Length 01:26:30  Date: June 12, 2021

by Dr. Susan Block.

To commemorate the day I was born, I am born again, baptized in the fresh clean Holy Waters of the new Bonoboville pool.

Yes indeed, for my birthday, Capt’n Max built me a mini-pool on wheels(!), and then we had a mini-party around it.

Actually, Miguel built the pool, under Max’s detailed artistic direction—and with no computer simulations! Though by the time it was ready, the sun had set, and the Holy Water was cold.

Birthday Baptism. Photo: Jux Lii

So, my “birthday baptism” involved more wading than dunking.

GASM Power

For the pool, I got into my bathing suit. For the private festivities, I got down to my birthday suit.

And oh, those private festivities—festive enough to lend their name to this Train.

Go Bonobos for Birthday Gasms—body, mind and soul—as well as soles. Yes indeed, I love me a birthday foot rub!

Mmm… toegasms.

What’s so great about a gasm? The intensity is invigorating.

For starters, let’s get physical: Orgasms do an aging body good. Actually, they do any body good.

Second, there’s mental health. A good gasm tends to clear the mind (as long as it’s consensual, of course). That’s one reason why good sex makes you smarter. Moreover, it brings you closer to your lover… even if that lover is you.

As for the soul, it’s very possible that the little death (la petite mort) somehow prepares you for the Big One.

Comparing my own NDE (near-death experience) with my various sexual climaxes, I’d say they both take you through a dark tunnel of transformation and mystery.

With every spin around the sun, the transformation goes deeper, penetrating the life’s mysteries.

Deep Inside My Birthday(s)…

F.D.R. choo-choos through the dark Tunnel of Love into the dawning light.

Fueled by eargasmic descriptions of eyegasms, aroma-gasms, taste-gasms, toegasms, sapiosexual mind-gasms, and oh, so many champagne-popping birthday-gasms, with Capt’n Max conducting, Unscene Abe engineering, I lounge in the bar car, waxing nostalgically about bacchanalian birthday extravaganza carnivals past—like this week’s post-show throwback, My Birthday Bacchanal 2017.

Don’t miss it!

These Speakeasy orgies seem spontaneous, but they can take weeks to plan.

Though of course, the best-laid plans may not get you laid the way you planned.

For instance, to pull off a decent 20-person orgy, I’d have to invite at least 35 people, and even then, I couldn’t be sure if folks might rather just sit around smoking and drinking than getting down and bacchanalian, and of course, I’d never *make* anybody do anything, not even if you beg me to force you.

Nevertheless, more often than not, the real thing would turn out to be even better, sexier, wilder and more orgiastic than we’d planned.

This year, for various reasons—Thursday birthday, Coronapocalypse still hanging around, no TV shows these days— I made no plans… until the day before, when the birthday spirits converged upon me.

At that point, I came up with all sorts of plans… which did not get me laid the way I planned. But at least I got laid!

Yay Birthday Gasms! Or are they birthdaygasms?

Either way, the powerful birthday spirits aren’t always so benign. In ancient times, people believed that malevolent forces stalked you on your birthday. This is not as superstitious as it sounds. A long list of prominent people who kicked the bucket on the same date they were born includes history’s greatest playwright William Shakespeare, actress Ingrid Bergman, feminist author Betty Friedan, Italian Renaissance painter Raphael and country singer Merle Haggard. 

Indeed, F.D.R.’s very own namesake, America’s 32^nd President Franklin Delano Roosevelt, died on his birthday!

Birthdays can be hazardous to your health.

Reflecting Pools

Just days before the birth date we share (June 10^th), my old birthday mate, the late great defense attorney F. Lee Bailey, passed away.  Was this a deadly twist on the old “failure to appear”… for life? Was there something Flee didn’t want to face (again) about the day he was born?

If so, I can relate.

Suddenly I realize that, with the pop top, My Bday Pool resembles a coffin.

Thank you for the beautiful birthday coffin, darling! Photo: Jux Lii

In his Counterpunch column, editor Jeffrey St. Claire posted “When our very own Dr. Susan Block interviewed defense lawyer F. Lee Bailey who died last week” along with the now iconic pic of Flee and me as a nervous sweet-16 or just-17-you-know-what-I-mean year old.

