My first Sex Addicts Anonymous meeting

So I’m still sitting in the Sex Addicts Anonymous (SAA) meeting my boss, Dean, asked me to go to on his behalf – and it’s finally my turn. All eyes are on me to speak, yet I just sit there, my mouth glued shut. Shark just finished talking about his addiction to rope and S&M; I have a tough act to follow. My speech keeps running through my head: “Hi, I’m Dean and I’m a sex addict. It’s been a day since my last voyeuristic activity and I’m happy to report that I’ve only masturbated fourteen times today.” Only, not out loud. Instead, my cell phone rings – and “I Want Your Sex” by George Michael starts playing. (Last weekend at a party, my friends and I thought it would be funny to add old ‘80s ringtones to each other’s phones; yes, that is my version of “deviant behavior”). This was the last thing these people needed to hear… while the other part of me wondered if it would make them start having sex with each other right then? Which would be funny, but… not. The moderator points to the gigantic, “Please turn off all cell phones” sign at the entrance. Oops. Damnit – where was my “quiet” button when I needed it? Wait – it’s a “restricted” call, which could mean Dean. And one of his rules is to always answer his calls. After all, I’m still on the clock. But why would he call during this meeting? Maybe he has something to add? Not like I want to know what that “something” may be… In the meantime, George goes on: “…Sex is something that we should do, sex is something for me and you…”

I decide I cannot let these “sex addicts” hear another lyric and answer the phone whispering, as I put a finger up to the room signaling that I will be with them in a moment. “What did you do with her homework?!” a female voice shouts into the phone. “Excuse me?” I say as I can feel everyone staring at me. Shark raises his eyebrows at me accusingly as I try not to pay attention to what he thinks; who the f*** is he? “Maybe you have the wrong number,” I tell the woman yelling at me. “Avery, right?” she says. “Um… yes,” I say. (I really need to learn how to be more assertive; there was no need to consider what my name is.) “My husband’s new assistant,” I hear her say to someone in the background, as though she’s disgusted. “Miss—“ the moderator starts to say… “Where are you?!” the mean wife yells. Do I really tell her? What if she doesn’t know Dean goes to these meetings (rather, that he sends me)? After all, it is anonymous.

“Avery, I need your full attention,” she says. The moderator nods in agreement, since he and everyone else can hear every word she’s saying. He also points to the sign again. I get his not-so-subtle hint and stand, mouthing “I’m sorry” to the group as I turn around…

… and stumble backwards into a chair… which falls into the snack table, causing chips and soda to go flying, orange soda spilling all over me as I fall to the ground. (And I thought telling my boss’s sex stories would be embarrassing.) So much for a quiet escape, I think, just as a shrill, eight-year-old voice yells into the phone, “You stole my homework!” Until she-devil wife grabs the phone again and belts out, “Avery, where the hell are you?!” From the dirty, sticky basement floor of this unknown building, I mutter, “Out running an errand for Dean.” “We need you at the house,” she says. “But –“ I start. “You never should have taken Summer’s homework.” “But –“ “Are you coming – or does my husband have to hear about this?” she threatens. Summer? I assume that is one of his two daughters – WHOM I HAVE NEVER EVEN MET! And after his wife’s call just now, I don’t want to meet her, either. Shark comes over and helps me up as he says he’s sorry for me. I say I’m sorry for me, too, as I lick some soda off my lip, wondering what to do… any ideas?