Length 01:51:12 Date: March 10, 2018
It’s Women’s History Month, and the Womb Room is rocking with woman power. Bonobo sapien females of all ages, shapes, sizes and races engage in nude wrestling, oral pleasures, sapiosexual Weapons of Mass Discussion, music, comedy, encounters with various men and a joyous, raucous tribute to one strong sexy woman in current American affairs whose very name evokes the ethos of our times.
Last week, we kicked off Women’s Month paying tribute to Queen Esther, a Biblical woman who saves her people from genocide with nothing but her own Weapons of Mass Seduction. This week, we continue in Esther’s lineage, honoring a living woman with the potential to “save” America from the terrors of the Trumpocalypse with her own not inconsiderable seductive powers.
And a porn star shall lead them!
Some might call that a rude bastardization of Isaiah 11:6, but really, when it comes to toppling the Trumpus, who has more legs than Putin these days? And not just legs, but also boobs the size of Obama’s first inauguration?
Stormy Daniels, of course.
Eminently worthy of a Women’s Month tribute, Stormy is a strong woman, a successful actress and director of adult films, a real-life MILF (with a seven-year-old daughter), an accomplished ranked equestrienne, a fantastic twitter smackdown artist and an American patriot now on a “Make America Horny Again” tour of strip clubs around the nation. Even as she is pilloried by alt-right trolls and mocked by sex-phobic lefties, she stands tall and true to her porn-star ethics, a role model and champion to good, honest sluts, bonoboesqe whores and “nasty women” everywhere.
In case you’ve been off the grid for the past few weeks, Stormy is the winking eye of the scandal hurricane that has been brewing since word leaked out that Don Trumpeone’s legal consiglieri, the pugnacious Michael Cohen, paid Stormy $130,000, “out of his own pocket,” a few months before the 2016 election, allegedly in exchange for her silence over a 2006 tryst the then-27-year-old contract porn star engaged in with the current POTUS.
About a week ago, Stormy sued Trump, declaring that he never signed the non-disclosure agreement himself, not even as David Dennison (his lyrically alliterative pseudonym), thereby rendering it invalid and freeing her to tell her truth about it. Days later, Cohen obtained a restraining order for Trump barring Stormy from talking further about their affair that allegedly occurred just a few months after Melania gave birth to Barron.
It’s too late in terms of public knowledge. Many juicy details of this storm have already leaked and pretty much flooded the Internet and the over-wrought, post-scandalized psyches of everyone connected to it.
Here in Bonoboville, as members of the Resistance and big supporters of the porn industry and sex workers’ rights, we feel particularly close to this issue.
Not that we have any problem with presidents enjoying consensual extramarital sex with porn stars or anyone else. But it’s apparent that this unpresidented Presidunce and his legal hitman have broken some campaign finance disclosure laws in trying to hush things up just before the election when word of his self-confessed, nonconsensual “pussy-grabbing” was upsettingly fresh.
It probably would have been better for the Trump team to let Stormy tell her story then, distracting the public from his ugly boasts with the naughty, but far less “rapey” tale of a woman who’d actually consented to sex with Don Grabby-Hands. Moreover, though she’d never received the promised guest spot on “The Apprentice,” she wasn’t particularly sorry about it.
But no, the mounting Trumposity didn’t want any news of a porn-star affair to soil the Anointed One’s sacred, sordid courtship of the Religious Right, which was fatuously swallowing his flimsy-as-Stormy’s-thongs excuse that his Access Hollywood sexual assault confession was just “locker room talk.”
So, Cohen paid Daniels the (probably illegal) hush money and she hushed, sort of. Now, he’s gotten this restraining order that couldn’t anymore clearly spell out “G-U-I-L-T-Y” than if it were printed on a MAGA hat. That is, this Storm will not be restrained.
#FreeStormy Now! Let her tell her #MeToo story, like everybody else is doing these days.
