BEDSIDE CHAT 2 “Quarantine Sex, Politics & #Masks4All”
BEDSIDE CHAT 2
Length 1:34:08 Date: Apr. 4, 2020
Greetings from Bonoboville in Isolation.
Hello Out There (with apologies to William Saroyan)!
It’s my second Bedside Chat in the Coronapocalypse. Check out my first for some context.
Franklin Delano Roosevelt, aka FDR (my Mom’s favorite U.S. President), held Fireside Chats by the fire during the Great Depression and WWII.
I hold Bedside Chats on the bed (well, the couch, for now) during a different kind of war against an enemy we can’t even see, let alone shoot or bomb, chatting about sex as we all face death.
One of my Twitter followers even dubbed me the “FDR of sexology.” Not that I deserve such an honor, but I’ll take it.
We’re also teetering on the precipice of another Great Depression, an economic catastrophe that could be worse than the devastation of the 1930s.
Then there’s the more emotional type of depression that naturally emerges in “solitary,” even in the healthiest of humans.
There’s no “cure” for depression, though there are meds that usually lower your libido, not to mention cheering up some poor folks just enough to kill themselves. That said, meds are great for some, and no judgment there. But before you go washing your cares away with chemicals, remember when you’re depressed, it might help to get some Deep Rest. Most of us, if we aren’t medical or “essential” workers, have plenty of time for that now.
To stoke the fires of depression, anxiety and panic, there’s the harrowing sickness-and-death count which keeps going up, especially here in the great U.S. of A.
Over the past few weeks, we have entered a whole new world, a place that most of us (all of us?) have never been.
As of the day before this live broadcast (Friday, April 3), here in America, we have had over 300,000 cases of Coronavirus and over 8000 deaths.
Our leaders give us mixed messages, to say the least. From the most distinguished scientists to the most skilled politicians to the terrible, untenable Trumpus and his odious over-powerful Trump Crime Family and simpering sycophants (Dr. Fauci notwithstanding), the story changes day by day, sometimes hour by hour. And this is no “small story.” This is the big time, Brothers and Sisters, Lovers and Sinners: a matter of life and death for all of us.
Take masks. To wear or not to wear, and what or when to wear?
Just a few days ago, our leaders were telling us not to wear masks unless we were medical workers or known COVID-19 carriers. They said they were unnecessary and would not protect us from COVID-19.
But that was then, and this is now. Now they’re telling us we should all wear masks when going out.
Talk about a turn-around; our leaders must have a wicked case of whiplash.
Now even the Trumpus is telling everyone who goes out to mask up!
Though the Donald himself refuses to don a mask, probably because his spray tan would get all over it.
The Trump Crime Family should not be stockpiling masks, other PPE and ventilators, denying them to states that desperately need them, unless their governors are “nice” to Herr Trumpus.
I’m broadcasting this show live from my home studio, so technically I don’t need a mask. Still, I wear one for most of the show. It’s an old surgical mask I’ve had for a while that I’ve been using, washing and reusing.
Same with Dr. Bonobo, my plushy practitioner, and my Mario Saucedo bonobo mask.
We make our little squeeze-y tRump wear a mask, mainly to keep his filthy mouth shut.
Our other Trumpus effigy is kept under gag order with an empty Corona beer bottle.
Then he tweeted “Dr Susan if you convinced people to wear masks to prevent air-borne contagion of Covid-19 [sic], you might have saved many many lives.”
It’s funny, but for some people, kink and sex are greater motivators than matters of life or death.
So hey, if I can help reduce the spread of the dreaded virus by showing how sexy and kinky a mask can be, I’m thrilled.
Since I was a Theater Studies major at Yale, I’ve always loved masks, though more for their dramatic effect than medical purposes. As I put them on to assume different roles and for the sheer, playful pleasure of masquerade, I never dreamed I’d be wearing a mask to protect me from death-dealing microbes.
Masks can be beautiful, mysterious, even be romantic. The image of a husband-and-wife team of nurses wearing masks, gloves and gowns as they embrace brings tears to my eyes.
I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again: I’ve never felt like “thanking our troops” for perpetrating our Perma-Wars Even if they’re “just doing their jobs,” they’re doing immense, unconscionable (not to mention unbonobo) damage.
But I always want to thank and honor our nurses, doctors and other “essential workers” on the front lines of the Coronavirus “war.” They are the real heroes in our society.
