Archives for posts with tag: Sex Addicts Anonymous

This is a reworking of an earlier blog:

So that I don’t break any rules I have removed the names of those I am presently being accused of Attempted Extortion.

Extortion is either threatening to reveal a secret or a crime unless money is paid.  It usually accompanies threats of violence.

I allegedly threatened to blog about a man ripping me off.   That’s what I have been charged with.  Threatening, in the land of the free, the land of the first amendment, to have an opinion about a man who ripped me off.

No wonder my  fellow Brits are outraged.

Firstly, this is a civil matter and The State of California should not be wasting millions of tax payers dollars going through the public courts.

Secondly, the law was obviously written to protect people who had committed crimes or had secrets from being violently blackmailed.

Of course it is hard luck when, in life, one gets fucked over.   In America being fucked over is a daily challenge and those who manage to successfully do the fucking over are hailed as the winners.  Just look at the Wall Street ‘winners’ rewarded for fucking over the entire nation.

Unlike most people who get fucked over, who cannot fight back…I have this blog.

It has proved to be one of the most effective fog horns in the world.

Let’s talk?  Just you and me?  Can I confide in you?

In 2007, after 35 years, I sold my beautiful house in Whitstable Kent.  I started avidly house hunting all over Los Angeles for another home.  I met CN from a well-known realty company.  We looked at hundreds of houses, none of which I liked.

I was a US property virgin trusting that realtors in the USA would behave as I had learned from estate agents in the UK…with honesty and accountability.

Months into our search I had still not found a house I liked.

My recently deceased friend Jean Perramon lived in Malibu and walking his neighborhood I chanced upon my present home.

Two acres of lush, semi tropical gardens.  Bananas, citrus, plums.  Stone paths weaving through the landscape.  A post and beam family home divided into two apartments.  I met the owner KM and he agreed to let me rent the property with a view to buying it.

I told CN about the house and he introduced me to CC the sellers agent.

Well, we scarcely needed introducing as I had, on more than one occasion let CC suck my cock.  But as with most of the power gays in town he had quickly heard my back story and with disapproving, judgmental aplomb…stopped returning my calls.

After our dating disaster I bumped into him again at the Barry Diller pre-Oscar party.  We sat together at lunch and I met his bejeweled Russian friend Diana who claimed to be the wife of some oligarch and her euro trash monster entourage.

People like CC, Diana and their ilk gossip interminably about their celebrity friends…Elton this…Cher that…relating their upcoming agenda in lieu of any meaningful conversation.  Squealing about their yachts, their diamonds, their homes and their spurious charities.

Listen, let’s face it…CC has done very well for himself.  He comes from a humble Malibu family, his darling mother is often seen eating lunch in the garden at Cross Creek.  His fireman father is dead.  He sells more real estate than any other broker in the USA.  For a man who is scarcely literate…he has done very well for himself.

This is what he writes about himself on his very own website:

“Yes, CC’s name is everywhere in Malibu, because that’s what happens when you’re “The King.”  It was actually the Bravo TV program Million Dollar Listing, in which CC was profiled among several other L.A.-area top-producing agents, that coined the term “The King of Malibu”. Perhaps it was his incredible production that earned him the title. Perhaps it owes to the type of clientele he often serves, namely some of the biggest names in entertainment and business.”

As gay royalty goes, CC is certainly the King…the King of the Cock Suckers.  He has a very regal, hungry mouth.

Being a gay man has impacted well on his life.  He tells the story with relish, how he met Barry Diller with whom he allegedly had an affair and in turn introduced him to the gay mafia who claim to run the world.

CC was a handsome Richard Gere type of guy.  Not so much now.  He has sailed the recessionary wave.

The last time I saw him was at the 7.30am Wednesday morning celebrity Sex Addicts Anonymous meeting in Brentwood.

He looked at me in total horror, not because he was at an SAA meeting but because by that time he had colluded with CN and others to defraud me.

Information that now causes me to write this revelatory blog.

After seeing him at the meeting I wrote a sweet email welcoming him to SAA.  It is very hard to admit you have a problem like sex addiction.  I wanted him to feel safe when he returned.

After renting the Malibu house for a few weeks I asked CN to write-up an offer.

The house had been on the market for many months.

I live in a country where houses languish on the market for a very long time, it did not occur to me that a house that had been on the market for a few months may be problematic.

It did not occur to me that I was working with a couple of realtors who were determined, at any cost, to sell me a doozy.   The ex told the police that he thought I was ‘dark and creepy’ and needed to be taught a lesson.  My soppy, inexperienced realtor just wanted his commission and was sick of showing me endless properties.

We had written offers before but they had not been accepted.  I had never ordered an inspection.

