The ritual is the match, the orgy the flame.  Within just a couple hours of opening up the Institute’s brand new Womb Room, our 12th annual Eros Day had ignited into a stellar display of sensual, naked and winged bodies and souls soaring, flailing and thrusting into one another on and around the Olympic-sized bed surrounded by burning cock candles, buzzing pocket rockets, pulsing bongo beats, majestic erotic art and anatomically correct blow-up angels flying through the rafters above. It was a Commedia Erotica Heaven on Earth worthy of a Botticelli or Bronzino, or at least a Fellini movie, and one of our best Eros Day orgies ever, with some very tasty hors d’oeuvres.

Sexy professors and clever porn stars, eloquent poets and erotic rock stars, friends, lovers, veteran guests and Speakeasy virgins gather together in the Womb Room to celebrate the day I made my grand exit from my mama’s womb room. With all due respect to the Virgin Mother, no real mother is a virgin. No father either. We are all Children of Sex with a capital X. Amen & Awomen. Birthdays make me feel silly. People congratulate you for nothing but being alive. Though at my age, I suppose that’s an accomplishment. And I can’t deny it felt great to ride the airwaves with birthday erotica, multiple spankings, Pocket Rocket orgasms, a male-on-female lapdance and, of course, spanks on the house—counted out loud with me by my spank-happy in-studio audience–with post-spanking butt treatment from my decadent, very politically incorrect, new chinchilla mitt (a bday gift from a sex therapy client with a fur fetish) to ease the burn of those hot cheeks, surfing right into topless birthday candle blowing (with a fabulous, elaborate, gigantic-boobed birthday cake, a gift from Exotic Cakes), followed by more sexy spankings, a live post-show Fogelfoot concert, dancing and romancing with Mister9 spinning all birthday night long.

Sexy professors and clever porn stars, eloquent poets and erotic rock stars, friends, lovers, veteran guests and Speakeasy virgins gather together in the Womb Room to celebrate the day I made my grand exit from my mama’s womb room. With all due respect to the Virgin Mother, no real mother is a virgin. No father either. We are all Children of Sex with a capital X. Amen & Awomen. Birthdays make me feel silly. People congratulate you for nothing but being alive. Though at my age, I suppose that’s an accomplishment. And I can’t deny it felt great to ride the airwaves with birthday erotica, multiple spankings, Pocket Rocket orgasms, a male-on-female lapdance and, of course, spanks on the house—counted out loud with me by my spank-happy in-studio audience–with post-spanking butt treatment from my decadent, very politically incorrect, new chinchilla mitt (a bday gift from a sex therapy client with a fur fetish) to ease the burn of those hot cheeks, surfing right into topless birthday candle blowing (with a fabulous, elaborate, gigantic-boobed birthday cake, a gift from Exotic Cakes), followed by more sexy spankings, a live post-show Fogelfoot concert, dancing and romancing with Mister9 spinning all birthday night long.

Laissez les bons temps rouler!…and roll they certainly do as Grand Marshall Dr. Susan Block presents Tigerblood Mardi Gras, celebrating the wild party animal in all of us…sauntering across her stage with te tigress’ sultry elegance in regal purple hat, a matching tiger print sarong and purple panties personally signed on the butt crack by Heidi Fleiss. Tossing beads to the topless, she transforms the Institute’s Womb Room into a French Quarter carnival with a winning cast of Commedia Erotica characters, porn stars and erotica aesthetes, climaxing with a wild girl-girl-girl-girl pile-up in the show bed.

Air Date: 10/15/2011 The horse is a powerful sexual symbol, from knights on white horses rescuing and ravishing beautiful damsels to Zoo-ish perversities involving the stallion’s enormous member. The half-human/half-horse centaurs of ancient Greek mythology were notoriously libidinous, and I know I’m not the only woman who’s climaxed with a muscular steed galloping between my thighs (it’s not about the dick, darling; it’s about the rib cage). The Peter Shaffer play Equus explores the conflation of sex, religion and horses—mostly stallions. The mare is the adult female horse. And then there is the filly (not to be confused with my hometown of Philly), the younger female horse, who lends her name, like the pony, the chick, the bird, the bitch and the pussy, to any sexy young woman with a tail worth chasing. The fine fillies in this show, some of whom hail from lesbian erotica-oriented Filly Films, go buck-wild, turning the Womb Room into a romping rodeo of unbridled girly sex. Because hay may be for horses, but getting-the-freak-on is for fillies.