The couple in the photo is lucky to have the proper masks and precious personal protection equipment (PPE) that so many of their fellow practitioners don’t have right now.
They need masks more than the rest of us, but now the authorities are saying we need them too. It makes sense, and I never understood why they said we didn’t need them before, except that we just didn’t have enough of them, so they didn’t want us civilians to hoard them like some of us did with the toilet paper (still a rare commodity on supermarket shelves).
There’s just one thing to do: Make more masks!
Lots of people are making their own masks, which is great, albeit a little time-consuming. Then again, many of us have plenty of time on our disinfectant-raw hands.
Many of us are wearing scarves, which also work, especially in conjunction with a headscarf, though it makes the wearer look a bit like a Muslim woman in Niqab.
Yes indeed, We Are All Veiled Muslim Women Now!
Even Capt’n Max is rocking a mask. Actually, his ancestral country (on the side of his Dad’s Leblovic di Lobkowicz family line, making him Prince of Prague, Duke of Melnick, if such titles still hold meaning for anyone), Czech Republic is one of very few European societies that are, as of this writing, slowing the spread of Coronavirus by requiring everyone who leaves the house to wear some kind of mouth and face-covering mask.
The proof is in the death rate: Thus far, there have been less than sixty deaths in the Czech Republic. Compare that with Italy (where Max has royal ancestors on his Mom’s side, the Filangieri family) next door which had not required its citizens to mask up and has suffered over 15,000 deaths.
Homemade masks are fine for most of us, but our medical personnel need better than that, and really, factories should be churning out good surgical and respirator masks by the billions.
Moreover, the Trump Crime Family should not be stockpiling masks, other PPE and ventilators, denying them to states that desperately need them unless their governors are “nice” to Herr Trumpus. How cruel, narcissistic, downright murderous and just plain awful is that?
This really is a Trump Virus.
No, the Trumpus didn’t create Corona; he’s not that clever. However, his actions and inactions make it much worse than it should be (compare our situation with countries like Czech Republic and South Korea), “elevating” America to the level of “number one” in Coronavirus victims.
Why don’t you brag about that, Mr. Tomato Head?
Instead, he brags about his ratings and denies aid to states with Democratic governors.
Well, at least California Governor Gavin Newsom, looking appropriately freaked out, is doing the best he can to keep us from being #1 in COVID-19 deaths… so far, thank Goddess.
New York has Cali beat in the death department. Though New York Governor Andrew Cuomo’s daily press conferences are more informative than those of Newsom’s, and his delivery is infinitely more realistic and compassionate than the Trumpus.
I have to admit liking Andrew—despite the fact that his politics are far too conservative and corporatist—mainly because he’s the son of my mom’s favorite politician, Mario Cuomo.
I bet she fantasized about Mario when she had sex (sorry Dad!).
Now Mario’s other son, CNN anchor Chris Cuomo has the virus, and some of the best Corona entertainment is watching the Cuomo Brothers banter.
Like great Italian Commedia dell’Arte performers—or the old Smothers Brothers (“Mom always liked you best”)—the Cuomo Brothers play to type, with Andrew as the older, serious straight-man and Chris as the younger, wild and crazy clown-boy.
Of course, COVID-19 is no joke.
But just because we have to #StaytheFuckHome doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy a little humor and erotic entertainment. In fact, we need it more than ever, and I don’t think I’m the only one imagining a threesome with the Cuomo Brothers (okay, a foursome, if Max wants to join).
Despite being the straight-man of the duo, Andrew has come under scrutiny for what appear to be nipple piercings (perhaps a barbell?) protruding through his dress-casual polo shirts
As for Chris, in his COVID-19 delirium, he sounds like he’s on an acid trip, “hallucinating” that his brother Andrew, decked out in a “very interesting ballet costume,” danced up to him with a wand, saying “I wish I could wave my wand and make this go away.”
Without missing a beat, Governor Andrew deadpan-replies “there’s a lot of metaphoric reality in that one.”
Indeed, it has crossdressing (yes, there are plenty of male ballet dancers, but I can’t help imagining the Governor of New York in a tutu, his pierced nips glittering in the spotlight) and phallic imagery (the wand, of course).
Thanks to the dazzling Randy Rainbow, there’s even a new erotic orientation: #Cuomosexual.
