Length 01:35:35 Date: July 6th, 2019

by Dr. Susan Block.

Freedom is the greatest aphrodisiac. But bondage is a close second.

Ishara Gabri puts me in rope bondage as Sunshine holds the mic in our 4th of July show on DrSuzy.Tv. Photo: Bianca

We love both on DrSuzy.Tv… especially on a nice long 4^th of July weekend.

Ishara ties up Sunshine. Photo like a “present” for America’s birthday Photo: Harry Sapien

We’re patriots, not hatriots who wave the flag of hate and bigotry with a sickening, cruel, virulent pride.

Waving the flag like bonobos for all who need to come to America: Please come… and come again! Photo: Harry Sapien

We wave the flag like bonobos for “your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,” all who need to come to through our “golden door,” please come… and come again.

Nothing like a blood-red, off-white and navy-blue bikini to put me in the 4^th spirit. Shout-out to Mario Saucedo who custom-made it for me.

In bed in Mario Saucedo’s custom-made 4th of July thong bikini. Photo: selfie

Happy Birthday USA! We’re 243 years young—which is very young for a “nation,” especially considering that the various nations of Native Americans have been here for thousands of years.

I wish fireworks didn’t represent bombs. Photo: Selfie

I try to ignore that we celebrate war—”the Rocket’s Red Glare, the Bombs Bursting in Air”—on the 4th. Though our Military Fetishist Commander-in-Thief—whose vain, pricey and ultimately very soggy attempt to celebrate himself was a festival of bombastic fanfare and weapons porn—won’t let me or anyone else forget it.

It Rained on tRump’s Parade

Yes, it rained on tRump’s parade. I’d like to think those raindrops were the tears of America’s Founders over tRump’s concentration camps for kids. But those same revered Founders kept slaves in bondage—and certainly not the fun, consensual kind—and slaughtered Native Americans on a true Trail of Tears. In a terrible, twisted repetition of history, tRump now locks up descendants of Native Americans and their children—separately—in concentration camps.

tRump’s Fart of July

Like more and more neo-fascists, the Trumpus is an ammosexual, so there was plenty of that phallic weapons porn on display, even in the rain: fighter jets flying loop-dee-loops and tanks just sitting there while armed troops from every military branch got soaked to the tune of $2.5 million; meanwhile, tRump says they can’t afford toothpaste or diapers for the kids in his camps.

tRump can afford to have Bradley Fighting Vehicles in his “Salute to America” (and himself), but not toothpaste for the kids locked up in his concentration camps.

Yes, Presidunce Bone Spurs was a draft dodger. Not that I fault him for pussy-footing out of the Vietnam War, one of our most awful wars among a shitload of awful wars. Some of my best friends were draft dodgers. The consummate chickenhawk draft dodgers, a Bush and a Dick, were both such assholes, they got us into some major wars that we still haven’t gotten out of. I’m sorry my darling fellow anti-tRumpers, but that’s worse—for the world—than tRump (so far).

On the 4th, we put a red, white and blue pixie band on Baby tRump, keeping him under gag order with a penis pacifier. Photo: Harry Sapien

But babbling Baby tRump failed again, trying to talk big about the Revolutionary War and the War of 1812, saying that, “our army… rammed the ramparts, it took over the airports…” Say what in the name of paraphasia? Took over the airports? Wonder if George Washington had to defeat TSA to do that. One if by land, two if by American Airlines…

First Daughter Ivanka didn’t let the rain on Daddy’s parade mess up her hair (straightened to perfection every morning by her personal hairdresser). She and Jared escaped to Washington Post editor Lally Weymouth’s nondenominational (any politics are okay, as long as you’re rich) party in the Hamptons.

After all, Nepotism Barbie had already inserted herself into a G20 convo between Justin Trudeau, Theresa May, Emmanuel Macron and IMF chief Christine Lagarde who blinked unbelievingly at her, causing a hashtag #UnWantedIvanka with photoshopped memes showing Ivanka at various world events from the signing of the Declaration of Independence to the Moon landing to the first U.S. President entering North Korea—some of which were real, some fake, all with Nepotism Barbie looking like the gorgeous American princess bimbo she is.

Those Founders were not perfect (see above), but one of their finer contributions to the world was that they formed a government without a king or a royal family. Now the Trump Crime Family is the Trump Royal Crime Family. And since they all visited the Queen, it’s official.

