Sex Pot, Sex Toys & Hot Haute Hats
Sex is playtime for adults. At least, when it’s good, it is. Like children enjoy playing with toys, many adults enjoy playing with sex toys.
They don’t have to be elaborate or electrical. Fruits and vegetables will do the trick, especially if they are long and firm, like cucumbers or zucchinis. If you’re a size queen, you might try an eggplant. I call these organic sex toys “nature’s own dildos.”
For guys, it’s a little more challenging. Some guys swear by the Banana Method which involves microwaving a firm banana skin with about half the banana inside for around 12 seconds. Then voila, you have “nature’s own pocket pussy.”
Travels with Max: Into the Heartland + Rubber Necro & Mormon Hedonism…
Many are the mysteries of the heart. The heart of the soul and the heart of the body. The human body and the body politic. My Max and our cardiac culture.
What happened to Max could happen to me, or maybe even you. One day, you’re walking around, shopping, dancing, having sex, producing shows and making pesto, free and blissfully ignorant of the ticking time bomb behind your ribs. Then, for whatever reason, you take a “stress test” which reveals that your arteries are clogged with extreme “blockage” (no relation to me!). Next thing you know, you’re on the fast track to a quadruple coronary artery bypass, a prisoner of western medicine, in quite literal bondage to the masters and mistresses of cardiology. These are the high priests of modern society, the highly trained and esteemed men and women in the monogrammed white coats, wielding their stethoscopes, their angiograms and their very sharp knives.
Sex, Death & Michael Jackson
Like millions around the world, I was shocked when the news of Michael Jackson’s death hit me harder than I’d ever imagined it would. True, I grew up on MJ, enjoyed my first make-out session to the guiding notes of “ABC,” slow-danced to “I’ll Be There,” moonwalked to “Billie Jean,” jilled-off to “Beat It” and opened my heart to “We Are The World.” But throughout our lives, I had no problem taking Jackson’s music, his moves, his scandals and paraphilias in moderation. I always liked to dance – and make out – to his tunes (who doesn’t?), but I was never a huge fan, never even went to a live concert. He seemed so, well…commercial. And then there was his tacky taste in art, not to mention those bizarre pajama parties with boys the age that he was when he taught me my ABCs.
That all changed on the afternoon of June 25, 2009. As soon as I got the news, I caught the wave. Where were you when MJ died? Like millions, I was on Twitter. Within seconds of TMZ’s scoop, “RIP MJ” hit #1 on Twitter’s trending topics with “Michael Jackson,” “Jacko,” “Gloved One” and other nicknames occupying almost all the other top spots. From Farrah Fawcett to the Iran Election, all other news was kicked to the curb. Make way for the King of Pop!
Star-Spangled Fire & Hot Holy Waters
There are often fireworks at the Speakeasy. But since America’s Birthday fell on a Saturday night this year, we worked that fire inside and out, climaxing with panoramic pyrotechnics on the roof, sparkling golden showers on RadioSuzy1 and an explosive Star-Spangled Banner aria in the bar sung acapella by magnificent Malena wearing nothing but Old Glory wrapped around her voluptuous form.
We started our 4th, like most Americans, with a BBQ. We called it “Porn & Hot Dogs.” My own darling Chef Max cooked up a scrumptious, saucily grilled buffet of hamburgers, salmon burgers, chicken burgers, cheeseburgers, veggie burgers, and of course, dozens of succulent, phallic franks of all kinds and sizes. Mmm… We just love those big beefy sausages, especially between warm fresh buns.
EroticaLA, Klown Diva, Green Revolution!
Much as we enjoyed frolicking nude and sharing simultaneous orgasms in the desert, we were eager to return to our own hedonistic oasis here in the Soul of Downtown LA. To better understand why, check out this video of opera star/fetish couture designer Malena Teves welcoming us home with an impromptu rendition of “Come Rain or Come Shine,” first a cappella, then accompanied by Kozmic the Klown on my great grandmom’s (untuned) 1926 Steinway:
Isn’t Malena awesome? When stuff like this happens in your *living room,* why would you want to leave home? This is why I hardly ever leave the Speakeasy/Institute. But contrary to rumors, I’m not agoraphobic. In fact, I came back from Sea Mountain just in time to go out again to Erotica LA!
Naked Desert Storm
I’ve always wanted to spend my birthday in my birthday suit. Usually I do some kind of b-day show or soirée with clothing (albeit skimpy clothing), but since June 10th fell on a Wednesday – not a great party night – this year, Max and I decided to get away from “it all,” including all of our clothes. So we took a trip to a place we’d never been called Sea Mountain Resort, even though it’s nowhere near the sea. Nor is it in the mountains, though it’s nestled at the dusty toes of the Santa Rosa foothills.
