and “prophet” of the Raëlian Movement with about 80,000 members in 90 different countries around the world.
Apparently, after watching a few of my living legendary HBO specials, Raël recognized a kindred spirit in the cultivation of what I call ethical hedonism and what he calls our right to pleasure, and he asked his staff to make contact with me.
Raël is all about “making contact.” Before becoming a prophet, he was Claude Maurice Marcel Vorilhon, a singer/songwriter, then a journalist/race car driver, speeding down the highways and backroads of life like the rest of us. In 1973, while cruising around a volcano park in the center of France called Puy de Lassolas, he felt an irresistible impulse to pull over and get out of the car.
This is where Raël gets a little unreal. But then, what prophet worth his prophesy only sticks to dull demonstrable reality? Think of the Prophet Elisha who beheld the Prophet Elijah in a Chariot of Fire taken up by a whirlwind into Heaven. How real is that? Anyway, at this point, Raël says he saw lights flashing in the dark sky, and a large silver flying saucer slowly touched down right there in front of him, within the ditch of a volcanic crater. A staircase unfolded from the belly of the ship (guess this was pre-“Beam Me Down, Scottie” spacecraft technology), and down marched a small, humanoid “alien” with vaguely Asiatic features and a neatly trimmed black goatee.
This “extraterrestrial,” who called himself Yahweh (yes, like the most sacred Hebrew word for “God” in the Bible), told Raël that he was one of the Earth’s original “designers,” called Elohim (another Hebrew word for God or “gods,” or “those who come from the sky,” also in the Bible). Then, over the course of six mysterious encounters (none of which were photographed or witnessed by anyone else), Rael claims that Lil’ Yahweh gave him a “message from the designers” regarding science, religion, love, sex, relationships and eternal life, among other things. Rael accepted his “mission” to spend his life transmitting this message, as well as news of their imminent public appearance on Earth (preferably in an “embassy” he would build), to the rest of humanity.
The “message from the designers” is one of love, peace, pleasure and nonconformity, blending spirituality, sensuality, art and certain sciences. In some ways, these Alien Sex Secrets are rather similar to my own message of Ethical Hedonism and the Bonobo Way, though I did not have the benefit of learning it from any aliens, unless these aliens have disguised themselves as bonobo chimpanzees.
Over the years, Raël has engineered many commendable sex-positive public actions, from calling for the free distribution of condoms in schools to promoting masturbation for everyone; from worldwide campaigns to support sexual minorities to the creation of an association to help restore the clitorises of victims of female circumcision called Clitoraid. These are truly “good works” in the controversial field of sexuality, for which no other international religious organization has stepped up to the plate. For me, this more than makes up for the fact that journalist Raël happened not to have his camera on him when the Elohim came a’ knocking.
Nevertheless, UFOs and good sex works aside, I do have some major problems with Raël’s belief system, particularly his denial of the essential principles of evolution, which are the prime building blocks of biology, zoology, ornithology, anthropology, genetics and many other sciences. I can sooner tolerate Raël’s story about “Yahweh” and the little green (or whatever color) Elohim. After all, the original Yahweh/Elohim story is also pretty outrageous, not to mention nebulous and contradictory. Every religion features some mythological, other-worldly story about the whole world being created in 6 days by a distinguished old guy named “God” (Hebrew), by an egg-shaped cloud breaking to release the matter of the universe (Chinese), by a bored deity named Atum masturbating into the void (Egyptian), or by the great god Eros blowing the Breath of Life into all things (Greek), which I like to call The Original Blow-Job. Then there are all the amazing tales of virgin births, resurrections, rivers being turned into blood and water being turned into wine. Raël’s“My Favorite Martian Visits France” story is no better or worse than any of these. The Raëlian Movement is controversial in many other ways, especially for their support of human cloning, some of which you can peruse in Wikipedia. They’ve sued and been sued, and as a fellow pleasure preacher in a society that tends to exploit people’s pain, I can sympathize.
But rejecting evolution? Might as well join the science-phobic ranks of creationism. Even the Pope says evolution can co-exist with any faith, whether in a Son of God or Extraterrestrial Creator(s). I “believe” in evolution primarily because of the mountains of scientific evidence. I consider it a “theory” only in the sense that the National Academy of Sciences defines theory as “a comprehensive explanation of an important feature of nature that is supported by many facts gathered over time,” not in the popular usage of the word “theory” as a hunch, conjecture, opinion or speculation.