But even in the midst of obnoxious tRump royal crime family antics, concentration camps for kids, ICE-y family separations, unconstitutional anti-freedom laws like SESTA/FOSTA, over 43 million Americans living in poverty, Post-Trump Sex Disorder, even with climate catastophe beating down upon us (June 2019 was the hottest June on record), we can still celebrate freedom on America’s birthday… can’t we? Yes, we can! ¡Si, se puede! But it’s not easy… if you have a heart.

Pamela Anderson after visiting Wikileaks publisher Julian Assange locked up in unconscionable “bondage” in Belmarsh prison.

Speaking of freedom, here’s a thought: Let’s FREE freedom fighters Julian Assange and Chelsea Manning! Like Ivanka, Pamela Anderson is a bit of a human Barbie doll, but unlike Ivanka, Pamela (who visited Julian in May) is gaining gravitas by standing up for freedom for her lover, one of the world’s greatest truth-tellers, now imprisoned for exposing what’s beneath the American flag’s of star-spangled lies.

Earthquakes, Orgasms & Fireworks—Oh My!

Our actual 4^th started here in SoCal with underground fireworks we couldn’t see, but we sure could feel.

At first, I thought it was the after effects of our morning orgasms. Then I thought it was Betsy the dog rubbing her back under the bed. Then I realized OMG… it’s an earthquake! Then we had another bigger one (7.1) the night before the show. Did you feel that one? Did you feel the quake? That always sounds sexual to me, but I have a dirty mind.

Street firecrackers exploding in front of makeshift FIREWORKS stand. This Photo & others in this section by the Author (Me!) unless otherwise indicated.

Speaking of sexual, isn’t it funny how “fireworks” can symbolize sexual orgasm, on the one hand, and “bombs bursting in air” on the other?

Promethean Burnt Offerings to the Fire Gods and Goddesses.

Here in Bonoboville, we love the fireworks of sex, not bombs, love not war…

I confess: I’m a bit of a pyro. So is Miguel (wearing the cross “for protection:”) behind me.

We also love to shoot water guns, not real guns!

Shoot Water Pistols, Not AR-15! Photo: Harry Sapien

And we love fireworks: Orgasms for the eye on the 4^th of July.

Fireworks literally “down the street” from us.

When I was a kid, the sexiest holiday of the year was the 4th of July, smack in the center of a Philadelphia summer, hot and steamy enough to go out at night in nothing but shorts and somewhat see-through shirts. We’d bike to the playground and spread our blankets on the firefly-infested grass, then lay on our backs, looking up at the stars, dizzy and drunk on the enormity of it all. And some of us (the science nerds) knew that those lights in the endless sky above us were from fires burning long before America even existed. The rest of us liberal artsy types just hung out or made out on the blankets, less interested in the stars than the pseudo starbursts—promethean gifts to heavenly bodies —streaking the night sky with blasts of red, blue, silver bullets bursting in our ears, shining in our eyes, climaxing in our hearts. The best part is the way they explode and then fall so exquisitely, like the end of an ejaculation, showering our spirits in celebration.

“And the flag was still there…”

But alas, the new Bonoboville roof is sharply slanted; thus not so hot for firework-watching, especially if another earthquake should occur.

Unfortunately, there were no fireworks being set off in the local park. So, Ana,  Miguel, Betsy and I went out to see the People’s Fireworks on the street—literally.

Betsy stands guard against the Rockets Red Glare.

There were people from Mexico, Central America, Africa, Europe and (mostly) Asia all together. In other words: American people, because aside from the Native Americans, we are all immigrants from somewhere.

Of course, street fireworks are not as spectacular as the big corporate-sponsored chrysanthemums exploding high in the sky.

Betsy protects Ana.

But street fireworks are cool, close and all that we could see. Set off by brave pyromaniacs—adults and children—running out into the middle of the street, ripping caps off cardboard to create dazzling towers of fire for the rest of us to ogle. Some of these kids looked about six or seven years old. Though I’m no pediatrics expert, I have to wonder about second graders setting off street fireworks.

Learning the fine art of setting street fireworks at an early (too early?) age.

Whatever your age, don’t let your pyro-love burn off your fingers! After all, how are you going to finger anybody with no fingers?

And speaking of Finger(s)…

Too many fireworks for Betsy.