Whatever happens, my hat is off to the seemingly strong, admirable and very sexy Stormy Daniels. Though I’ve never had the pleasure of talking with her on my show, I’ve interviewed countless other porn stars, including Stormy’s close friend and current assistant, Kaila Paige, retired adult-film actress, Penthouse Pet and wife of Limp Bizkit founding member Sam Rivers, who was on DrSuzy.Tv in a fabulous September, 2011 show, entitled (of all things) Penthouse Confessions.
Go Stormy, go bonobos! The fact that a very worried Drumpf is taking a Saturday morning meeting with one Emmet Flood, Bill Clinton’s old impeachment lawyer, bodes well for the Resistance.
Hopefully, if and when the Orange Menace is extinguished from our over-agitated, climate-worsening lives, he will take Mike Pence with him, as the Veep is so far up the Religious Right’s ass, he would have good sluts like Stormy imprisoned for just existing.
In keeping with our Commedia Erotica approach to current events, which also serves as Post-Trump Sex Disorder therapy for myself and my guests, we gag our Trump dickhead doll with that restraining order. We also spank him with the 2006 Forbes Magazine featuring himself, Ivanka—about whom his incestuous implications, including Stormy’s memory of Big Daddy saying the porn star looked like his darling daughter, keep making the rest of us gag—and Don, Jr., looking appropriately vacant of any ethics whatsoever. Surrounding our Drumpf effigy with her smooth long arms and inflated bust is the newest addition to my broadcast bed props, a big wide-mouthed blow-up doll that looks, in a way, like Stormy.
Big thanks to the good folks at Adult Warehouse Outlet for giving us our plastic “Stormy Daniels” doll, as well as some cool sex toys, and the lingerie outfits that my lovely assistants Phoenix Dawn and Mia Amore wear on this show.
The ladies picked up the bustier-slip I’m wearing, and it’s a little too big for me up top, but that seems fitting for my efforts to honor the uber-busty Stormy.
Steroids & Stormy Women
I’m also just recovering from a wicked flu that is storming through Capt’n Max and my life, practically knocking out our personal power lines. You can hear the scratch of the evil bug in my voice on his show. But I’m at no loss for energy, thanks to the “booty shot” of steroids that the doc injected in my buttocks. No, that’s doesn’t mean I did anal in the doctor’s office, you medical fetishists. But it did “hurt so good,” entering my left butt cheek with a searing pain, practically paralyzing the whole left side of my body and then, in a manic, cocaine-like rush, had me seething with vim and vigor. In fact, as I write this, I am still on said steroids, doctor’s orders (thanks Kaiser, love ya too) to keep my flu-wracked body from moving on to pneumonia. That might (partially) account for the particularly ranting nature of this show journal entry.
I now understand why some athletes love steroids, and why the teams and judges that run athletic contests forbid them. I don’t believe in the myth of sex addiction, but I do believe in the clear painful reality of steroid addiction. Also, I better comprehend the deeply energetic frustration that is called “roid rage.” I’m not personally feeling angry (at least, not so far), but then, I am blessed with the fantastic energy outlet of this show, as well as my sexy (if currently flu-riddled) marriage, now verging on 26 years. But I can easily see how those with outlets no more erotic than shopping, “working out” or just working can go crazy from this stuff.
Steroids: Human dynamite that turns to kryptonite.
Under the Kaiser’s orders, I flow into the show, stormed up by Stormy Daniels tales, in a Stormy-sized bra with a ‘roid-pumping heart, when suddenly I’m surrounded by these amazing, multi-talented, loving women who seem strong enough to carry me through a real storm, and in a way, they do.
There are big women, small women, curvy women, slim women, trans women, naked women, muscular women, strong women, smart women, sexy women; so many women, it makes me sing “Hallelujah, Amen and AWOMEN.”
There are a few notable men too, as you can see in the photos, as there are in most Bonoboville gatherings, but I will talk about them a bit later. Let the guys, with their wonderful penises and “patriarchy,” get to the end of the line (for once!), at least during Women’s Month. This is Bonoboville, so we’ll treat them gently while they wait.
