Length 01:49:30 Date: Sept. 22nd, 2018

by Dr. Susan Block

It’s Autumn Equinox, the first day of Fall officially falling on September 22, as we broadcast this effervescent, waxing Harvest Moon of a show live from the Little Love Church of Bonoboville on the edge of another wildfire and across the country from another hurricane.

As the sun sashays across the Earth’s equator from north to south, camgals, gypsies, erotic entertainers and soldiers on the front lines in the war against sexual oppression, gather together in my Womb Room, and we all fall into the Bonobo Way to seize the day for peace through pleasure in all kinds of weather.

Self-Love September

Sexually speaking, the autumnal equinox is a great time for great sex, deepening intimacy and/or a whole lot of hot kinky fun.



The sun rises later and evening falls sooner, the nights get longer, darker and chillier, optimal conditions for cuddling up with someone you love, even if that someone is you. Maybe that’s why we call it Self-Love September.

Autumn Equinox also signals a spiritual kind of “self-love.” Traditionally, it’s supposed to be a good time to commune with the great outdoors. That is, unless climate change has turned your front yard into a lagoon of pig shit courtesy of Hurricane Florence, or the air you breathe is the toxic ashes of your neighbors’ barbequed belongings. During this particular show, it’s the Charlie Fire blazing through Castaic Santa Clarita; every few days, there’s a new conflagration as the old fires continue burning. And “fire season” doesn’t even start until October!

Meanwhile, the Trumpus is burning fossil fuels like there is literally “no tomorrow,” has never backed away from calling Climate Change a “Chinese Hoax” to undermine American business and keeps making it easier for his friends in Big Oil and Perma War to pump pollutants into our atmosphere—not only hastening Global Warming, but giving more and more of us the gift that keeps on choking.

As you may have heard, I wound up in ER last week sucking on a nebulizer like it’s my favorite phallus, and I’m not the only one gasping for breath on the planet that human ingenuity, greed and capitalism-on-steroids is quickly poisoning. Asthma, bronchitis and other respiratory illnesses are on the rise in Trump’s America.

I’m happy to report that I survived my little asthma attack, and it being autumn equinox, I give thanks.

This being Bonoboville, I also give spanks (the subject of our next Speakasy Journal), plus sparkling flicks of Glamazon Goddess Phoenix’s Fiber Optic Whip to the booty-shorted bottom of my adorable and slightly naughty assistant Blossom Green , as my guests, camgals Minnah Mac, Lexxy, Andy the Gypsy, Handsome Hollywood Jake and Ikkor the Wolf egg me on.

Later we moon the Harvest Moon. Tis the Witchy Season!

The mooning is not our most stellar.

We have had fuller moonings, I must say.

These are half and quarter moonings.

You could say they are “half-assed,” and you’d be spot-on. But always fun and frisky, like this whole show.

Another name for Fall Equinox is “Mabon,” after the Welsh God of the Harvest though I call it Mabon’er because, having grown up in the Welsh-named “Bala Cynwyd” suburb of Philly I know all too well how much those Welsh gods need a little spice.



The Fall of Persephone & the Rise of Kavanaugh



Personally, I prefer the first Fall Equinox of Greek mythology symbolized by the “Fall,” aka the Rape of Persephone, daughter of Demeter, the great Earth Mother Goddess of the Harvest, Fertility and Agriculture. Like many unfortunate virgin maidens then and now, Persephone is raped by her uncle who, in this case, is the Lord of the Underworld.

As the myth goes, Princess Persephone is out picking flowers with her girlfriends when her Uncle Hades, God of the Dead, charges up on his black chariot, scoops her up and “ravishes” (a more romantic word for rape) her—probably putting his hand over her mouth so she can’t scream (or breathe) like a certain wannabe Supreme Court Justice—then takes her down to his bachelor pad in the bowels of the Earth.

When Demeter finds out her daughter has been abducted by her own brother Hades, she appeals for help from their older brother Zeus, King of the Gods. But Zeus doesn’t want to alienate his base, so he just looks at his distraught sister like Trump looking at a shithole country.

Except this distraught sister happens to be the Goddess of the Harvest, Fertility and Agriculture, and if Zeus treats her like a shithole country, well, then she will just let the whole Earth go to shit. As Persephone falls into the Underworld, the Earth falls… apart. Crops don’t grow, the land is barren, the environment is a mess. Plants die. Animals die. People die. Ecosystems die. Almost everything dies as Mother Demeter grieves and rages.