So Sad No More Mad

In publishing news, after 67 years, Mad Magazine is shutting down. That is, to be more precise, Mad is discontinuing publication of new content. Most wouldn’t care, but I grew up on the lunacy of Mad Magazine, and I wouldn’t be the lovable loony-tune I am today without it. And with its “Take Your Kids to Work Every Day” cover, featuring Daddy, Daughter and Jared as Alfred E. Neumann, modern Mad showed it hadn’t lost its loony touch.

So sad there’s no more Mad.

America’s First Reader-Written Magazines: Max’s Finger, Love, Hate, God, the Ladies Room & Annie Sprinkle’s Hot Shit!

Out of the blue, Jesus called Capt’n Max!  It’s true. Jesus is a magazine collector and a big fan he is of Max’s old revolutionary sex magazines, Love, Hate, Finger, God, the Ladies Room and Annie Sprinkle’s Hot Shit.

Jesus and Max surrounded by Fingers, Gods, Loves, Hates, Ladies Rooms and Annie Sprinkle’s Hot Shit. Photo: Author

Then he came over with a slew of ancient copies, and Max spent hours pouring over the past through the beautiful and bizarre pages of his one-of-a-kind publications.

Annie Sprinkle’s Hot Shit inscription dedicates “this issue of myself to Mickey (Max).” Opposite Page: Annie’s “Bosom Ballet.” Photo: Author

‘Twas a fun and fascinating magazine fest indeed!

PHOTOS: AUTHOR

Not only are there some extraordinary issues, featuring the “secret” taboo works of great artists like Dan O’Bannon (who co-wrote the book and wrote the screenplay for Alien), but Max’s magazines preceded the great unwashed World Wide Web. That is, they were “reader-written,” meaning Max and his co-publishers (including great Fluxus artist and Suck publisher Willem de Ridder) published photos and articles submitted by the readers, without editing them.  Now that’s essentially the principle of social media and most of the internet, “net neutrality” notwithstanding, but in the 1970s, it was revolutionary!

A Not-So-Racy Cover of the Legendary FINGER Magazine. Photo: Author

The abused son of a junkie mom and gangbanger dad, Jesus said that when he discovered Max’s magazines, it was as if the heavens opened and a healing light poured down upon him that literally turned his life around. That’s the power of a good magazine, coupled with the even greater power of uncensored sex itself.

And what a pleasure it was to watch my beloved Prince Max take a trip down his personal, publishing memory lane, a lane that led to so much for so many.

Max and his younger self in “Love.” Photo: Author

That same week, on the day of the show, we traveled down a different memory lane that crisscrossed paths in both of our lives.

Tribute to LA Free Press Publisher Art Kunkin

We hardly ever go anywhere, especially on a show day, but this was a special occasion we didn’t want to miss.

Our old friend Art Kunkin, world renowned publisher of the legendary Los Angeles Free Press, aka The Freep, died a couple months ago at the ripe old age of 91.

Max and Me in Our Blue Shades on Our Way to Pay Respects to Art. Photo: Selfie

We gathered together for his tribute inside the majestic, liberal Echo Park Methodist Church.

Echo Park Methodist Church. Photo: Author

Art was an amazing fearless publisher (like another amazing fearless publisher, but we’ll get back to him in a minute), creating his leftist, truth-telling, police-exposing, hippie-loving newspaper way back in 1964.

Art’s Faire Free Press, precursor to the LA Free Press from circa 1963. Photo: Author

Art was a publishing visionary, and his LA Free Press was a pioneer in progressive publishing.

With Art’s daughter Anna Kunkin. Photo: Selfie

It was a great memorial put together by Art’s daughter Anna Kunkin, who once performed a bellydance for the great journalist’s birthday.

With fellow “Eli,” Alma Cielo. Photo: Selfie

Anna’s right-hand woman was none other than the luminous Alma Cielo, my fellow Yalie, who played violin while pregnant and naked for another fellow Yalie, Colonel Jirayr Zorthian, in the Nude Dance of Zorbacchus back in the day. What “day” was that? Now the baby is 16, so you can do the math. In any case, Alma hasn’t aged a day, let alone 17 years.

With Esteemed Journalist Greg Palast. Photo: Selfie

Award-winning investigative journalist Greg Palast, looking like an old-style private eye in a great grey fedora, gave the first eulogy, opining that Art was the most influential journalist in the history of Southern California since Lincoln Steffens. With great emotion, he displayed a few copies of The Freep, saying wherever he moves around the world, he takes them with him for inspiration. He said the “Free” Press was an antidote to the “Enslaved Press,” aka The LA Times and other corporate media. “Freedom vs. Bondage” was the theme of the weekend.