But I also have my spiritual reasons for my faith in the principles of change that Charles Darwin most famously (and imperfectly, but still brilliantly) identified: Because when I look into the eyes of my friend Lana, who happens to be a bonobo, I see my close cousin. And it’s not just that I have a bonobo fetish (though I do). When I look into the eyes of monkeys, I also see cousins, though more distant, and when I look into the eyes of my snake Eve, I see an even more distant cousin, but a cousin nonetheless.
So I am not going to become a Raëlian (surprise, surprise). But I have no plans to become a Buddhist either, and I’d still dig hanging out with the Dalai Lama. Thus, I enjoyed my dinner with Raël. Even if I evolved from monkeys, and he comes from outer space, Raël and I are friends and neighbors, and we share a common belief in the importance of the cultivation of pleasure for the individual and society. The people that surround him include a variety of artists, scientists, sex workers (some of whom are called Raël’s Girls) and bon vivants, many of them devout believers in the Raëlian religion. A couple of these followers had invited me to Raël’s free Las Vegas seminar, but I refuse to put myself through the ding-ding-ding of Vegas unless absolutely necessary, and besides I was in the midst of producing our spectacular Porn ‘n’ Purim Bacchanal. It turned out that Raël was going to be passing through LA on his way to Japan (which has the largest number of Raëlians next to Africa) on a convenient evening for me to go out. So Jenni and I drove over to the acclaimed JiRaffe Restaurant in Santa Monica where we found ourselves amongst an impressively international group of So Cali Raëlians as they welcomed their “messiah” with shiny red balloons and signs declaring “We Love You, Raël!”
By the way, the food at Jiraffe was out of this world (pun intended), including the most delectable foie gras I’ve eaten since I was in Côte d’Azur. I felt positively sinful consuming it, since they torture the poor geese to make it (as Raël gently reminded me), but I couldn’t help but savor the sheer delectability of every bite. Mmm. Like the most luscious cunnilingus imaginable; but with this meat, you get to swallow!
So we ate and drank and talked about the importance of pleasure sex education and our mutual love for anglewings and similar interests in creating erotic hotels. Raël treated me like a guest of honor and charmed me with his French manners, though he’s not too keen on his native country now that it has classified his religion as a “cult.” Since I hadn’t done much “homework” prior to our dinner, I didn’t know about his anti-evolution stance, so he was spared my interrogations on that point. I was curious about something else though. “What’s with the outfit?” I inquired, gesturing at his all-white costume which looked like a cross between a Samurai uniform and a spacesuit. He smiled and said that he wears it, as well as the little hair knot on top of his head, to “keep the fools away.” I could have questioned that logic, but far be it from me to criticize people’s wardrobe choices when my own generally swings from elegantly slutty to patently outrageous. Besides, the samurai spacesuit is no sillier than those bright red dresses with white lace aprons that the Catholic Cardinals wear.
Raël was flying off to Japan the next morning, but one of his top “guides,” Lara Terstenjak, recently promoted to the position of US National Leader or Bishop of the Raëlian Movement, was staying LA for a few days.
So I invited Lara to be my guest on RadioSuzy1 the next night.
Melo Queen, Speakeasy Girl, Warner Sister and BonoboWay Developer Sara Sioux Robertson, a fairly devout atheist who was raised in a Born Again Christian home, happened to be here at the Speakeasy that night after a BonoboWay development meeting. Sara passionately and intelligently questioned the believability of Rael’s visions of alien visitations and the creation of the universe, and Lara held up well under fire, never changing her story, unbelievable as it might be, never trying to “convert” us or disparage our skepticism. Moreover, we had fun just hanging out with her and her boyfriend, music producer Jimmy A. Rich.
The next day, Jimmy sent us some of his deliciously explicit music, and Lara sent us a bunch of photos of this amazing Korean sex theme park called Jeju Love Land, as an example of the type of sculptural decor that might adorn parts of the alien-welcoming embassy and/or erotic hotel that Raël intends to build, possibly in Vegas.
I’ve never been particularly interested in visiting Korea before. But take a look at these kooky kitchy wonderful sculptures sprinkled through this bloggamy, and you’ll have some idea of why I’m now considering Korea’s Jeju Island as a destination vacation.