And allow me to apologize for introducing my amazing guests in a short and sweet, but incomplete manner; should I give them their proper just-due, this journal entry would be a book of Biblical proportions.
Meow Misti Dawn
I’ll start with a returning favorite “daughter” of the Dr. Susan Block Show, former porn star, now podcaster and cosplayer, Misti Dawn, aka “Meow Misti Dawn,” whom we haven’t seen in years before running into her doing make-up for the Red Queen on VDay at Clifton’s Cafeteria.
Some of Misti’s make-up talents show on her very own face, glittering eyelids fluttering like angels over her heavenly cheeks, her luscious curves clad in creamy lace.
No stranger to embodying strong sexy women onstage and off, Misti played the starring role of Queen Esther in our 2011 Purim Bacchanal, as well as that of Venus on our legendary Eros Day Orgy in the Womb Room.
I wish I could have spent a whole show just chatting with Misti about how her life has evolved, but as it is, she’s an excellent “panel member,” bantering away on the issues and antics of the night, including her cogent observation that the only month of the year devoted to women is also the month that doubles as a verb: March.
Speaking of which, March for Our Lives, spearheaded by the brave and eloquent student survivors of the Valentine’s School Massacre, is coming up March 24th in Washington.
Mistress Kara: Wrestling, Bonobo-Style
My next guest shows us how to channel that violent human energy into the art and sport of erotic wrestling.
Mistress Kara is a “professional nude wrestler,” who works with Kink.com, among other companies, tangling lustily with men and women, both on camera and off.
Literally a “strong woman,” Mistress Kara shows off her biceps as well as her boobs (“D cup,” the lady says, though they seem almost Stormy-sized).
She and Phoenix share a sizzling chemistry and wrestle together like wildcats or bonobo gals—juiced up on natural hormones and adrenaline, not steroids (like one of us)—doing a very aggressive hoka-hoka.
First, they tangle in lingerie, fishnet pantyhose and leggings for the Facebook cameras.
Then for the uncensored DrSuzy.Tv and Bonoboville eyes-only, they strip down for naked skin-to-skin, catfight combat. It’s like the way the ancient Greeks conducted the original Olympics, except their athletes were all men, and ours are women.
There were Women’s Olympics too, in ancient Greece, but with the men controlling the history books, the Men’s Olympics are the ones we mostly learn about. All the more appropriate to honor Women’s History with a little live and unscripted Women’s Naked Wrestling right in the seething, estrogen-sweating, steroid-popping center of the Womb Room.
We’re not sure who wins this contest. Mistress Kara’s strength—not to mention body weight and muscle—certainly prevails over Phoenix.
On the other hand, Phoenix appears to be the grand prize winner of a good time. Add “naked wrestling” to my lovely assistant’s long list of special talents! And then there’s that passionate chemistry between both hot strong ladies; at points, it seems the two of them are the only women in the Womb Room…
Funny Fizz D.
But they’re not. Next to Ms. Kara is the elegant, erudite and witty comedienne Fizz D., who regularly hosts comedy shows throughout Los Angeles. Though prepared and encouraged to do a five-minute set, Fizz states that she is so impressed and overjoyed by the experience of being in the Womb Room with such a strong array of free women, she’d prefer to go with the flow of the show and provide commentary during our intimately wild experience. She does beautifully with that. It’s a go with the flow show.
Smiling pigtail to pigtail during most of the evening, the beautiful and quick Indian-American actress and comedienne, who can be found on network television shows like How to Get Away with Murder and the upcoming season of Dear White People on Netflix, Fizz D. shows she can not only take the main stage, but also enjoy and support her sisters in entertainment, even explicitly erotic entertainment.
Another great bonobo gal engages Bonoboville!