PHOTOS: AUTHOR

Then several others of us spoke about Art and the art of Art at the Church pulpit, illuminated by the summer sun through the stained glass windows. Several of us talked about how annoying The LA Times obit was, calling Art “the pied piper of counterculture” as if he played a deceptive tune that led gullible people over a cliff, when he actually led people to the truth at a time when The LA Times and other “mainstream” publications were filled with lies (as they still are) that are really leading people over a cliff into wars, extreme wealth inequality, police abuse and climate catastrophe. 

Ashgrove Folk Music Producer Ed Pearl tells tales of his adventures with Art next to a photo of Art and Jane Fonda in her glorious anti-war years–when she was one of my role models! Photo: Author

Most of the people who spoke met Art through The Freep in some way, such as famed cannabis lawyer Bruce Margolin (Max had a good chat with him) and Ashgrove folk music impresario Ed Pearl, plus a few through his mystical, alchemical endeavors.

PHOTOS 1,2,3 & 5: AUTHOR.  PHOTO 4: UNSCENE ABE

As for me, I met Art Kunkin at a swing party. Not a poly meet-up or a kink munch and certainly not an AASECT conference (click the link to read all about my recent adventures); this was a good old-fashioned swing party with lots of people fucking and sucking. It was the ‘80s, AIDS was a worry, but people were horny, and sex heals a billion times more than it kills.

Giving My Mini-Eulogy for the Great Art Kunkin in the Beautiful Stain Glass Sanctuary of the Majestic Echo Park Methodist Church. Photo: Unscene Abe

I was new to La La Land, and The LA Free Press wasn’t publishing at the time. I wrote for the closest facsimile, The LA Weekly, edited by Jay Levin (also in attendance at Art’s memorial, now heading up “Equip Our Kids” which teaches students emotional intelligence), which was, to some extent, inspired by The LA Free Press, but that’s another story.

With LA Weekly founder Jay Levin. Photo: Selfie

So… Art and I were at this swing party.  But we didn’t have sex. We had the greatest, funniest, most inspirational conversation, amongst all of these people having sex… including my boyfriend at the time. It was a conversation-gasm. And though I forget exactly what we talked about, I will never forget the feeling.

LA Free Press Cover featuring Dr. Timothy Leary, who was my guest on KFOX 93.5 FM around 1989. Photo: Author

Then both Art and I had sex with other people. Then we met again and again at more parties, as well as at Elysium, the old nudist resort, and we had many more marvelous conversation-gasms.

Then I did have sex with Art’s competitor… without knowing he was Art’s competitor: Max who published The LA Star (though we met after The LA Star was also gone) before Love, Hate, Finger and God. Then Max and I fell in love and got married (another, HUGE story). And then one day, in the early 2000’s, who walks into our enormous, 17,000-foot Downtown loft (which had pretty spotty security) like a radiant, super-powered Elf Emperor, but Art Kunkin.

Max talks about his relationship with Art Kunkin to Indy Media. Photo: Unscene Abe

Max was nervous, wondering if Art was there to “settle scores” regarding their old publishing rivalry. But Art wasn’t that type… and neither is Max. So the two lefty publishing rivals, Art and Max, made up right there and then. There wasn’t a grudge in the room. It was beautiful to see, like the Bonobo Way of “peace through pleasure” in action. Except they didn’t have sex.

Then we gave Art some space for the new LA Free Press which eventually went online, and then… Art moved to Joshua Tree, and LA’s loss became Joshua Tree’s gain.  We kept in touch, even sharing a few message-gasms, but it wasn’t the same.

Talking about Art and the many arts of Art to Indy Media. Photo: Unscene Abe

Yet I’m so very lucky to have known Art and the art of Art. And I was so very happy to see old friends, make some new ones and take part in a celebration of all the many different facets—the Marxism and the mysticism, the revolution and the swinging—of the amazing life of Art and the art of Art Kunkin.  I was also happy to be asked to do a little interview about Art with Robert Louding of IndyMedia.org, and then give a tribute to Art.

I said “fucking” in Church! But here I am pointing to the Great Swing Party in the Sky where I’ll soon be joining Art for a Heavenly Conversation-Gasm. Photo: Unscene Abe

I even got to say, “Brothers and Sisters, Lovers and Sinners” from a real Church pulpit, which got a good laugh from all the old lovers and sinners in the crowd.