Finally, Demeter’s strike gets Brother Zeus to take notice, and the family works out a deal based on pomegranate seeds whereby Uncle Hades gets Persephone half the year and Mama Demeter gets her the other half, when she showers the world in Spring. Certainly a bi-partisan agreement that keeps the world turning. If only our Democrats and Republicans could work it out like Sister Demeter and Brother Hades! Compromise: It’s the Bonobo Way.



Of course, those wily Greeks understood much about humans and the rest of nature, and this myth is eerily prophetic regarding what’s happening now in America. On the micro level, as I write this, Frat Boy Supreme Court nominee Brett Kavanaugh, the Lord of the Underworld as far as women, people of color and the 99% are concerned, is within inches of landing a lifetime Supreme Court Justice post that will inevitably put our courts way out of balance in favor of corporations, repressive religion, the billionaire class, the perma-wars and the .001%.

Kavanaugh’s fate depends, to an unsettling degree, on whether or not we believe that he attempted rape on a Persephone-like innocent girl, now Professor Christine Blassey Ford, when he was 17 and she 15. It’s a Great American Showdown: #MeToo vs. the Repugnican Frat House, broadcasting live from the Senate chambers.

Speaking of frat houses, Judge Brett, a fellow Yalie, was/is also a member of the notorious DKE (Delta Kappa Epsilon Fraternity), as was George W. Bush, another amoral, corporate-shilling scion of American privilege. When Brett’s DKE frat bros marched around Yale’s Women’s Center chanting: “No means Yes. Yes means Anal!”, not only did the Yale administration ban the fraternity for a few years, they completely obliterated my own beloved pet project, Sex Week at Yale, even though SWAY had nothing to do with DKE. On the contrary, it was all about sex education and fostering respect for one another. So yeah, Kavanaugh, this is personal. I don’t know if you really tried to rape Dr. Ford, but I do know your pro-corporate, anti-people politics stink worse than a pig shit lagoon.

Breaking News: A second woman has accused Bret Kavanaugh of thrusting his unwanted penis in her face during a party at Yale. Kavanaugh says the incident “did not happen.” Making things even more personal, the New Yorker piece is co-written by my Yale classmate, Jane Mayer, whom I just saw at our reunion, along with Ronan Farrow. Honestly, I am so proud of Jane, as well as hundreds of my fellow Yalies who closed down classes at the Yale Law School to protest Kavanaugh today. Boola-Boola!

More Breaking News: Bill Cosby has been sentenced to three-ten years in state prison. Not that I’m a Cosby fan or believe he’s innocent (check my “Bill Cosby’s Sleep Fetish” for more of what I think), but I do feel that this sentencing is creepily like a lynching, when white predators like Trumpenstein and Kavanaugh get a pass.



Meanwhile, on the macro level, the American Oligarchy, the Lords of Corporate Death, Ecocidal Destruction and Perma-War, are raping the American People, like we are Persephone (or Dr. Ford), putting their strong, cold hands over our mouths so we can’t breathe. True to the Grecian myth, Mama Demeter is raging in a manner that is downright Biblical, with Noah-esque floods to the East and hellfire all around us.

So we have to vote and we have to have hope that Spring will come again, and Persephone will return to Demeter, and the flowers will bloom, the crops will grow and there will be a resurrection of LBT (Life Before Trump).

And maybe the Bobby Kennedyesque Beto O’Rourke will beato Ted Cruz, the most odious Senator ever, and we’ll have a Bonobo Spring Revolution.

But for now, it’s Fall, and we’re all falling down into a great yawning abyss of politics-as-soap-opera, bovine poop and ashen air.

Toadstool Trump & Double Dong Fellatio

At least, for sorely needed comic relief and heroic inspiration, we have Stormy Daniels’ Full Disclosure of the detailed dimensions and personality of the Trump dicklet.

It essentially boils down to being “small… with a… mushroom head, like a toadstool” with “Yeti pubes… a dick like the mushroom character in Mario Kart.”

Needless to say, Stormy was not impressed nor did she take photos, but on this show, we grab our Trump doll, gag him with an ear of corn and force him to reveal his (no longer) privates, and lo and behold, Stormy is exactly right.

Still, having a little cartoon dick is no excuse for being a narcissistic asshole, as our two camgirl guests, Minnah Mac and Lexxy, both of whom specialize in small penis humiliation, can attest.