Moving around my bed to the porn star section of the circle, we come to budding adult starlet, Monica Raven, a trans performer who calls herself a “tranny,” politically incorrect as that might be. I find myself calling her “tranny” too, enjoying enunciating the sexy vowels of the taboo diminutive, feeling certain to suffer the slings and arrows of some of my colleagues who find the term offensive, even though Monica herself encourages me to use it. Such is the complex BDSM nature of modern sex, even when consensual.
We cheer all her peers, and many of our own friends, bound for the Teas this weekend.
We also cheer Monica as she strips and teases us to the tune of The Kinkster by Mark Will of [ai] aka Carmina Formosa – inspired by Bonobo Way. She’s at first a little shy, in that eye-fluttering, Queen Esther-ish way, but the porn star within emerges like the proverbial butterfly from the cocoon, and she shows her entire beautiful, naked, surgery-free body to the Womb Room
Wow. What a babe, and another passionate love for Phoenix whose bisexuality is raging with all the masculine femininity and feminine masculinity in the Womb Room .
Happy Women’s Month, Monica, a strong woman in a whole different way.
From “Tranny Porn” to “Granny Porn,” we move along the politically incorrect adult entertainment niche-market spectrum to Lillith Lustt, a veteran porn star (whom some Bonoboville staff remember from her heyday in the 1990s) and self-confessed “schizophrenic” (well-medicated), as well as a bit of a porn activist and “character.”Lillith has done some wrestling in her time, as well as all sorts of other erotic entertainment genres.
These seven scintillating “Stormy Women” surround me as we lift off into the broadcast. Then, of course, the men start horning in on the action, as well as the dialogue, as men tend to do.
Let’s Hear It for the Boys, or at least Ron Jeremy
It’s all good, in a way. It’s not like this is some kind of Wiccan Witches Circle, though it feels like that occasionally. Capt’n Max is here, most of our volunteer tech people are guys, and our audience is filled with cis-hetero couples bringing more men into our ladies night of nights.
Nevertheless, it feels a bit momentous to introduce the first guy onto the Womb Room stage this particular show, especially since this particular guy is Ron Jeremy.
Yes, that Ron Jeremy, my old friend (since I met him in the 1980s through Dr. Toni Grant, when I was ghostwriting her book, Being a Woman, the two of us gallivanting from Beverly Hills to Honolulu, Cabo to La Costa, a different time indeed, but I digress). Ron is also an internationally renowned or notorious (depending on your judgments) XXX-rated icon, undeposed Mayor of Bonoboville, record-breaking multiple-award-winning porn phenomenon, a decent musician and comic, and newly minted #MeToo movement (adult industry wing) pariah.
Ron hasn’t been back on the show since accusations of sexual misconduct of various sorts came barreling down on him in the tsunami of cultural change that is the #MeToo Reckoning. I’m sure that some people will criticize me and Bonoboville for even having him here; because of the allegations, the AVN convention, where Ron has long been a fixture, has banned him from its premises.
But we welcome Ron back to DrSuzy.Tv, as he has been a guest on the show dozens of times, since the 1980s. Moreover, it is just that—a show—where we interview all types of people with whom we may agree or disagree. Why, we even welcome and cordially interview (though sometimes spank) Trump supporters on this show!
On the other hand, “Dr. Suzy’s Speakeasy” in Bonoboville, LA, is more than “just” a show. It may seem surreal, but this ain’t no Apprentice. This is real reality TV, with a real bar, a real garden, a real business (gotta get your bizness going in proto-capitalist America), a real philosophy and a real community. We share our scene with friends and a few select strangers or “newbies,” so it’s important to us that all the people who are here during and after the show are “cool,” especially to women (who “rule” Bonoboville, on many levels), but really, to everybody. It’s not an exact science, but it’s the Bonobo Way, and it’s the way it has to be if we are to continue to share this relatively free and erotically open environment.
