Last spring, when I was still a Professional A-List Queer, I got a call on my cell from a reporter at the New York Times. This gentleman, Benoit Denizet-Lewis, was looking for young gay male couples, preferably either interracial, raising kids, or living in rural areas, who had gotten married and were interested in being an an article for the New York Times Magazine. I didn’t have folks who immediately sprang to mind, and when he further clarified that they should be attractive, fun, and engaging, and willing to talk about their sex lives, I got a little flip-flop in my tummy – what was I getting my volunteers into? I told him I’d look for people, made a couple of calls, got a couple of refusals, and let it drop.
This week, I find that Mr. (M?) Denizet-Lewis has a new book, and article, about his sex addiction. A lot of it waffles back and forth between “oh, poor me” and “I’m really totally hot”, but the article closes with an excerpt from an exercise he did in rehab, giving voice to his inner addict:
“I will make Benoit lie and manipulate and chase sex every hour of every day, until he can’t feel anything anymore, until everything good and decent about him is removed. He needs me. His life is boring when I’m not in charge. I control him. I keep him numb so he can function. I make him feel good, and I make him feel worthless. The minute he steps out of this stupid rehab, I’ll start whispering in his ear. That’s all it takes — whispers. I win. I ALWAYS win.”
I’ll be rooting for you.