Length: 161:22 minutes Air Date: 11/24/2012 Here in BonoboVille, we find sexy ways to celebrate most holidays, even that quintessentially unsexy Fall Festival of Fat and Carbs when millions of Americans gather together with bickering relatives to feed on heaping helpings of mashed and candied calories in commemoration of the genocidal European invasion of this great land we call America. So, after getting stuffed (which we do both gastronomically and sexually here in BonoboVille) on Thanksgiving Thursday—with digestion (or indigestion) and shopping on Black Friday—it’s time to leave the kids with a sitter*, clean up the spatulas, get out the paddles and celebrate SPANKSgiving Saturday night! Yes indeed, brothers and sisters, after we “give thanks” on Thanksgiving for our blessings, we “give spanks” on Spanksgiving for our so-called sins, as well as for the sheer physical and psychological fun of whacking a set of nice, eager, well-toned, slightly quivering buns. Amen and Awomen. This Spanksgiving features an overflowing banquet of spankers, spankees and celebrities, all engaged in or ogling a variety of spankings from over the knee (OTK), to shackled on the bondage cross, to a swat across a tempting behind as it sidles up to the bar. We also talk about the impractical, unconstitutional and virtually unenforceable Measure B, and how LA County voters need to be spanked for passing that one—and will be, right in the pocketbook, if the porn industry actually leaves LA. Thanksgiving or Spanksgiving, ’tis the season to give and give some more. Aside from our usual plea for the bonobos and Sandy victims, there’s the wonderful, award-winning, girl-girl porn star and single mom, Elexis Monroe, now facing a serious bone disease and in need of help from her friends and fans. *but make sure the sitter doesn’t spank the kids. As the late great Gore Vidal said, “I’m all for bringing back the birch, but only between consenting adults.” See Spanking 101 for why spanking children teaches them that violence is the answer and lowers their IQ. So spare the child and save your rod for your deliciously naughty adult lover. Slappy Spanksgiving!

Length: 97:33 minutes Date: 02/18/2012 Take one punk rock star, two tranny stars, assorted porn stars, dom stars and Munkey-Barz, stir ‘em up in the Womb Room with music, politics, flogging, Agwa, sizzling hot anal sex, kinky hijinks, a Peter Piper and plenty of bodacious bare booty bouncing off the rubber walls, inspired by the classy (yet deliciously nasty) new film, Rubber Bordello, and what do you get? An amazing show, and a suitably awesome climax to more than a year straight of live 3-camera Womb Room broadcasts. Now we’re taking a few weeks hiatus while Captain Max embarks upon his great and treacherous journey into the high seas of neo-bladder surgery. Oh, but what a sensational and heartwarmingly outrageous Speakeasy send-off it is!

It’s our 21st wedding anniversary! Finally, our marriage is old enough to drink in California. So what else is there to do but throw a big old bacchanalian celebration of “monogamish” love, lust and healthy, good-natured debauchery? Probably a lot of things, like say, see your doctor, slow down, retire, act your age, make out your will, etc. But maybe one of the secrets to Pr. Max’s and my marital longevity is that we’ve never acted our age or “grown up” at all. We are perpetually at play—with each other, with our Bonoboville friends and lovers and with you, my darling reader—and so the momentous occasion of our 21st anniversary turns into one big orgiastic play-fest to the collective merriment of all. To continue reading the blog about this show, Click Here! To watch this show now, Click Here!

Here in BonoboVille, we find sexy ways to celebrate most holidays, even that quintessentially unsexy Fall Festival of Fat and Carbs when millions of Americans gather together with bickering relatives to feed on heaping helpings of mashed and candied calories in commemoration of the genocidal European invasion of this great land we call America.

Take one punk rock star, two tranny stars, assorted porn stars, dom stars and Munkey-Barz, stir ‘em up in the Womb Room with music, politics, flogging, Agwa, sizzling hot anal sex, kinky hijinks, a Peter Piper and plenty of bodacious bare booty bouncing off the rubber walls, inspired by the classy (yet deliciously nasty) new film, Rubber Bordello, and what do you get? An amazing show, and a suitably awesome climax to more than a year straight of live 3-camera Womb Room broadcasts. Now we’re taking a few weeks hiatus while Captain Max embarks upon his great and treacherous journey into the high seas of neo-bladder surgery. Oh, but what a sensational and heartwarmingly outrageous Speakeasy send-off it is!

It’s our 21st wedding anniversary! Finally, our marriage is old enough to drink in California. So what else is there to do but throw a big old bacchanalian celebration of “monogamish” love, lust and healthy, good-natured debauchery? Probably a lot of things, like say, see your doctor, slow down, retire, act your age, make out your will, etc. But maybe one of the secrets to Pr. Max’s and my marital longevity is that we’ve never acted our age or “grown up” at all. We are perpetually at play—with each other, with our Bonoboville friends and lovers and with you, my darling reader—and so the momentous occasion of our 21st anniversary turns into one big orgiastic, star-studded play-fest to the collective merriment of all.