Cuckold Paul Manafort

Speaking of sad sacks who are bad in the sack, there’s also Paul Manaforte.

Leaked texts between the loquacious Manafort daughters reveal that Trump’s felonious former campaign manager is, among other things, an interracial cuckold who coerced his long-suffering wife (whom, according to the girls, was not “into” his fetish at all) into having group sex with multiple men, often at the same time. Though the Manaforts attended couples therapy, they never brought up this critical aspect of their sex life. They really should have. Actually, not to brag, but let’s be blunt: They should have called me.

There’s nothing wrong with consensual cuckolding, group sex, hotwife gangbangs or anything “interracial”; many couples enjoy these sex games, and it may even save a few marriages. Cuckolding in particular stirs up the “sperm wars” phenomenon, making many an old husband harder for his “hotwife” than he’s been since they first fell in love. Yes, kinky as it is, cuckolding can be incredibly romantic.

The key is enthusiastic consent. It sounds like Manafort is the worst kind of cuckold: the Coercive Cuckold. If Manafort forced, blackmailed and coerced his wife into cuckolding him, as his daughters’ texts indicate, he should be in prison for domestic abuse as well as those eight counts of financial fraud.

What a twist for a guy who ran a political campaign exploiting the seesaw emotions of sexually repressed, racist, sexist men who attempt to insult other men who aren’t sufficiently racist or sexist by calling them “cuck” or “cuckservative,” meaning “weak,” soft or a sell-out to liberals. Interestingly, these tough-talking, right-leaning men are more likely to harbor secret “interracial cuckold” fantasies themselves, according to the “politics of cuckolding” by Dr. David Ley who was on DrSuzy.Tv talking about “The Myth of Sex Addiction,” as well as my own informal “surveys” of clients.

I do hope the leaked Manafort Daughters Cuckold emails bring some awareness to other individuals and couples that there’s nothing wrong or particularly weird about cuckolding (even the daughters agree that it would be okay “if” their mom liked it), as long as it’s consensual. When cuckolding—or anything else—is forced upon one partner by the other, it brings nothing but heartache to all concerned.

On the other hand, a disinterested wife would be wrong to shame or blame her wannabe cuckold husband for bringing up the subject because it turns him on to fantasize about her being with another man. Rather than coercion or rejection, how about a compromise, meeting each other halfway (the Bonobo Way) in the Erotic Theater of the Mind?

FemDom Minnah Mac & Sexxy Lexxy

My two camgal guests look like cousins. They’re even wearing the same shade of blue.

A bit of a FemDom with a big beautiful smile, Minnah Mac grew up in Utah. The descendent of slaves of Brigham Young, she is brimming with naughty tales of Mormon sex.

PHOTOS: HUGO FLORES

Sexy Lexxy with the soulful brown eyes hails from New Jersey. She grew up watching my TV show, so it’s no wonder she enjoys sex so much.

She especially likes to give, as well as receive, oral sex.

Since Minnah had grabbed one of our double dongs earlier, I ask the two of them to show off their fellating skills, one on each end.

After covering each end with a Glyde America Vegan Condom, Minnah takes the right and Lexxy goes left. Minnah immediately shows off her Deep Throating skills, while Lexxy performs a more sensuous lick and suck.

A good time is had by all, especially everyone watching.

Later, they make a lovely topless tableau, giving and receiving Bonoboville Communion from each other’s beautiful boobie altars.

Wonder what Minnah’s Mormon family would/will think?

As for me, I am Demeter, Goddess of the Harvest, as I not-so-solemnly sprinkle the sacred pink Himalayan salt on their dark sexy nipples and watch them lick, two girlfriends coming together in a very Bonobo Way, then waterboard each of these ladies, Bonobo-Style, with Agwa de Bolivia Herbal Coca Leaf Liqueur, the Fall Equinox drink of choice in Bonoboville.



For “dessert,” Blossom pops up between Minnah and Lexxi and declares the three of them to be an “Oreo cookie.”

Well, nobody ever accused this show of being too politically correct, but we do taste delicious, and we’re all about bonobo love.



Andy tha Gypsy

After all that caramel cheesecake, we’re due for a little beefcake, and our male guest Andy tha Gypsy is down for that.

Andy’s more of a spiritual gypsy than an ethnic Gypsy; Irish/Mexican Catholic from San Diego, he does like to travel, thus the “gypsy” motif.

