Springing Max

And so my love has returned.



Gone are the long cold nights of sleeping alone, unfucked and uncuddled. Suddenly, I am embraced in warmth, intimacy and simultaneous orgasms. Each day, my heart does a little dance of joy and relief. My love has returned. It’s Spring!

Maybe it’s just a coincidence that Spring is the cosmic season of return. Or maybe the Judge, the Sheriff, the Lord or the Lady had this symbolic bit of synchronicity in mind. In any case, it was fitting to be springing Max just before Spring. His official release date was March 20, the Vernal Equinox itself. But I - in an evolving state of outrage over Max’s Kafkaesque “Failure to Appear” (on charges that were dismissed five years ago) keeping him locked up so long, and always one to try to get a “deal” - was not happy with that. So I pushed, pulled, seduced and nagged the lawyers, judges, clerks and court apparatchiks to order him out 40 days earlier - which turned out to be only 20 days, because as more than one prison official told me “85% of judges don’t know how to count the way we count. Haha.” It’s a system that is built to fail, but it's really a huge success. The idea is to keep as many "bodies" inside as possible, helping the American incarceration industry and all its subsidiery industries grow to obscene proportions.



Nevertheless, against all odds, we managed to spring Max three weeks early - or nine months late, depending on how you look at it. And nothing beats a bitter cold Winter like Spring fever. In Spring, all cultures celebrate some holiday of resurrection and renewal, some myth of Eternal Return. Passover, Easter, Muslim New Year, Buddha’s birthday, the Equinox and other Spring festivals all stem from the return of the plants, flowers and the rest of life to Earth, as well as the return of our spirits from the frigidity of Winter to the natural blooming eroticism of Spring. Here at the Speakeasy, we hold erotic “bacchanals,” Spring Fever and Spring Showers, honoring Dionysus (a.k.a. Bacchus), the Primavera Prince of the Vine who is said to have died and been resurrected long before Jesus was even born the first time.



Incarceration is a kind of death, especially in the California State Prison system, which a panel of three federal judges recently declared to be 200% overcrowded and in urgent need of Spring Cleaning. Many lives are destroyed, inside and out. If an inmate is lucky enough to be released back into the world of the (relatively) free, he is indeed reborn. No wonder so many inmates get religion while imprisoned. They are preparing for their own resurrections.



In Spring, the ancient Greeks held their Eleusinian Mysteries, when the original Goth Goddess Persephone (Proserpina to the Romans) returns from the bowels of Hell, where her bad boy husband Hades (Pluto) keeps her in a kind of dark erotic underworld bondage all Winter long. When her Mother Demeter (Ceres) hears that her ... has been kidnapped (and not just by common hoodlums, but by the "official" Lord of the Underworld, she is utterly distraught, as all of us are when we discovered our loved ones have been snatched by the authorities. Thanks to Demeter's unflagging determination (required for anyone who wants to keep tabs on an incarcerated relative) and her dramatic demonstration that she means business by throwing the entire world into Winter, she secures her ...'s return, at least for part of the year.



So Persephone is released from her royal prison, coming up, escorted by Hermes (Mercury) from the bowels of the Earth through Eleusis to rejoin her beloved Mother Demeter (Ceres), fairhaired fertility Goddess of the Earth, who is so ecstatic to embrace the Fruit of Her Loins that She showers the world in Spring.



I’d never identified with the Goddess Demeter before, having always been more of an Aphrodite/Athena gal. But now I do. When the Officers of Hades took my beloved away from me, I felt Demeter’s sorrow and rage. And just as Demeter rejoiced upon receiving Her girl Persephone back from Hades, I was so thrilled to welcome my boy Max back from his living hell that I pretty much forgot all the sorrow and rage.

In our case, hell was in Delano, California. The only time I’d visited Delano before had been to make a film for Gloria Heilman, a.k.a., Heilman-C, the artist whose husband, organic shampoo mogul and avid Andy Warhol collector Don Christal, had mysteriously died several years later. So the town of Delano already had creepy connotations to me. Then while getting the directions, I learned that Delano has not one, but two sprawling state prisons in its pastoral manure-redolent environs. “If you get to Kern Valley State Prison, you’ve gone too far,” advised the kindly official, seeming to enjoy her secure government job as concierge to the forlorn families of the shackled. “We’re North Kern State Prison. There’s a big driveway. You can’t miss it.” Both prisons are gigantic though severely overcrowded, yet show no signs of reducing populations, as they keep packing in the “bodies” like 50 sardines in a can made to comfortably fit five.



Armed with that information, Canaan Brumley, award-winning filmmaker of Ears, Open. Eyeballs, Click and currently in post-production on his movie about the Speakeasy, (check out this clip - an homage to Jean-Luc Godard's Alphaville) picked up Sara Sioux and me in his Mercedes SUV, and off we went in the middle of the night to prison. Bromeo met up with us at the gate. It was 7 am, Feb. 28, 2009, the scheduled moment of Max’s release from the deathcamp of Delano. Now I felt like Mary Magdalene waiting for Jesus to appear. Canaan set up his film camera, ready to shoot the momentous Freeing of Max, the Return of the Kidnapped Husband. I shivered in the early morning Kern County cold, preparing to do my trademark jump into Max’s long strong arms, getting ready to wrap my thigh high-clad legs around him, hold him tight and never let him go again.