Under these conditions, we welcome Ron back to the show, as we always have. I’m not going to pass judgment on any of the recent accusations, some of which sound awful (he denies them), and others that sound a little strange to my ears (like the one where someone accused him of “trying to give her a leg massage” at Hedonism II), but that could be because of media mischaracterization, so I’m reluctant to even judge those (except maybe in private while puffing a doobie). We know Ron is a very touchy-feely, kissy-grabby, “groper,” as he himself readily admits—but all of the gropings we’ve seen him indulge in Bonoboville have been consensual. Well, to be more precise, he may grab first, but as soon as a woman (he appears to only grab women) protests, he stops. He usually then moves onto someone else. There have always been more than enough women in the place who want very much to be grabbed and forcefully kissed by Ron Jeremy, women who line up for it and take selfies of themselves doing it to send their boyfriends as if they’re taking a famous ride in Disneyland, so this has not been a problem. Even on this show, with his celebrity at half-mast and accusations looming, a young woman in the audience boasts, “I got to kiss Ron Jeremy!” just before he joins us onstage. We can’t vouch for AVN or anywhere else, but he has behaved like a gentleman, not “the perfect” sort, but then, those really “perfect” gentlemen are more likely serial killers than a Ron Jeremy.
Nevertheless, as always, we keep an eye on the wily, wiggly Hedgehog. Though Ron isn’t actually so wiggly this show, nor does he hog the spotlight from the luminous women, as he has done in the past, such as when he played “Pimpin’ Cousin Mordecai” to Queen Esther in last year’s raucous Purim play, literally “parting the Red Sea of Vashti/Rhiannon’s menstruating vagina with his royal scepter.
I do feel compelled to “warn” all the ladies—on and off mic—that “Ron Jeremy is in the Womb Room! Hold onto your panties!” Or take them off for him, whatever your preference.
I also ask my old friend point-blank, what do you have to say for yourself? What do you want to say to your accusers?
To which he quietly replies, “Nothing.”
Not a brilliant answer delivered with the old RJ-panache, and yes, it’s apparent that the deluge of negative press and angry tweeting has taken its toll on the man. If he has committed sins (and who hasn’t?), he has been taking his punishments and appears humbled, if not apologetic. Certainly, some would want more, but who am I to ask him to apologize, since in all of our decades of friendship, he has never violated my trust?
I sigh and let him go along with “nothing,” sure that folks will interpret that “nothing” as something, in whatever way they wish, as people tend to do in these fast-food-style infotainment days of instantaneous analysis amidst stormy cultural shifts.
Actually, it’s not quite “nothing.” Ron says he’d rather let the women of his life speak in his defense, and his longtime friend Lillith does just that, stepping in with a passionate portrayal of Ron’s respectfulness towards herself and other women they have known over many years. Ron almost has to stop her, she’s so effusive in her praises of her longtime friend, lover and co-worker.
Back in the 1990s, Ron actually worked with our woman of the hour, Stormy Daniels, playing an Egyptian Sheik in an adult film she directed called “Desert Stormy.” For his part, Ron says he believes what Stormy has to say about her affair with Trump, whom he also met, generously pronouncing the future president’s hand-size “normal,” backstage at a Jimmy Kimmel show once upon a time.
Speaking of stormy, the air in the Womb Room is so thick with various tensions, I half-expect someone from the audience to jump up and attack Ron, or me for having him (as has been done to me on social media), but no one does.
Tense or intense, everyone is having too good a time, or maybe it’s just that Ron is being too good a guest, very deferent to the ladies, playing a Scottish tune on harmonica as they wrestle. And I must say, it’s the Bonobo Way.
Bonobos empower the females more than any other apes on Earth. But bonobo males are well taken care of, sexually and otherwise. Female empowerment and male well-being go hand-in-paw in Bonoboville, each contributing to the “bonobo miracle” of peace through pleasure.
Womanly Communion and More Erotic Wrestling
Meanwhile, the Women’s Month celebration rages on, with Mistress Kara and Phoenix engaging in a very spiritual and carnal Bonoboville Communion.
PHOTO 1: DANNY LOPEZ. PHOTO2: JUNEAU DIGITAL. PHOTO 3: JOHN CLARK
Ms. Kara was not brought up or brainwashed by any particular religion. Spiritual wild child, she is a gracious and enthusiastic Altar Girl to Phoenix’s lusty licks. And the Womb Room goes wild with their passion.