He also performs erotic entertainment and striptease for bachelorette parties and other ladies-only events, getting down to a very skimpy, form-fitting blue thong, but he’s not a porn star, and doesn’t take it all off (much to Minnah’s disappointment).

He does give us a couple of impressive demos of his dancing prowess, first doing a little dance for Blossom, who he claims was “flirting” with him before the show. “Flirting is in her job description,” I let him know before he strips to the tune of Carmina Formosa’s “The Kinkster,” inspired by The Bonobo Way, the lapdance soon turning into a “Dancing with the Stars” entry as agile Andy picks bubbly Blossom up, twirls her around and upside down, going bonobos in Bonoboville.

Blossom giggles through the whole dance, but she giggles through a lot things.

Later Andy tells us that “Trump” shut down his Yelp account; that is, his account was closed due to Yelp paranoia over the ridiculous SESTA/FOSTA bill, passed by the Senate and signed by the Sexual-Hypocrite-in-Chief.

Andy’s feelings about football are a little more complicated; even though he’s wearing Nikes, as a “football fan,” he’s a bit put out by Colin Kaepernick’s “Take a Knee” against police brutality. I feel sort of the opposite way. I’m all for taking a knee, having experienced my own share of police abuse and knowing that people of color usually get it a lot worse, and I think it’s cool that Nike is giving Kaepernick a hefty paycheck right now. But they should really clean their own house; that is, pay their factory workers living wages and provide decent working conditions for them, both of which they have been notorious for not doing since the early 1990s.

That Nike phrase “Just Do It”? It didn’t come from heaven; just the opposite, actually.

The celebrity who made it famous was Gary Mark Gilmore, a flamboyant Mormon murderer who demanded his right to be executed and got it, his last words before the Utah firing squad putting out his lights: Just Do It. Not much more “famous last words” have ever been spoken, and there’s something very creepy



From cheesecake to beefcake to sapiosexual food for thought, it’s quite the diverse Fall Equinox.

Extra Beefcake & a Russian Bear for Trump Baby

Handsome Hollywood Jake is back.

So is his big tan bear, who actually never left, but just went into hibernation, as bears do.



The bear being a symbol of Russia, it’s fitting that this bear holds the Trump Doll with the toadstool penis.

What a menagerie we have in Bonoboville!

Then the ladies get Jake’s shirt off, and the Womb Room goes even more beefcake-crazy.

Wolf Pack

The next man to have his shirt(s) removed by camgals in the Womb Room is none other than Bonoboville Rapmaster Ikkor the Wolf.

Someone say beefcake?

For the Autumn Equinox, Ikkor leads a pack of wolves, a platoon of Detroit friends and family that pretty much take over Bonoboville, including Isaac from Uganda who appears to be having the time of his life.

With just a few more minutes left, the Wolf howls at the Harvest Moon: “She Bad.”

Busty Minnah Mac twerks her big naked booty to the beat. Talk about mooning the moon!

Blossom and Lexxy shake their moneymakers.

Then Andy steps to front, takes off his shirt, whisks it around lil ol’ me and picks me up in his choreography.

Next thing I know, I’m taking the Andy-tha-Gypsy Rollercoaster Ride, swooped up like Persephone (though this is consensual, albeit a bit of a surprise).



I give thanks that Andy is steady on those Nikes, knows what he’s doing and doesn’t drop me on my head.

Amazingly, my hat doesn’t even fall off.

Harvest Moon Over Bonoboville

Post-show, we continue to moon the Harvest moon which shines through the roof, a beacon of light and hope glowing through the darkness of Fall, casting its blessings on Bonoboville.

Meanwhile, the Wolf Pack revolves around the bar.

Blossom, Brigitte and I break off into a hula hoop triple threat, representing the three phases of the moon: 1) the Maiden (Blossom), 2) the Mother (Brigitte who—despite having the body of a maiden—has SIX kids!) and 3) the Crone (that would be Me, the Wise Old Witchy Woman of Bonoboville).

The cycles of life keep spinning around and around us all.

And dropping. Sometimes, they drop, of course, but it’s a great feeling when all our hoops are in the air at once.

Whereupon, Capt’n Max takes this Happy Crone in his orgasmic chariot to the moon as we fall into the our Underworld, ravishing each other while reviewing the sexiest and funniest moment of the evening’s festivities, allowing each instant to infuse fresh titillation into our vintage romance as it changes colors like autumn leaves.

#GoBonobos for Fall Equinox 2018!