With the inspection…or lack of it…the active deception began…knowing how green I was they deliberately failed (using a fake geologist) to disclose the following:

The problem with the house?  During the past ten years there had been landslides on either side of the property and on the property.  That there was un-permitted and illegal construction work in the garden including retaining walls and water tanks degrading the land and making it more liable to land slide.

Neither the seller nor CC disclosed this information.  Information that, by law, they were required to reveal.

Knowing that I would not want to buy the house if I knew the truth, they presented me with an expensive and thorough geological report conducted in 2004 which they persuaded me was adequate for my purposes, advising me that I should have a verbal report from another geologist to confirm that nothing had happened subsequent to the 2004 report.

They assured me that a ‘verbal’ report was perfectly normal.  Amongst other anomalies they also told me that I had to pay their 6% commission.  Also, within two months of the purchase the seller also demanded a further $200,000 that he claimed I had told him I would pay him after the sale.

CN, the Beverly Hills realtor, told me that he could not find a local geologist so hired a geologist recommended by CC…the sellers agent.

The young, good-looking geologist sat uncomfortably with us, CC at his side.  He held the 2004 geological report and I asked him if anything had happened since that report was written.  Anything I should know that would influence the sale of the house.

You know what I’m like!  I asked him many, many questions.  I’m a pedant!  I needed to know everything before I invested my hard-earned $500,000.

Without looking into my eyes the young geologist  told me that the house had a “reasonable half an inch of ‘creep’”  but failed to tell me about either of the land slides or the illegality of the un-permitted work.

The last time I heard from the geologist…or the man who claimed he was the geologist…he had turned to Jesus.  He told me that CN/CC had told him not to mention the slide as he wanted me to buy the house.  The ‘geologist’ felt guilty.  He told me that it plagued his conscience.

After we signed contracts, after escrow, CC came up to me and with spiteful eyes told me that I would, “Own that house for a very long time.”  It was rather baffling.  I thought he was just being a bitch because I came in his face rather than his mouth.

Only after I tried selling the house did I learn what he meant.

Watching others go through the process of buying a house I realize now how duped I had been by both CC and CN.

When I spoke to CN recently he said, “I knew this would come back to haunt me.”

Yes, you’re right CN, it’s going to haunt you until I have been paid the money I put down to buy this house.

The $500,000 I put down as a deposit on this house.

I wrote to CC letting him know ahead of time what I was going to do.  That I would write a blog and give him some time to either do the right thing and find a solution that included a ‘fair and equitable’ settlement…or I would start a campaign against him…including paid advertisements in local newspapers, national news articles.  At no time did I ever threaten to out him as a sex addict.  I didn’t need to, I had already referred to him in earlier blogs as a sex addict.

As for my fair and equitable arrangement, the arrangement that he scoffed at last time we were in court.  They pay me back the $500,000…they get the house.  They can rent it, sell it, do what ever they like.  I just want my money back.

BTW There are very public court transcripts for those who want to read them.

When we subpoenaed the geologist…a completely different man (in his 50′s and morbidly obese) arrived at the court house…a man I had never seen.  He really didn’t want to be there, he tried to wriggle out of it.  I was delighted!  It was proof positive that I had indeed been conned by two unscrupulous realtors.

We will, in good time, get to the bottom of this mess, we will expose those who sought to defraud this proud British Citizen then cynically used the LAPD to turn the tables on me.

We will find out who kept  me in jail even though there was no reason to do so.  Eventually, when all is revealed, heads will roll.

CC thought he might have gotten away with his meticulously executed plan.

Never expecting to see my ugly mug listen to him say, “MY NAME’S CC AND I AM A SEX ADDICT”  or , for that matter, their accomplice turn to Jesus Christ.

This story is so damned…American.

Ugly Sisters

My name is Duncan and I am a sex addict.

The first time I qualified as a sex addict…I felt like shit.  Attended by my ugly sisters:  Shame and Fear, I sat miserably in my first SAA meeting waiting for the 60 minute nightmare to end.

Imagine what it must feel like to announce to the whole world that your sex conduct has gotten the better of you.

Today Anthony Weiner is shamefully headed for Lord knows where to get ‘treatment’.  Will that ‘treatment’ be for depression, intriguing, internet pornography or compulsive/chronic masturbation?

Is Anthony Weiner a sex addict?

My fellow sex addict friends think he is.  I am not so sure.  Not sure until he is sure.

It is not up to me or anyone else to diagnose his problem, it is up to him.   We live in prescriptive times.  It is certainly not up to my sex rehab therapist Drew Pinsky and ‘experts’ like him who will no doubt castigate poor Weiner dog for his unmanageable sexting/twittering if he hasn’t done so already.