Jeff doesn’t normally promote my old clippings, but Bailey was a legend. Not exactly a leftist, but a serious, staunch and eloquent defender of the accused. In our court system, the accused are always at a disadvantage, and supporting the disadvantaged is the Counterpunch creed.

I wonder how Flee felt about another birthday barreling towards him.

Did those evil birthday spirits win their case against America’s greatest barrister?

Step Away from the Computer

One thing I suddenly realized on June 9^th: I did not want to be sitting in front of a computer on June 10^th.

Chico conveys the Call of Nature. Photo: Selfie

For old time’s sake, for the sake of that time before our dazzling digital devices took control of our lives, when humans were a little more in touch with unscreened nature—good old analog—I decided to step away from my desk and stay away all day.

Sounds so simple! But you and I know that it isn’t.

Especially since I didn’t want to go anywhere. That’s partly because I never want to go anywhere—even before the Coronapocalypse (all those orgies were at our place), which has enhanced our home-bound tendencies.

I haven’t always been a shut-in! I’ve taken some great birthday trips—from climbing to the top of the Golden Gate Bridge to swimming in San Juan to horseback riding at the Madonna Inn to dragging poor overheated Max through Huntington Gardens—but this year, I couldn’t even imagine going out, eating, drinking or swimming in somebody else’s pool. At least, not without getting seized with unsexy fear.

So, I got my own damn pool. Well, mini-pool. Half-done mini-pool.

Max, Ana, Chico, Luzer, Erikka and Jux protect Me from the Birthday Demons. Photo: Unscene Abe

Then I gathered a few guests to protect me from the Birthday Demons. This is how the tradition of the Birthday Party evolved, to protect the vulnerable Birthday Person (BP) against the BP-stalking fiends, by surrounding them with love, laughter, music, gifts and fire as a kind of “protection.”

This proved a bit daunting, as various *friends* confirmed and then canceled. Four confessed they hadn’t “yet” been vaccinated. Three said yes, then had emergencies of various sorts. One was so excited to celebrate, she came over 24 hours early, but somehow missed the actual day. To top it off, Bonoboville happened to be half empty that day.

Chico gives the kinky threesome on My Birthday Rug some tail. Photo: Jux Lii

So, we kept the *big day* small and homey, with the homies. These included a few humans, a dog (yay Chico!), a lot of lizards and some stuffed bonobos.

Pie-Sexuality, Gapers & War Porn

Mistress Erikka Rijkz, a shining star on multiple DrSuzy.Tv shows and at DomCon, looked lovely, as always, but a little shellshocked. Yes, aren’t we all? Though on top of the *usual* traumas of our times, Erikka’s in mourning for Mina, a member of her poly family, who recently died of cancer.

Pre-Cakegasm Group Selfie

Needless to say, she wasn’t in the mood to join me splashing about in the pool, but it was nice to see her after this strange period of quasi-hibernation.

Jux Lii dropped by on his way to Vegas, but that quickie soon turned into several hours, as he and Erikka, two art photographers in the porn and kink industries, found they had a lot in common, and we all haven’t seen each other in over a year.

Never empty-handed, Cannabelly Chef Jux brought ridiculously delicious, weed-laced strawberry-rhubarb and gooseberry pies. We’ve explored “pie-sexuality” and splosh many times, but we just ate these tasty tarts.

That proved to be enough to render half the guests comatose with cannabis, as the rest of us floated in and out of the pool.

Speaking of “in and out,” Erikka reveals that one porn genre that always attracts attention is the “gaping asshole.”

This particular fetish is not my cup of tea or sperm or, honestly, anything. It can cause serious anal disorders; I’ve known a couple people who needed surgery to correct a prolapsed rectum. And yeah, it’s just gross!

But some people like it, and it’s nowhere near as gross—let alone lethal—as the “War Porn” that is considered by Big Tech to be much more acceptable than regular porn. By “war porn,” I mean images and footage of humans being killed, tortured and bombed to smithereens in the context of some sort of “war.” It gives you PTSD just to look at it.

No wonder humanity is going ammosexual.

Erikka takes a puff as Capt’n Max and I quaff a Corona (mine’s a Pinata). Photo: Jux Lii

Meanwhile Youtube is censoring F.D.R. for being “suggestive” or for nothing at all.