But why was this taking so long? The friendly prison apparatchiks that I'd spoken to on the phone had assured me he’d be released at 7am sharp, and here it was hovering around 8. A prison van charged down the road and stopped right in front of me as I hopped around the big California Department of Corrections sign. The driver, a burly strawberry-cheeked deputy whose hairdo was a cross between a bad mullet and an awful accident, looked me up and down, from pink high-heeled boots to black miniskirt to pink hat. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m waiting for my husband who’s being released today!” I chirped with eager naivite, half-expecting the dude to congratulate me. On the contrary, he informed me that I wasn’t allowed to wait by the sign, I had to wait a few steps down by the gate, and “absolutely NO CAMERAS allowed,” he barked, gesturing down toward the gate. There was Canaan whose classic Hollywood “filmmaker” look in his designer sunglasses by his tripod seemed to make Deputy Grumpy here even grumpier. “Can’t you see the signs?” he growled.

“Um, no.” I looked around again, and saw signs prohibiting “..., drugs, weapons, explosives, tear gas or tear gas weapons” in English and Spanish, but nothing about cameras anywhere. The only mention of cameras was from an angry woman who was parked by the gate next to us, waiting to pick up her gangster brother for what must have been the 10th time. As soon as Canaan unloaded his camera, she’d told us we’d better not shoot her tattoo-faced brother. We promised we wouldn’t shoot him or anyone but Max, but apparently, she’d called somebody and "ratted" on us.

American prison officials love to punish and prohibit; they figure that’s their job. So even though there was no sign prohibiting cameras, Deputy Grumpy threatened to hold Max, Tattoo-Face and the other "bodies" until Monday, or another three weeks of "processing," or maybe lock us up too. “Nobody's getting released until you put the camera away," he announced. That would probably be illegal. But feeling ... looming all around us, from the sheriff, the woman with the tattoo-faced brother, the two gigantic Kern County prisons and the cow-poop fragrant meadows of Delano, we didn’t fight the power (actually, Canaan tried to sneak around "the power" by filming from across the street, but couldn't get a good angle). So we missed filming Max’s Return. At least Bromeo and Sara Sioux took stills (there’s no stopping the mighty cell phone cam!) of our first embrace. Though there was no room for me to run and jump up into his arms and wrap my legs around him because the deputy made me stay inside Canaan’s van until suddenly there was Max, right in front of me, and all we could do was embrace.

But oh, what an embrace it was. We hadn’t touched in over nine months!

The closest we’d been was to sit across from each other with a thick pane of glass between us.

In court, we didn't have a glass barrier, but we weren’t allowed to “communicate” - talk, gesture or even move our lips – upon penalty of god knows what. For the past six weeks, while he was being “processed” like cheese or some kind of real-life Soylent Green, we hadn’t even been allowed to see each other or talk on the phone, with virtually no communication, except for letters by snail mail. It was downright Medieval and utterly isolating.



Then everything changed in a nanosecond. After all that pain, injustice, absurdity, isolation and deprivation, here we were holding each other again, kissing, feeling, inhaling each other like a fantastic .... Or like the end of a long cold winter, when the world is showered in Spring.



I’m no masochist. But I have to say that there’s one really great thing about pain, and that’s the amazing pleasure you feel when it stops.



We stopped for breakfast and drove back to the Speakeasy, surfing those waves of pleasure, then had quickie sex, fell asleep in each other’s arms, and woke up to a spontaneous Welcome Home Max party...



Then we did a fantastic fresh-outta-prison RadioSuzy1 interview.



but thanks to the notorious Tech Gremlins of the Speakeasy, it didn’t record! Between the gremlins and the deputies, we didn't get much in the way of recordings on Max's Day of Return.



So its greatness lives on only in the memories of those of us who experienced it live.



Later we had slower deeper sex than our first-time-in-nine-months quickie, climaxing with a sensational burst of simultaneous orgasms that took us by surprise in a most delightful way.



Precious time was stolen from us, and our bodies didn't get any younger while we were apart, but in some ways they’re hotter than ever. There’s a silver lining to any black cloud, and thanks to Max’s stay at the State Spa, he lost 50 pounds and quit smoking! Next on the Best-Seller Lists: The Speakeasy Version of The Kern County Prison Diet.



As for me, all that deprivation makes me horny! Though that's enough deprivation for now, thank you. Bring on the bacchanals!

More Hot Stuff!

First, a shout-out to our lonsmen and homegirls at Kinky Jews for recommending our Porn & Purim Bacchanal. Now you too can get the 169% Kosher 2-DVD set OR the multiple download. .



We did a great Purim 2009 Show on RadioSuzy1 with some of the stars of Porn & Purim, including Mae Victoria, Kelly Leigh and Jack Lawrence.



Unfortunately, this aural gem didn't record either (I know, we're pathetic, but believe it or not, we've now corrected the problem - it was in the wiring, of course). And at least we've got a few pics of Mae sharing her glorious tatas with the world.



And we're making new sections on the Institute site, including an article on How to Prolong Ejaculation. Do you find yourself coming before your partner’s even gotten going? Then you'll want to read this article or call me at 213.749.1330 for Premature Ejaculation Therapy.



Also we have a new page on Erotic Hypnosis, a hypnotherapy technique that helps you to reduce stress, gain confidence, lose inhibitions, explore fetishes, prolong erections, intensify orgasms, increase carnal desires, unleash the animal within you and release your sexual potential. Awaken that erotic part of you that is usually only awake when you are asleep....Fall into the intensely pleasurable, deeply rejuvenating trance state of erotic hypnosis...



Okay, so now that I've got you hypnotized, I want you to follow me on Twitter to which I confess I am now addicted (another reason I’m not committing bloggamy so often, I've got Twitter ADD). Here at the Speakeasy, we've even starting a meme #TwitterSex Tuesdays. But more on that next bloggamy...



I'm going to close with three quotes from one of my favorite Twitter "followers" Henry David Thoreau

"Under a government which imprisons any unjustly, the true place for a just man is also a prison."

“When it's time to die, let us not discover that we have never lived”

“There is no remedy for love but to love more.”