If I were Anthony Weiner I would be feverishly trying to plug the broken sewer that is currently flushing away his political credibility, his relationship with his heavily pregnant wife and his healthy 61% majority.   I too would be heading for a spell in a ‘therapeutic facility’.  Treatment might just mean a little time away from the media incubus that presently seeks to impregnate Weiner with all the evil of the modern world.

What the fuck do we expect of our elected representatives?  That they are no longer entitled to the shortcomings we all share?

Why should congressmen have such unrealistic expectations heaped upon them?

Anthony Weiner has not broken any law.  Not yet.  He allegedly chatted innocently with a 17 year old girl.  What ever improper thoughts he may have had he did not act upon them.   This isn’t, as the media are describing, a ‘SEX SCANDAL!’ because there isn’t any sex.

This might be a Jerk-Off Scandal!  Ostensibly an Intrigue Scandal!  Allegedly a Bare Chest Scandal!  At the very worst a Picture of a Hard Penis on a Cell Phone Scandal!

Monday update: President Obama describes the Weiner sex scandal as a ‘distraction’.  Frankly, I am more distracted by the dodgy shenanigans of the laconic Supreme Court Judge Clarence Thomas.  The lies, ethical violations and conflicts of interest that, ironically, Weiner was hoping to expose.  

Weiner, unlike Thomas, is no crook.

Nancy Pelosi is demanding Weiner’s resignation when others in Congress have done far worse with real people rather than fantasy folk on the internet.

Internet addiction in all its very many forms is a world-wide epidemic, it affects millions upon millions of men.

Ordinary men, who at this very moment, are ensconced in private places away from their friends and family compulsively exploring the darker side of the internet: in ‘the zone’ as we say in Sex Addicts Anonymous.

There may be minor consequences for those who get caught…unless, of course, their internet use is deemed illegal or so sustained that they have scabs on their penises or they get violent if  taken away from the intensity of the screen.  Most relevantly…if their careers are compromised…jeapodised…lost.

Men take risks that seem entirely manageable until they bust their nut…then they can slink away from their screen to clean themselves up and rejoin humanity.  Real people versus the fantasy that takes them away from the stresses of an ordinary world.

A toxic, ritualized compulsion driving the hapless clicker further from wife and children to unimagined places that only the internet can reveal.

Let us not forget Voltaire’s observation that ‘Illusion is the first of all pleasures’.

I have a huge amount of compassion for Weiner.  He has been caught sending lewd pictures of himself to strangers.  His ‘perversion’ is undoubtedly a product of the modern age.  An age where I too, posting this very blog, live in a world of imaginary readers, little consequence and sexual hopelessness.

Sometime in the near future a contrite Weiner will stand before the press like Tiger Woods before him and admit his powerlessness.  He will, unwittingly, confess for us all.  For the shared sins of viral infidelity, cheating on his wife with the faceless, nameless internet that seems so benign just before ejaculation.

Reading over this entry I am reminded that perhaps a more pious life might suit me better that a life devoted to intensity.  Piety, we tend to use the word pejoratively,  saying more about our Godless world than the idea behind the action.

Today I crave piety, humility, silence..

Tres Triste urged me to go into one on one therapy.  I will have nothing to do with that.  I am bloated on my experience of one on one therapy.

I am, however, recommitted to the rooms of AA.  I know that they understand because I am just like them.  One on one therapy obviously suits many people but I don’t trust doctors, I don’t trust therapists who profit from the misery of others.  I resent paying them.  That I become their blank cheque.  In fact, I resent paying all doctors because I come from a country where visiting a doctor is free.

AA is free.  For fun and for free.

The simple fact is: I chose to abandon the principles of AA during the last few months.  Not taking a drink is just a small part of what we do in those rooms.  The rest of the time we help and guide each other toward sanity.  During the past months I deliberately abandoned my principles and let my alcoholic head run the show.

Many people ask why I moved to LA.  It really had nothing to do with film making.  I came to LA to be closer to the rooms of AA where I found comfort, solace and peace.  I made friends and found an extended family of people who understood me, who were always willing to forgive…no matter what.   I felt as if I needed, as if I NEED a great deal of forgiveness.

After a few years I became disgruntled and disillusioned with AA and went to fewer and fewer meetings.  As I did so my mind became more and more confused.  If I do not do the work to keep me sane I very quickly unravel.

I believe in the power of AA.  It is a church. It is my church.  For all to see during these past months I threw away my sanity because I wanted to use..so I did.  I used HIM.  He is not even real.  He is a bag of coke, a bump of crystal, my works, my baggy, my bottle, my paraphernalia.   He is not real.  Do I miss him?  I miss him like a glass of Montepulciano.  Full bodied red wine that I secretly want to drink when that day comes…and it very well might.  Never take your sobriety for granted.

You think that I have been cruel but I needed him out of my life and sometimes keeping your dealers number is the way back to active addiction.  If I had not jettisoned him that day I KNOW what would have happened.  We would have remained friends, we would have hooked up, my head just could not take it.