I also got to say “fucking” in Church, which got a bigger laugh.

Flashing the Old Peace (through Pleasure) Sign to Art via Indy Media. Photo: Unscene Abe

Then I received the greatest (material) gift. CubaNews editor Walter Lippman gave me a Cuban three-pesos bill with Ernesto “Che” Guevara on it!

With Walter Lippman of CubaNews, Max and Bruce Margolin. Photo: Selfie

When I was a little girl, I was in love with Che Guevara, the ultimate sexy revolutionary.

Showing off My Ernesto “Che” Guevara $3 bill, a gift from CubaNews’ Walter Lippman, at home in Bonoboville with Marilyn. Photo: Harry Sapien

All in all, a good time celebrating the life of a groovy guy.

Explaining the art of Art’s conversation-gasms to the congregation as the image of a young Art looks knowingly from my left. Photo: Abe Bonobo

Thank you, Art, for the conversation-gasms. See you soon at the Great Mystical Marxist Swing Party in the Sky.

From Art Memorial to Showtime!

By the time we got back to Bonoboville, we had just a few hours before showtime.

Max shows Ishara and her friends some DrSuzy.Tv episodes while they wait in the “Green Room.” Photo: Harry Sapien

In another one of those odd synchronicities, our featured show guest and her friends were just at a tantric breathwork conference in the same mystical magical area that Art Kunkin spent his final years: Joshua Tree.

PHOTOS: HARRY SAPIEN

They arrived early and watched some past shows with Max, chatted and played my great grandmother’s Steinway baby grand piano.

Pre-Show Selfie with Sunshine and Ishara Gabri.

Meanwhile, I washed my face, fluffed my hair and changed my outfit from memorial sexy to 4^th of July sexy.

Bondage Rigger Extraordinaire Ishara Gabri

The 4^th of July celebrates freedom, the greatest aphrodisiac.

PHOTOS 1 & 3: BIANCA.  PHOTO 2: HARRY SAPIEN

The opposite of freedom is bondage, which is terrible when it’s against your will, as in such historic cases as human slavery, prison and, oh yeah, those horrific concentration camps for kids that the Trumpus is developing, unconscionably, into an American institution.

However, when it’s consensual, bondage can be a delightful aphrodisiac, an exciting aspect of sex play, a meditative yoga, a beautiful form of art and/or an expressive craft.

Interviewing Ishara Gabri about Rope Bondage and Dreams. Photo: Harry Sapien

The ultimate paradox of consensual adult BDSM (the “B” is for bondage) is that, when it’s done right, one can achieve freedom through bondage.

PHOTOS 1 & 3: HARRY SAPIEN.  PHOTO 2: BIANCA

To open our hearts, minds and bodies even more to this concept, our featured guest is rope bondage rigger, teacher, tantric breath worker and performance artist, Ishara Gabri.

ECOSEXUALITY launch on DrSuzy.Tv: Chelsea Demoiselle, Dr. SerenaGaia Anderlini D’Onofrio, Dr. Susan Block, Maya Goddess, Biz Bonobo. Row 2: Zoey Portland, Crystal Green. Photo: L’Erotique

Thank you Dr. SerenaGaia Anderlini D’Onofrio, for introducing us to the lovely, sweet and talented Ishara.

Dr. SerenaGaia and Me sit astride Squirting Dolphins in Puerto Rico.  Photo: Max

A native of Rome (like Max!), Ishara’s love affair with bondage began about five years ago when she woke up from a dream of being beautifully and ecstatically tied up.

Ishara ties up my wrist. Photo: Bianca

Since then, she has pursued and cultivated the art of bondage, making her dream a reality, tying up people and letting others tie her up.

Self-Bondage: Ishara ties up her own face in the Antelope Canyon

She even ties herself up!

Fit to be tied. Photo: Bianca

After we talk a bit, Ishara gives a demonstration, using soft jute rope to tie me up.

Ishara explains her approach to rope as I try to relax and “breathe deep” without triggering my sinusitis. Photo: Harry Sapien

I’ve been tied up a few times. It often makes me nervous. Once, an ex-boyfriend tied me to a four-poster bed, then surprised me by shaving my vulva. Within seconds, “surprise” turned into a painful shock to my whole nervous system.

At least, when I screamed in pain, he had the good sense to stop his shenanigans immediately and untie me.