I’m sure Mom would identify…
Japanese Penis Festival
Speaking of phallic objects, it’s the weekend of the famous Japanese Penis Festival, aka the Shinto Kanamara Matsuri of Kawasaki.
In honor of the occasion, Sunshine—who used to be an English teacher in Japan—dresses up in her iconic “I Love WIENERS” frock.
But like everything else in the world these days, the colorful—and some might say obscene—Nipponese Carnival of Cocks has been canceled.
At least, we show some eye-popping photos of Penis Festivals past, complete with giant dick statuary and yummy cock pops.
I know they’re into panties and anime, but who knew how much the Japanese love their wieners?
Later, the next day, Harry Sapien makes a Bonoboville feast featuring sausages, aka wieners.
Not usually a wiener-eater, Sunshine goes beyond her limits to suck Harry’s sausage.
It’s all to honor the Japanese Penis Festival, but I’m sure Harry appreciates it anyway.
Photos: Harry Sapien
Tellingly, Japan was one of the first countries to report coronavirus cases, but thus far, they have one of the lowest rates of contagion and death. Maybe it’s because masks have been a Japanese fashion accessory for a long time.
Do We Really Want to Return to “Normal”?
As we stumble through the darkness of the worst pandemic in over 100 years and probably the greatest horror (so far) of our global lives, there are glimmers of light, even opportunities.
Yes indeed, Brothers and Sisters, there are diamonds in the dung, so to speak (fecal matter being another substance, besides those pathogen bearing “droplets,” in which the scrappy little “crown” prince of viruses apparently likes to lurk).
When those of us who are lucky enough do “get through this,” do we really want to just get back to “normal”? Do we really want to get back to normal pollution levels, normal inequality levels, normal lack of medical care, normal bigotry, normal greed, normal Perma-War, normal sex-negativity, normal climate crisis?
Consider this once-in-a-century opportunity: capitalism has been brought to its knees—or at least, one rather wobbly knee.
Most of us understandably yearn to get back to “normal,” but… should we?
Of course, we all want to get through this, as individuals and as communities. Unfortunately, though most of us will, the undeniable, heartbreaking fact is that some of us won’t “get through this.” Some of us—untouchable to loved ones while gasping our last breaths, thrust into body bags and piled into freezer trucks—already haven’t.
But if and when those of us who are lucky enough do “get through this,” do we really want to just get back to “normal”? Do we really want to get back to normal pollution levels, normal inequality, normal lack of medical care, normal bigotry, normal greed, normal sex-negativity, normal Perma-War, normal climate crisis, normal jack-shit-for-almost-everybody except a few neurotic billionaires and their crime families?
Maybe this horror show sets the stage to make some much-needed changes. Maybe we can start making those changes now, before we get through it (in case we don’t). Maybe we should seize this opportunity, provided by extreme adversity, to go on a different path, a Bonobo Way or, as we call it south of tRump’s useless, racist border wall, El Camino del Bonobo.
“Oh, there she goes with those bonobos–even in the midst of a pandemic spread by being physically close!” I can almost hear you roar. Yes, bonobos love to be physically close. They love hugs, kisses, full-frontal fornication and deep sensual intimacy. Yes, their polyamorous sex in a Bonobo Sutra of positions is an important aspect of their ability to make peace through pleasure. And yes, right now, as we human apes stumble through the Coronapocalypse, that’s obviously not something we should emulate.
Right now the only sex that seems COVID-19 risk-free is masturbation, which bonobos also enjoy, especially in captivity at zoos and primate centers. Most of us, currently “in captivity” in our own homes, can relate.
Sex is also relatively safe in strict monogamy, which isn’t so bonobo, though we can let our bonoboesque, orgiastic fantasies run wild as long as we stay physically with one special someone (or maybe two or three, assuming all are sheltering together) we *know* doesn’t carry the virus.
Most important for our ruptured human society right now: bonobos are all about sharing and caring. In contrast with their patriarchal common chimp cousins who tend to be competitive, sexist and even murderous, the matriarchal bonobos share resources rather equally among themselves, resolve fights with affection, respond to each other’s needs with empathy and compassion, empower the females more than any other Great Ape, while keeping the males happy, and have never been seen killing each other in the wild or captivity.