Speaking of censorship, FREE JULIAN ASSANGE!

And speaking of that genre… they may never be censored (and I’m not at all saying they should be), but I feel that Kardashian-style “influencers” whining about their privileged lives are the “gaping assholes” of narcissism.

Queen Lilibet Colonizes My Bday

“Funniest Fundamentalist Refugee” Suzy Award-winner (among other honors) and confessed Anglophile Luzer Twersky joined us poolside.

Two Hairy Jews winding up the Coronapocalypse. Photo: Selfie

There we were, two hairy Jews. At least, Luzer’s got a professional excuse; he’s growing out his beard for a movie part. I can just blame the Coronapocalypse for the fact I now have more hair than Rapunzel, and if I flip it over my face, I’m a ringer for Cousin Itt.

Though all the guests were vaccinated (no, I didn’t require “proof,” I just took their word for it), I wore a mask half the day.

Mask No Mask

No, I was not virtue-signaling. I’m just wary, and it’s a sexy mask.

Rainbow sparkle power!

Birthdays should be sparkly, and I sparkled from head to toegasms, courtesy of Capt’n Max’s talented foot-fetish-fueled fingers.

BiRTHDAY TOEGASMS

Every little pressure point on your foot and in the pads of your toes sets off inner sparkles, like a G-spot for royal foot pleasure.

Speaking of royalty, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Queen Elizabeth also celebrated her birthday this past weekend, do you?

Apparently, even though Her Majesty was born in April, The Firm set sail to colonize my *special* day, making it the Queen’s “official” birthday. Damn colonialists! She also fancies big straw hats like mine. There’s no end to British royal appropriation.

Though it’s hard to stay mad at a 95-year-old Lilliputian.

Queen Lizzie cuts “Our” Birthday Cake with a Sword… and apparently no one wants to tell Her Maj she’s got it upside down.

Having commandeered my big day as property of the British Empire, Her Maj cut her cake—which is really my cake, or “our” cake (the Royal We and all)—with a sword. I cut mine with a French fisherman’s knife.

My cake was so yummy, it gave me… cakegasms!

I bet Lilibet didn’t even eat hers.  

And judging by those sensible but cramped-looking shoes of hers, I’m sure she could use a nice foot massage.

 Maybe, now that Pr. Philip is gone, she can get one from one of those cute cubs—I mean, courtiers.

Pride, Lunacy, Gungasms

It’s also another Gay Pride birthday (they all are) with rainbows galore.

Rainbow Bday. Photo: Luzer Twersky

Disturbingly, it seems like some of the most appalling shots being fired at LGBTQ are happening in Pride Season for some reason. As Orlando approaches the fifth anniversary of the second-worst mass shooting in American history, the Pulse nightclub massacre that took the lives of clubgoers who were predominantly young, Hispanic and gay, Governor Ron DeSantis vetoed $150,000 in counseling for Pulse survivors and $750,000 to build housing for homeless gay kids in Central Florida—while signing a $101 billion budget!

That’s messed up.

Without gay artists, Florida would be… Alabama.

Max shows Pride. Photo: Jux Lii

Also in the Department of American Lunacy Supporting the Former Guy: My Pillow Guy, aka Mike Lindell, organized another silly/scary rally for the Former Guy. Capt’n Max is especially incensed about this, and he doesn’t particularly like Mike’s pillows either.

Of course, Mike’s personal favorite pillow is just below the Former Guy’s belt.

Another crazy fascist QAnon “Mike” is former Security Advisor and Rump-pardoned criminal, General Mike Flynn, who recently called for a Myanmar style military coup to “reinstate” the Former Guy.

It’s all so absurd, but it’s really happening. Can these quooky QAnon’ers ever be enlightened? Can well-meaning lefties or liberals ever change their minds? Probably not. But they can change. Usually, for emotional reasons, including those stemming from sexual needs and desires.  For more about that, check out “Sex, Pride & Black Lives Matter.

Need the perfect Pride gift? Give The Bonobo Way for any kind of gay.

Meanwhile, we take a couple of calls and several questions from commenters on various platforms, as our Love Train chugs down the track.