Shibari Rope Bondage by Ishara Gabri. Photo: Harry Sapien

Since then, though I enjoy tying other people up, if they like it, and watching bondage play, I’m a little wary of being tied up myself. Fortunately, it’s not Capt’n Max’s fetish!

Free at Last! The best thing (for me) about being tied up is when I’m released. Photo: Harry Sapien

Since Ishara was very gentle and patient with me, I really enjoyed her tying me up.

“Getting Back” at Ishara with a Shot from My Water Pistol. Photo: Bianca

Between Ishara, Professor Oni, Goddess Soma, Mistress Tara Indiana and the many other guests who have demonstrated Shibari, Kinbaku and other kinds of consensual bondage on the show, as well as at DomCon, I can see how it can be great therapy for some people, a kind of yoga, performance art, intense foreplay and just a lot of fun.

Sunshine in Bondage

After my bondage experience, Sunshine McWane wants to give it a go.

Now Ishara ties up Sunshine. Photo: Bianca

Ishara obliges, tying up my voluptuous assistant with great panache.

PHOTOS: HARRY SAPIEN

First, she restrains her with “clothes on” for the Facebook Live crowd to enjoy.

Baby tRump watches Ishara tie up Sunshine with great interest. Photo: Harry Sapien

There’s rope across her ample chest, around her tummy and through her toes.

Down Girl! Photo: Harry Sapien

When she’s got her pretty well tied, she demonstrates a little light domination, pushing Sunshine’s head down as she gasps and giggles and wonders aloud what she got herself into.

Bound for Fun. in Bonoboville Photo: Bianca

Later, we turn off the Facebook camera, and Sunshine doffs her top for a very sexy topless tie-up session.

PHOTOS 1 -3: BIANCA.  PHOTO 4: HARRY SAPIEN

In between, at my request, Ishara ties up our tRump voodoo doll, and not in a friendly way (see photos above).

Ishara ties up tRump. Photo: Bianca

Trumpocalypse therapy for troubled times.

PHOTOS 1-5: HARRY SAPIEN

But back to sexier bondage subjects: Sunshine looks especially adorable in my 4^th of July tiny top hat head band while she’s helplessly restrained by ropes.

PHOTOS 1-3: HARRY SAPIEN. PHOTO 4: BIANCA

At one point, she resembles a macramé plant that we could hang from the ceiling.

Tying Up a funny pretty package. Photo: Harry Sapien

Actually, Ishara specializes in suspension, but our new studio isn’t yet equipped for that.

PHOTOS 1-5: HARRY SAPIEN.  PHOTO 6: BIANCA

At another point, Ishara gives Sunshine a nice, tight, rope bondage wedgie.

4th of July Freedom & Bondage with Ishara and Sunshine. Photo: Harry Sapien

Like our other bondage shows, this one is a great learning experience in the art and craft of ligotage (French for bondage), as well as an erotic visual pleasure, with Ishara’s yogic Italian flair.

Summer Cheers

Post-show, we release our bound-up tensions with champagne for the people!

PHOTO 1: HARRY SAPIEN. PHOTOS 2 & 5: BIANCA. PHOTOS: 2 & 5. PHOTO: 3 & 5 

And doggie treats for Betsy.

Betsy does tricks for treats. Photo: Harry Sapien

We make a Happy Birthday (and Happy Life Day!) toast to our friend, Ikkor the Wolf, whom we hope to have back on the show soon!

Happy Birthday Ikkor, U.S.A. & Fuck Trump. Photo: Hugo Flores

As the summer sun rises, Capt’n Max and I retire to ignite some private fireworks of sex, not guns… and so much love.

Revolutionary Lovers. Photo: Selfie

It’s the Bonobo Way. 

Happy 100th Birthday Mom!

Also, as I write this, it’s my Mom’s birthday today (July 8^th). As my brother Steve just informed me, she would have been 100 years old if she hadn’t passed away from heart failure in 1999. So… Happy Birthday Mom! I miss you. But I’m pretty sure, among other friends and lovers, you’ve connected with Art, because after all, you’ve always loved art, as well as leftist politics. You always loved Max too (he looks more like you than I do)! And I will always love you.

Captain Max and Captain Mom. Photo: Steve Block

© July 8, 2019. Susan Block, Ph.D., a.k.a. “Dr. Suzy,” is a world renowned LA sex therapist, author of The Bonobo Way: The Evolution of Peace through Pleasure and horny housewife, occasionally seen on HBO and other channels. For speaking engagements, call 310-568-0066.