They seem to know, in their bonobo bones and boners, that we really are “all in this together.” It’s true that when rich celebrities say that, it’s pretty tone-deaf to regular people’s problems. Nevertheless, the virus brings home the fact that when one of us gets sick and goes untreated, the rest of us, even the wealthiest, are at risk. So, it really is best for all of us that the billionaires amongst us stop all their greedy hoarding and get on with the sharing and caring.
Yes indeed, the mega-donations are nice, my billionaire friends and lovers, but a more equitable level of taxation, a higher minimum wage and Medicare for All would be a lot better. Call it democratic socialism or organized empathy. I call it the Bonobo Way.
Sure, it’s pretty pie-in-the-sky, but why not try? If we don’t, it’s much more likely that human society will become more sex-negative, pollution-positive, fascistic and militarized than less.
Keilah: Comedy & Coupling
Here in the little Love Church of the Bonobo Way in the village of Bonoboville, we love to mix lust and laughs, and our favorite combination of guests is a porn star and a comedian, which is just what we have on this Bedside Chat.
The only thing is they’re not actually here in-studio, and we’re still trying to figure out how our Zoom (thank you, China!) equipment works; thus we can’t have them both on at the same time.
So we have them on one at a time, the first guest being a stand-up comic who’s sexy enough to be a porn star, Keilah Harris (pronounced Kee – I – Lah).
This is Keilah’s virgin appearance on The Dr. Susan Block Show, but Sally Mullins (one of our favorite guests, last seen on DrSuzy.Tv as Elizabeth Warren), is her ‘Comedy Mom,” so we’re happy to have her Zoom in with us.
We’re really excited to see her Twitter name is @fuckkeright, assuming it translates to “fuck her right,” which we can really get behind, so to speak, here at the little Love Church of the Bonobo Way. But no, it’s got something to do with “fuck her up,” or “being fucked up… right”…? Whatever it is, it doesn’t sound as good as fucking.
On the bright side, here on the cusp of a Great Depression, Keilah is not depressed. In fact, if you are, she may well cheer you up.
Looking fine doing quarantine time in her sultry robe and swingy earrings, Keilah says she’s rather enjoying life in the Coronapocalypse, so much so that she almost feels guilty about it, especially when talking with older relatives who worry that she’s not taking the whole dire situation seriously enough.
Is she or isn’t she? Only her droplets know for sure.
As Keilah sees it, she’s always liked spending a lot of time in her room, so she’s kind of delighted that now she has to spend practically all her time in her room.
Not that she’s going it alone. Suddenly, a grinning bearded fellow appears onscreen who goes by the title of “boyfriend,” though I believe he also answers to “roommate.”
He also has a name: Jack Merline.
They are saliva-bound, demonstrated with a delicious-looking, mask-free, French kiss.
Ooh la la!
In these strange days of the Coronapocalypse, wet, tongue-wrestling, French kissing is a form of physical intimacy that’s more profound—and risky—than full-on, bareback, sexual intercourse.
Even the French are scared to do it now. This is in stark contrast to when I visited France, where they were living up to their reputation by air-kissing everyone and French-kissing attractive friends and strangers just “pour le plaisir” (for the pleasure).
But Keilah and Jack are in a committed relationship, #shelteringinplace in her/their room. Or something like that.
They show us the bright purple “couples” vibrator (actually a vibrating cock ring purchased at Target!) that the two of them used to great orgasmic effect the night before. No doubt, the Coronapocalypse is a good time to explore new sex toys in a committed relationship or just by yourself.
Though she doesn’t show them to us, Keilah does reveal, in the context of a joke, that Jack calls her nipples “Milk Duds.”
What an adorable, sexy couple.
I hope they make it through the Coronapocalypse together.
Lovely Lola Fae
It’s Nipple Night in Bonoboville.
We go from Governor Cuomo’s pierced nipples jutting through his tee to Keilah’s Milk Duds we can’t see, and now onto perfect pink hearts that are actually tattooed nipples!
These exquisite heart-nips belong to an exquisite woman, the lovely Lola Fae.
Lovely Lola is wearing nothing but a kimono.
She also seems to be making the most of her quarantine, creating videos with her significant other. Coronavirus does appear to be a good time to make that romantic commitment you may have been hovering around indecisively. It’s like the virus does the deciding for you.
The Small Business Administration loan application specifically bans anyone engaged in “live performances of a prurient sexual nature”
What happens if you break up and get back in the dating scene? Masks and six feet apart for the first date, then fourteen days of quarantine before the second?