“Leonard” wants to know how to “convince” their girlfriend that they’re not gay. “Tommy” is with a Cougar (eight years older than him) and wonders why she has “no interest in sex.” Listen above or below for my responses to their plights.

“Benedict Cumminmybatch” (now there’s an odd type of gasm) asks if “prevention from experiencing sexual stuff can act as almost a catalyst for hyper sexuality or nymphomania.” That’s a heavily loaded question. Though I agree that sexual repression tends to just make you want sex more, I don’t take seriously terms like “hypersexuality” (an attempt to make “sex addiction” sound more scientific) and “nymphomania” (an old-fashioned term for women who openly enjoy sex).

Somehow this leads to a short chat about the small penis humiliation movement among certain feminists in South Korea, symbolized by the thumb and forefinger *pinching* emoji, and how it’s putting Korean men’s panties in a twist.

Pussy Panties in the Pool. Photo: Unscene Abe

Evan, a 20-year-old economics student, calls in from Denver to chat about sex, economics (I assign him Thomas Piketty as homework), and how his biggest “turn-off” is party poopers.

I agree about party poopers, and add party shooters to the no-guest list for our next party.

Poop is bad, but getting murdered puts an end to all parties forever, so…

Nevertheless, Evan is stoked for orgies. On that, we also agree. And Gay “blue stoic panda” chimes in that the gay bath house parties he’s attended have been “totally head-blowing experience.”

Right on cue, Paris, aka @TheateroftheVamp on IG asks, “Do you still do the wonderful debaucherous speakeasy I’ve seen?”

Ha! Unfortunately, not in the Coronapocalypse, Paris, not even on my birthday.

Though if you too enjoy a “wonderful debaucherous speakeasy,” don’t miss our Post-Show Throwback: My AMAZING Birthday Bacchanal of 2017, when June 10^th fell on a Saturday and Bonoboville was filled with stars for a big Birthday-GASM bursting with eargasms, eyegasms, tastegasms and very sexy, downright intoxicating smellgasms…

Yes indeed, Brothers and Sisters, Lovers and Sinners, wake up and smell the sex!

Too bad, there’s no scratch-and-sniff TV, but your eyes and ears will thank you for tuning into his uniquely thrilling show.

So sorry, Paris, but I have no idea when we’ll be throwing sex parties again. They’ve never been about *business* for us, but labors of love that—between the anti-vaxxers, party poopers and party shooters—just aren’t viable these days. Hopefully, that will change as we start swinging through the new Roaring 20s.

RAINBOW GASM. Photo: Selfie

Meanwhile, if you want to see us in the flesh, and maybe get a masked-up, physically-distanced spanking, sign up for DomCon 2021, where I’ll be Mistress of Ceremonies, as well as delivering “The Secrets of the Kinky FemDom Bonobos.”

Just before we pull into our destination, Donald (who has called in before) chimes in to say he “agrees” with me about “everything.” He’s a sweetheart, loves the show and is mostly upbeat, but I can hear the pain and loneliness in his voice when he says “sexual repression” is so overwhelming, he can’t even “watch a [porn?] video” without feeling guilt and shame.

And we wonder why so many ammosexuals who can’t find their own pinched penises express their erotic desires through phallic firearms. Gungasms, if you will.

At least, Donald is trying to be bonobo. That’s saying a lot.

It’s also saying something that he’s calling in from Pennsylvania, “land where liberty was born,” as well as where I was born, and spent my first 18 birthdays (after which, I was outa there).

Speaking of which, we’re out of time, so I don’t find out if Donald is ammosexual or even single, but I hope he has a great gasm of some sort, and very soon. I hope we all do.

Call it a Healing Gasm.

With Ana and Chico who wants the flowers on my hat. Photo: Selfie

Or maybe “Healingasms.”

Because orgasms heal the sick, the suffering, the old, the young (but not too young!), the bored and the horny.

Blessed be the horny, for we are the life force of Eros on Earth.

Amen and Awomen.

Thank you for being here, Brothers and Sisters, Lovers and Sinners. Happiest of Birthdays to you, whenever your birthday might be.

As for me, I am baptized, blessed, bussed and bound for another year.

Birthday Buss! Photo: Selfie

June 12, 2021 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.

“BiRTHDAY GASM” PHOTO ALBUM