by Dr. Susan Block There’s a big bully in town, and he’s picking on porn stars, but you could be next. Seriously, you could, and you will, unless you—that is, we—stop him. The bully is one Michael Weinstein, CEO of the LA-based AIDS Healthcare Foundation (AHF), wannabe California Sex Czar, a Mafia boss for the New Age Nanny State. Herr Weinstein’s latest nonconsensual gambit into our bedrooms is the atrocious, expensive, misleading, nonsensical and downright tyrannical California Proposition 60, on the ballot November 8th. Pretending to “protect” adult performers by requiring that they wear condoms, Prop 60 actually would force them to either leave the state, go underground or don the equivalent of hazmat suits while having sex, even if they are a married, monogamous couple

These days, committed, long-term marriage is going out of style, and for good reason, since most marriages don’t last unless the couple is forced to stay together. But for my Prince and me, wild renegade pair that we are, the old marital tradition holds true—20th anniversary true—and what better reason to host another fun-filled, Commedia Erotica-inspired, Sybian-riding, Speakeasy sex-celebration than twenty truly fantastic years of lawfully wedded love, lust and bonobo revolution? Like any good wedding night, we soon cross the threshold of vows and proclamations, and get right to the Womb Room bed, where the “honeymoon period” is never over—especially if by “honeymoon” you mean sex.

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.

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By Dr. Susan Block It’s our 23rd year of lawfully wedded love and lust, and Capt’n Max and I start the celebration early, just the two of us “partying like bonobos” in bed, climaxing in each other’s arms, the arms we’ve gotten to know so well but, happily, never tired of, lo these 23+ years. Wild and kinky as we are, we’re also very much married, sharing and being “witnesses” to each other’s lives, creating and constantly recreating the romance that just seems to deepen and grow between us as we age. But no couple is an island. Certainly, we aren’t! As much as we cherish our two-way intimacy, we need our Bonoboville community to keep us from going insane or letting our monogamy turn to monotony. One reason our “monogamish” (with a hat tip to Dan Savage and the forthcoming Tao Ruspoli film of that name) marriage seems to work is that we share our love, lust and romance with our Bonoboville of friends, lovers and interesting strangers.

Yes indeed, this show is the ultimate tuneful top-off to a wonder-filled 24th wedding anniversary week of bacchanalian celebration with bonoboësque friends, lovers, lawyers, icons and porn stars, and an almost continuous stream of music (traditional symbol of 24th wedding anniversaries)—from rap to classical to improvisational to “Making Whoopy” on the ukulele—transporting us to new heights of sublime ear-otica, compliments of the effervescent, eclectic jazz of Elvis Schoenberg and members of The Orchestre Surreal.

By Dr. Susan Block Just the Tip (for now)… THANK YOU, Brothers and Sisters of Bonoboville, for giving Capt’n Max and me such a fantastic, orgiastic, bacchanalian and bonoboësque 24th wedding anniversary send-off from such a pleasure-packed, endorphin-high Womb Room! Thank you for wearing lavender (especially by accident) in observance of the 24th. Thank you for playing your mellifluous musical instruments, strumming our strings, tickling our keys and dancing through our garden naked and free.

by Dr. Susan Block The 25th wedding anniversary is a big one, awarding the couple a silver “loving cup” in honor of fulfilling their marriage vows for a distinguished number of spins around the sun. Celebrating the 25th feels like gaining admittance into an elite club of veteran couples of all kinds, from reactionaries to revolutionaries, from Mike and Karen Pence (together since 1985) to Keith Richards and Patti Hansen (since 1983) to us (since 1992!); this imaginary couples club is made up of people who really don’t have anything in common at all, except being married more than 25 years.

To protect the birthday person against such awful influences, the tradition of the birthday party evolved, surrounding the individual with love, laughter, music, gifts and entertainment. This works. At least, it has, so far, for me. I’ve tried other methods, but I find that the best way to ward off the “evil spirits” of shock (am I really that old?), stress (shouldn’t I have accomplished more by now?), fear (what’s going to become of me?) and foolhardiness (maybe I should prove I’m still young by climbing to the top of the Golden Gate Bridge again) is to throw a big, balloon-filled, debaucherous, orgiastic birthday bacchanal of love, laughter, music, gifts, entertainment and lots of sexual activity with beautiful people hanging out in their birthday suits.

It’s my birthday! Many years ago (I won’t say how many—I don’t want to shock you), I emerged…I wish I could say it was from my Mom’s vagina, but I was a Cesarean. Maybe that’s why I’m bisexual: trying to crawl into a vagina so I can emerge from it, born again…