Or maybe just masturbation for the duration?
Fortunately, Lola, being a flexible dominant, submissive or just a hot woman, is independent enough to make her own solo videos as well.
Which brings us to the cruel, unfair, dangerously antisocial and very unbonobo hypocrisy of tRump refusing to send his Coronavirus bail-out checks to any honest hookers.
That is, in typical Trumpus fashion, he’s stiffing the sex workers.
The sagging Trumpus Rumpus may have bumped butts with an adult star (or several), using campaign funds to pay hush money to at least two: our Lady of Porno Heroism, Stormy Daniels and Playboy Playmate Karen McDougal. But that doesn’t mean he’ll give—or even lend—a dime of relief to rank and file adult performers in this crisis.
Quite the opposite: sex workers will get nothing from his $2 trillion coronavirus relief package. The Small Business Administration loan application specifically bans anyone engaged in “live performances of a prurient sexual nature,” along with weed dispensaries, casinos, lobbyists, and members of Congress.
Who cares about Congress? Most of those corporate whores are millionaires, some of whom, including North Carolina Senator Richard Burr, made money at the expense of the public, selling their stocks as soon as they were briefed on the Coronavirus in January, even as they reassured the American public that the U.S.A. was “better prepared than ever” to confront the virus. Upon being briefed on COVID-19, Georgia Senator Kelly Loeffler, whose hubby happens to be Chairman of the New York Stock Exchange, also dumped her stock just before the bottom fell out of it.
No such advantages go to weed and sex workers.
The relief paperwork even bans applicants who get more than a minimal amount of “revenue through the sale of products or services, or the presentation of any depictions or displays, of a prurient sexual nature,” meaning that retailers selling anything more than a few sex toys could find themselves rejected.
Though Lola is managing to continue to work from home, many sex workers aren’t so fortunate, for various reasons.
Please donate to Free Speech Coalition emergency fund to help adult performers who can’t work now.
Sex workers are workers too!
Virtual Self-Licking Bonoboville Communion
After all that serious, sobering Bedside-Chatting, we’re more than ready for some pure, silly, sexy fun.
Of course, Sunshine and I, staying six feet (four feet?) apart, can’t lick each other’s nipples, and Lola is in a whole different location. So, as much as we’d love to taste her succulent strawberry hearts, we can’t.
Such are the limitations of life, lust and Love in the Time of Coronavirus (with apologies to Gabriel Garcia Marquez).
Photos 2 & 4: Nemor. Photos 2-3: Video Stills
But where there’s a lusty will, there’s an erotic way.
So, the three of us—Lola, Sunshine and yours truly—do our first full-fledged virtual self-licking.
Hey, the self-pleasuring we’re all supposed to be doing in the Corona Age includes self-licking, if you can do it.
If your boobs are natural (even if they’re small), it’s not too difficult to lick the nips, and the salt makes them quite tasty.
Sunshine seems to enjoy licking her nipples, which she calls “rosebuds.”
My own nipples are so different, I can’t call them by the same name, the left being a somewhat shy, blush-hued cherry blossom while the right pops out aggressively as your classic pink eraser head.
But Lola wins the prize for “Most Amazing Nipples” (maybe we should credit a new SUZY Award for this) with her delicate, heart-shaped beauties… with a lotus tattoo in between.
She even has her own Himalayan Pink Salt and a shotglass (filled with water? Vodka?) for self-waterboarding.
I keep my salt in a shotglass inside a nice big toilet paper roll. Rich people in quarantine show off their pricey décor, manicured gardens and white marble clawfoot bathtubs. We show off our toilet paper. Actually it’s Sunshine’s toilet paper which she proudly scored after waiting in an early-morning line at CVS.
That seems to be another theme of this Bedside Chat: Toilet paper, fecal matter, tRump’s potty mouth and former Arkansas Governor Mike Huckabee’s pride in not needing TP since he is well-versed in using “corn cobs”…. to wipe his butt or stick into his anus, dildo-style, or both.
The only thing more foul than the idea of him shoving a corncob up his filthy bigoted ass is imagining his daughter, former tRump mouthpiece Sarah Huckabee Sanders, doing it to him.
M-M-M-M-M-Myyy Corona: Don’t Blame the Beer!