Amen, Awomen and yum-yum!
“If you don’t have any experience and want to go all in (which spunky Mia does), it’s best to wrestle with someone with tons of experience under their belt, so you can stay safe,” Mistress Kara advises Mia and our audience as they slide in and out of half-nelsons, cradles and other classic wrestling holds, their muscles glistening with sensuous, challenged passion.
Later, “little sister” Mia gets in on the wrestling act, as Phoenix catches her breath. Mia seems to thoroughly enjoy big curvy Mistress Kara pinning and roughing up her petite body, with dominant but tender, loving care.
More Men, Music, Desert Susan and Love
At some point in the second part of the show, another male joins the circle, the one wearing an authentic Scottish kilt (which I keep incorrectly calling it a “skirt,” showing my inadvertent political incorrectness yet again), as well as a black leather tie and lace-up corset. He is Jack Friday, partner and fellow “Sir” with Mistress Kara. Yes, she likes to be called “Sir,” and so does he.
Coincidentally, I find out later, that Jack, a U.S. military veteran (a “grunt of grunts” in the infantry) is a fan of our old “Desert Susan” tapes. Yes, some 27 years ago, before Ron and Stormy made “Desert Stormy,” Capt’n Max and I fell in love while making “Desert Susan,” our radio show that we sent overseas on cassette tapes to the troops in Desert Shield and Desert Storm, to both comfort and challenge them to make peace with our so-called “enemies” and stop the perma-wars.
Maybe the effects of Desert Susan are somewhat delayed; in any event, Jack is “studying war no more,” having traded his army machine gun for a leather whip and a different kind of grunting. Debonair in an old-Hollywood cowboy way, he seems to relish his life as a Dominant with his fellow Dominant, Mistress Kara, and his lovely submissive, Surka Noelle.
How about the so-called “low” girl on this polyamorous BDSM-ish totem pole? Surka expresses how happy she is, as a strong woman in control of her life, surrendering that control to “Sir” for select periods of time. Her submission to her beloved emanates grace, and is, in its way, commanding.
She especially exudes woman power when she sings an Italian aria, a cappella, for a sex-smell-saturated, hormone-intoxicated and spellbound Womb Room. What a magical musical serving wench to round out our Women’s Month representation.
The show is bursting its storm drains into overtime.But we manage to squeeze in a few more minutes for our own Ikkor the Wolf’s hiphop ode to strong, sexy, stormy women who don’t let the judgments of others restrain them.
As stormy as this show is, the after-party is relatively low-key.
John Clark (an old friend of Ron’s), and his son Derek Wilder, come up to say hi. People continue to talk about the show, almost like it was a hallucinogenic experience. Guests linger under the wet and twinkling palms to chat and drink, then scatter in the stormy weather.
I can’t drink while taking antibiotics. But the steroids are still mischievously spanking my libido, so away the Captain and I go, careful not to slide off the slippery stairs, up to our little love nest above the garden, to catch each other’s colds (which we’d long before caught) and share mutually fluish, steroid-powered, decongestant-squeezed orgasms that take a while to wind up but then pop into remarkably clear-sinused fireworks (not firearms!), and then drop like parachutes into a leisurely ride on the ‘roidal roller coaster up, down and around post-coital visions, dreams and delusions for somewhere between an hour and twenty seconds, before falling into a very deep and (hopefully) healing sleep.
Thanks to Our Volunteers: Videographers- Kris A, JC; Photographers – Danny Lopez, Juneau Digital, Eye Pic You, Danny Lopez; On-Campus Bonobos – Phoenix Dawn, Miss Mia Amore, Abe Perez, Camille Rosebud, Mita Altair, Harry Sapien, Gideon Grayson, MarsFX, Clemmy Cockatoo, Ana & Miguel.
© March 11, ,2018. 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.
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