I napalmed the poppy fields.

This morning I chatted with Tim about the past.  A place one tends to reinvent as one gets older. It is invigorating having him there at the other end of the phone/skype.  He is in Worcester waiting for his triple bypass.  We are both waiting to have our skin cut open and our insides messed with by experts.

We talked about the power of prayer.  Our spiritual lives.  I needn’t tell you how important a loving God is in ones life but even though I know that prayer really works I am loathed to pray just in case is doesn’t.

That even God might let me down.

There is no doubt what so ever that for the past few months I used another man as my drug.  Intensity, fixation, obsession etc. etc.  Remember when you spent your last cent on drugs? When the getting and using was your main focus?  Remember the risks you took?  I am a crazy addict.  Yet, it is somehow easier for us to understand a man who cannot say no to drugs than a man who cannot say no to his addiction to people.  It is a far more complex and ultimately destructive addiction.

I think you have all been my witness to that.

I crave a healthy relationship with people who ever they might be, lover, family member, friend, shop assistant, telephone banker etc.    I am powerless and my life becomes unmanageable.  I am powerless over people, places and things.  This powerlessness causes me such misery. Powerlessness, vulnerability, weakness of any kind cannot be tolerated and as you have seen…I will bring you down if you challenge who I am, get to the heart of me.

I don’t think I am so different from most of you?

Yet, I most definitely am.  I do not think like normal people.

The idea that somehow, someday I will control and enjoy my thinking is the obsession of every abnormal thinker.

That was a quote from Bill Wilson with the word drink switched out for think.

Wether you believe it or not the rooms of AA are filled with men and women just like me.  When we sit together sharing our similarities and not our differences then I become aware of the presence of God.

I have struggled with SAA.

There is a big difference between being an alcoholic and a sex/love addict.  Alcoholics share the experience of abstinence.  Sex addicts do not.  The differences between sex addicts, when we share our stories, are all too apparent.  The similarities..scant.  Where there are few similarities I find myself divorced from God.

As I have reported in earlier posts, as the years pass and ones last drunk become a distant memory I am forced to deal with other more pressing, more destructive addictions.

The consequences of my actions are all too apparent.  I have rampaged like a spoiled child through another mans life.  Regardless of his part in it..I have only myself to blame.  As I have said before, it is none of my business assigning blame or becoming an interventionist for others.

We all learn by our mistakes, by the lies we tell, by the havoc we wreak.

So, today’s prayer:  God, relieve me from the bondage of self.  Help me be kind.  Let me be present.  Let me tell the truth.

Bind me so my arms do not flail,  gag me so I cannot speak, shackle me so I cannot walk, lay me down in some quiet place so I do not think.

How do I feel about being excluded from Oprah’s Sex Rehab special?  You may well ask dear blog readers.  I feel PISSED OFF!  The producer’s excuse?  They didn’t want to confuse the issue of sex addiction with a gay story.  FUCK YOU OPRAH!  Confuse the story?  That’s a strange excuse because shame based societies like the African American community and Gay Communities have the highest incidence of sex addiction/sexual compulsion.  There are plenty similarities between her and me.  Pity she wasn’t prepared to have a sex addict on her show who actually works a solid 12-step programme.  There you go I broke my SAA anonymity.

Whilst we are at it-what the hell is Drew doing on these shows pretending he knows jack about sex addiction?  The woman who did all the work on the show was sex therapist Jill Vermiere!   Drew speaks in the broadest terms about addiction but really-he knows nothing about sex addiction.

Drew’s specialty is substance abuse, but his real speciality is damage control-turning up at hotel rooms and coaxing heroin addicts into rehab.  Coaxing crack addicts off of roofs etc.  Most days in sex rehab I worked with Jill.  If I could even bear looking at Drew he was mostly baffled by what was going on-by the depth of emotion, by our commitment to do the work.  It was because of Jill that we did the work.  She too has been silenced in all of this high octane press shenanigan-the two real recovering sex addicts have had their voices stolen firstly by Drew then by Oprah.

Mostly, though,  I am seething about the media’s approach to anything gay.   Our stories are never integrated hence we are never integrated.  It would not surprise me if it were a big old gay boy who made decision not to have me on the show-after all us gays do the most damage to each other.

Did Oprah and her people forget that the gays have been her very loyal fans?  But let’s face it we were Obama’s biggest fans and look how far that has got us.  Frankly, Oprah, what HAVE you done for the gay community recently?   Did you forget about us or are we just not powerful enough?  The gay community supported the election of President Obama.  The black community did not return the favor by supporting us in the Prop 8 battle.  Why?

Don’t worry, I am not on Tyra either.   Same reason.  Poor excuse eh?

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