Besides Agwa, we’re also sipping our now-favorite beer, Corona, of course.
No it doesn’t cure or prevent Coronavirus, nor does it cause the damn thing.
Don’t blame the beer!
It does seem to have a therapeutic effect on us. Actually, that’s the case for any kind of alcohol, unless you’re the depressed or mean drunk type.
Thanks to its name, Corona beer makes us giggly and tipsy at the same time, not to mention giving us a totally false but comforting sense that we can handle this thing as easily as quaffing a lager.
But horror of horrors, Corona Beer is stopping production! Of course, it’s made in Mexico, and the Mexican government has been shuttering all non-essential businesses, which is only right. Mexico only has 1500 cases of Coronavirus and 50 deaths, so—unless their stats are due to not testing or recording deaths—they’re doing a lot better than us.
It’s indeed ironic that Orangeman wants to build a wall to keep out Mexicans, but with Coronavirus, Mexico has more of a real reason to keep out so-called “Americans.”
Though I dunno… I respect Mexico’s crackdown… but Corona beer is pretty essential here in Bonoboville.
But save some beer for Bonoboville.
Whipping Sunshine Where the Sun Don’t Shine
From nips to butts to beer and back to buns again.
Between the poultry and the wieners, Sunshine is showing her carnivorous side on this show.
Whipping Sunshine is becoming a regular feature of my Bedside Chats—at least, the first two.
Since all the whipping entails some mildly heavy breathing, I keep my mask on.
Sunshine wears her coin-trimmed bellydance veil.
Boobs exposed but face covered, she looks like an old-style Persian harem girl.
Though, perhaps from the impact play, it keeps falling off.
Nobody said this masking thing was easy.
My own mask keeps sliding down my nose which, if I was out in the world, would render it almost useless.
When it comes to protecting ourselves from his evil germ, nothing is foolproof.
But every little bit helps!
Word is, as I write this, that New York has seen its first drop in coronavirus deaths today. Yay! We love New York!
That doesn’t mean we’re out of these toxic woods by any means, but there is light at the end of the proverbial tunnel.
Photo 1: Harry Sapien. Photos 2-4: Unscene Abe
We will “get through this.”
At least some of us will.
From Couch to Commissary to Our Actual Bed
Not to be outdone by the rest of us, Miguel wears not only a mask, but a full-on hazmat suit.
Actually, it’s just a painter’s jumpsuit, but it looks pretty impressive, especially with his mask and goggles.
He and Ana are quite the pair: Hazmat Miguel and Islamic Ana.
As we assume our positions for final photos on set, we look like a terrorist zombie-apocalyptic fever dream.
Even zombies need to eat, and Ana cooks up a feast, as Sunshine and Harry get creative with strawberries.
Since they haven’t created a mask that allows you to eat with it on, we have to take them off, but we maintain our six-feet-apart rule, more or less.
Capt’n Max and I try to kiss with our masks on.
It’s a little awkward, rather like cunnilingus with a dental dam.
Not that we *have* to, since we’re strictly monogamous right now.
Before the pandemic, I indulged my bonoboesque desires through “soft-swinging”—engaging in light sexual activities like kissing, licking, caressing, massage, spanking, etc., sometimes with friends and just as often with complete strangers on their first appearances on DrSuzy.Tv.
Not anymore. Maybe (sadly) never again. But at least, not right now.
Fortunately, I never get tired of loving my Captain, and he seems like he doesn’t get too sick of me, not even after over 27 years of marriage.
Yes indeed, we’ll be married 28 years as of this coming Saturday/Sunday.
In preparation for the celebration, I’m wearing my “Love Me! Kiss Me! Marry Me!” seamed thigh highs with the light blue tops to match my mask.
I hope no one takes offense at my silly efforts to color-coordinate my lingerie with life-saving masks, but I’m sure someone will.
Ah well, off my Captain and I go to our actual bed where visions of French kisses, well-whipped asses and exquisite heart-shaped nipples dance in our heads, climaxing with the kind of explosion that doesn’t kill, but heals.
Now #StaytheFuckHome, make a mask for yourself or someone you love, hibernate, masturbate and watch this heart-warming, serious but funny and very sexy–sapiosexual!—Bedside Chat.
Let’s flatten the curve—no, not our boobs, silly; our death rate!
© April 4, 2020 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 213-291-9497.
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