But how to get there from here? We weren’t about to drive from Downtown LA to Desert Hot Springs. Nor did we want to pay someone else hundreds of dollars to chauffeur us. Having one of our friends drive seemed to defeat the purpose of “getting away from it all.” Trains only run every other day, and not the days we wanted to travel. As for flying, the security lines and drive to the airport would have taken just as long as driving directly to Desert Hot Springs. So…what about the bus? Our Westside friends cringed at the thought. How could we take a Greyhound bus? Well, we did. And it was awesome.
Shock & Awe at Speakeasy BDSM Gala!
As the efficacy of nonconsensual torture is debated around the world, consensual torture found a home right here at Block Studios, a.k.a. “Dr. Suzy’s Speakeasy,” last Saturday night, in the name of “safe, sane,” but intensely passionate BDSM. Shock & Awe filled the gallery, the studios, the Womb Room and even some of the rest rooms, but it didn’t come from a bomb, exploding in death and destruction. It came from a few whips, some rope and a violet wand, climaxing in communal joy, emotional release and deep multiple orgasms.
Words can’t convey the kinky camaraderie and ineffable ecstasy of the evening. Photos do it some justice, as you can see by clicking on some of the amazing images of pain, pleasure and rapture to the right of this bloggamy. But you can only view the really hot XXX-rated photos when you join.
Bondage Gala Coming Up!
We are swinging into Show Mode here at the Studios, sorting the whips, untangling the chains, shining up the crosses and scrubbing the dildos in preparation for our pre-Bondage Ball Gala this Saturday night, May 23, with the swashbuckling sponsors of this year’s one and only LA Bondage Ball, The Broken Door. Though the Pre-Bondage Ball Gala will be a very exclusive soirée/show to be filmed by Ladybirds Films for a European TV documentary, Block Studios members might be able to snag one or two of a small number of available spots on The List…if they hurry up and make reservations now.
If you can’t be with us in the flesh, you can watch us online. We’re expecting some of LA’s premiere Mistresses, Masters and their sexiest slaves , doing erotic power exchange performance art in the uniquely seductive environment of the Speakeasy. We’ll also have a nice mix of porn stars – including the amazing Joanna Angel, Regan Reese and April Flores – as well as professors, artists and the couples-next-door. A portion of all proceeds goes to help the Bonobo Conservation Initiative to save our highly endangered kissin’, swingin’ (and not just from tree to tree) cousins, the bonobo chimpanzees from extinction. Our sponsor The Broken Door was a big part of what made our Eros Day “Orgy for Obama” Inaugural Ball such an orgiastic success. Led by the mysterious Master D, along with the persuasive Professor and the multi-talented Mr. Merlin, the Broken Door has become a force to be reckoned with in the LA B&D scene.
The Too-Too Sexy Hats I Love
I’ve always had a fetish for hats, ever since I was 11 when a cute boy gave me a burgundy porkpie hat that he claimed belonged to my older brother who had pilfered it from my Dad. What a hat trick that was! Between the fact that this was a gift from a hot boy and the incestuous insinuation of it having been worn by my sexy, older, rather emotionally remote brother and my even older, more emotionally remote father, I was in lust with that porkpie hat. Plus, I found that the hat sometimes “spoke” for me when I didn’t want to speak, and I could pull down the brim and hide behind it when I didn’t want to face the world. I wore that hat until it wore out.
By that time, I was 16 and had developed a small hat collection including several caps, three more porkpies and a big floppy felt number tie-dyed by yours-truly with a peace sign on top (my tasteful mother was mortified by its gross vulgarity). At Yale, I only wore hats when I was in theatrical productions, which was just often enough to satisfy my hat cravings. By the time I got to San Francisco, I’d worn out all my hats and couldn’t replace them, since nobody was wearing hats in the ‘80s except Boy George. Lots of big shoulder pads and big hair, but no hats.
Natasha Skinski & The Anal Serenade
RadioSuzy1 is just a talk show…that just happens to sometimes turn into an orgy. Other times, it turns into something in between, with several people drinking and chatting passionately in the bar, somebody tickling the ivories of my grandmother’s Steinway, a couple guys playing pool, a few ethical hedonists having sex discreetly, or maybe not so discreetly, on a bed on top of a stage. It’s the Bonobo Way. And it’s the nature of life at the Speakeasy.
And that’s what happened here last Saturday, when our special guests included the delightfully lascivious ultra-MILF and super Cougar Natasha Skinski and her wild-eyed, skinny and hung young hot hubby Tommy Lei. Natasha was one of the stars of our Eros Day X “Orgy for Obama,”, stealing the show at one point by squirting up a small Soviet storm around the stripper pole, soaking Jay Lassiter and several lucky camera people in her fragrant Holy Water. Natasha couldn’t make it to our 17th Wedding Anniversary Show, so she came down to the Speakeasy to put on a little show of her own.
