Sex-addicts Anonymous

 

A middle-aged man spoke first, ‘My wife and I lived in Germany for twenty five years, you see, and all that time I never realized…’ His voice trailed off, head low on his chest. The ‘facilitator’ did not prod him to continue. We could take our time, it seems. The few impatient ones cleared throats or shifted their chairs. Most maintained a dispassionate silence. The man raised his head after a long pause and carried on, ‘There, we used to go together to the adult section, you see, at the back of newspaper shops, behind a curtain… it seemed fine, you see. Just once or twice a year, you see… for an anniversary or to celebrate a bonus, you see.’ One or two sniggered, ‘Oh yes, I see.’ The ‘facilitator’ silenced them with an angry glare. The man flushed a little. He sipped water from a bottle, took a deep breath and continued, ‘Then, we came back here. One awful day, six months back, we were in a book shop. I asked my wife for her opinion of a book I found hidden in the pregnancy and childcare section. It was not at all like the stuff in Germany, you see, quite normal, you see… just an iffy cover and mild stuff, you see. But my wife went ballistic. There, in that shop. Then, later at home, even in front of relatives. At first, I argued with her that she was blowing it out of proportion… but slowly, I realized… you see, I did not even know I have a problem, you see…’ None tried to cheer him up. Some ambiguously nodded or shook their head. The ‘facilitator’ did not comment or ask for opinion, and waited patiently for the next one to ‘come out’, the euphemism or bad pun coined for a participant’s truth and reconciliation.

A man in his early forties stood up. He looked around nervously like a cornered mouse. He sat down once again, wiping sweat off his brow on the sleeve of his shirt. He started slowly but the rest came like a flash flood, ‘Mine too started with a book. My wife caught me reading ‘Lolita’. She did not say anything then. But, two or three weeks later, when she found me watching ‘Picnic at Hanging Rock’, she asked me ‘Why these?’ I did not have an answer. She must be right. Why those? Our daughter has been shifted to her grandparents’ place and my wife has threatened to boot me out if I do not correct myself soon. I do not know what to do.’ The group maintained an uneasy silence. The discomfort and disgust was palpable.

A lady, seated at the back, then addressed the group. Everyone turned around. She remained in the shadows, hardly visible. ‘I have been married five years and I have two kids,’ she said clearly. She then added quickly, in a near whisper, ‘Some time back, I did something bad. I asked for… oral…’ Someone in another shadowy area protested, ‘You asked your husband for that?’ A man, seated in the front row, announced loudly, ‘That is selfish!’ The lady responded nervously, ‘Oh no… you got me wrong… it is worse… I wanted to give.’ There was a collective exclamation ‘What…?’  She went on, ‘Now, we sleep in different bedrooms. He wants to know if I have a history. He won’t even have the food I cook. We are vegetarian, of course. He says that I have become a disgusting non-vegetarian and that I have polluted our faith.’ Nearly all in that group nodded in agreement. She received a lot of suggestions. After a long while, the ‘facilitator’ hushed all.

A mild, pleasant gentleman who had remained silent till then stood up. He bowed, with hands together in front as if he was silently praying or wishing Namaste to all. His dress was simple, clean and frayed at the edges. With clear and perfect diction he said, ‘I am a priest. For twenty years, I have worked and lived with the poor. I enjoyed my work and the devout, carefree, comfortable, celibate life. Two months back, my world shattered. I thought about sex... with God…’

‘Oh, my God!’ the group responded.