So Lara, thanks for the tip!
Even though I won’t be converting to Raëlianism, I’m happy to have made these new friends and fellow advocates of the goodness of pleasure sex, tolerance and peace.
Dr. K: My Kind of Holy Man
I had a truly “religious” experience when I paid a visit to Dr. K in his rustic home, perched on a steep cliff in Pacific Palisades over looking the ocean. As those of you who know me know, the saintly Dr. K saved my life when I almost died from septic shock in June of 2006. Sometimes I think of him as my Orpheus whose medical skills pulled me out of the Underworld, though unlike unlucky Eurydice, I did not look back.
Almost exactly one year later, Dr. K went in for his own surgery and suffered a stroke on the operating table. When he woke up, he did not remember his name. Of course, he didn’t remember mine either. But he managed to get his father to call me and then I called him, and our friendship deepened over these past nine months as I tried to help save the sanity of the man who saved my life. Thank God & the Goddess (and maybe ET) that Dr. K is almost back to 100% of his old self, and in some ways, he’s even improved. He whipped up a delicious healthy dinner for us on a wood-burning stove, by an elephant ficus growing up from the ground right into the house. He is working at USC-LAC, though not yet back in his old job as a surgeon. However, in a couple of weeks, he is headed to El Salvador where he will perform surgery and other kinds of medicine for poor women at a clinic where he has donated his time for the last several years. I was happy to hear that he is going to do his life’s work again. Dr. K has given so much to El Salvador, and this opportunity for him to do surgery there now when red tape is tying things up at USC is something El Salvador is giving back to him.
For me, visiting Dr. K was like going to the mountaintop to see a Holy Man. Dr. K is one of the most selfless individuals I have ever known, and I’m not saying that “just” because he saved my life, but because in all my interactions and conversations with him, he seems to want nothing more than to heal the sick. After all he has been through, having suffered a stroke on the operating table at the age of 33 during surgery that was supposed to prevent just such a stroke, he is not bitter or angry. He just wants to get back to his calling: healing the sick. He is especially drawn to healing those less fortunate, whether in El Salvador or USC. I was very fortunate to be among his patients, and my good fortune to be near him continues. Visiting Dr. K in his secluded, majestic outpost, eating fresh corn and spaghetti (no foie gras here) prepared by his strong and meticulous surgeon’s hands, looking out with him upon the dark rolling ocean below us, sharing thanks in having survived our brushes with death with our respective scars, was as close to a spiritual experience as I’ve gotten for a while.
I am thrilled to announce that The 10 Commandments of Pleasure will be translated into Italian (finally!), published by Armenia in Italy in June, 2008, where my married name is Dr. Susan Block Filangieri. I Dieci Commandementes di Piacere. The Italianos are doing things a little differently, as Italianos are wont to do, publishing the book in two separate volumes, one for the male and one for the female. Piu tarde…
Sweet 16th Wedding Anniversary Party
This past Saturday, April 12, my Prince (a.k.a. my Butler) and I celebrated our Sweet 16th wedding anniversary.
Then we just decided to throw a little private dinner party at the Speakeasy.
After all, what cooler place is there than the Speakeasy to celebrate the long-term power of love with some short-term fun?
I put on a flimsy Springy green number, we opened up the gallery, bar and commissary, and about 50 invitation-only friends and colleagues joined us for a night of luscious pasta pesto, music, hookah, multiple toasts and animated, intoxicated conversation.
Plus a pinch of public sex…
If you weren’t invited, I apologize.
If you were here, you know it was low-key, compared to something like Eros Day, but it was a blast.
People kept coming up to me to ask my recipe for making love and lust last in marriage. But since this has already become another one of my endless bloggamies, I’ll just direct you to my new and revised 10 Commandments of Pleasure.
The BonoboWay Development Team was also here to celebrate our higher state of Beta. BonoboWay is our new community site, and it’s also “invitation only.” But you can request an invitation, and at this stage, and especially considering you’ve managed to make it to the end of this bloggamy, we’ll definitely invite you.
So it was a great celebration of 16 years of bonobo marriage and lots more love.
Then the Sweet 16th anniversary nightcap: a couple of pelvis-shattering private orgasms in our marital bed, inspired by our libertine interpretation of that stodgy but valuable institution of marriage and a night of fun and frolic with our sexy Speakeasy friends.