Pasadena. Heat of valley hot as sex, as painful as joyless sex of sex addicted beautiful semi-famous people exposing themselves drawing back the lacy curtains as it were from their depravity on teevee; drug of choice sex, or masturbation these are the characters. Musicians. Actors. Surfer Boys. Models. Porn stars. Director conmen. You know the type you’ve seen them before you’ve LAUGHED at the them huddled over their trash cans filled with broken dreams of fame and the bodily fluids, ejaculated just the way the machine the great bulbous Hollywood nightmare machine ejaculated them into a teevee show about sex addiction, emotions raw looking for their next fix the final cure the phallic needle a prick under the skin, the fluid oozing into their blood just one more fix for their insatiable need.
James Lovett Surfer Boy carries the board to keep his hands off the wand. He rides that board over a cascading wave following wave of jizz washing out of him, and over him, over his multiple partners, over his hands and stomach and legs, swirling in a vortex that spins him directly in the Pasadena Recovery Center PasRec and into Selma the Lead Tech. Oh sure she SEEMS nice, but it’s all an act don’t you know because she’s looking through your bags for drugs and porn, heat of her breath like cops over a corpse and then it’s “Let’s take a tour of your prison.”
James Lovett riding ocean waves of saltwater, careful not to swallow.
“Got to look good if there’s ladies here,” Surfer Boy says, this is teevee and he knows the drill he’s seen Dr. Drew’s other shows and it’s pathos and humor but Selma still has her part, too, and she’s tsk-tsking him all the way into Dr. Drew’s office.
Dr. Drew. Solid, good-looking, the glasses make you think he knows his business, speaking without slurring his words and his eyesockets don’t have bugs crawling out of them so yeah he ain’t an addict I guess but you can still tell, sure, wiseguy. Even has the stethoscope around his neck, like Dr. Killdare just like a real teevee doctor.
“This is Jill,” he says, pointing to Jill Vermeire, the SEX ADDICTION THERAPIST sure to give the men a boner and make the women damp so they slide right out of their seats during group therapy. She wants to know if Surfer Boy ever hurt himself masturbating, he’s got that look and sure enough he obliges.
“Pain doesn’t matter,” he says, proudly. He will satisfy THE URGE anywhere, anytime, no matter the cost. The Urge must be satisfied.
But he goes for girls, too, those in his life including the wives of friends but you know they’re at least partly complicit in this, too. Dr. Drew’s heard enough he’s ready to touch the Surfer Boy’s boy, he’s ready probe him, so it’s into the back room for a “private screening.” Not having a rusty tin can the physical is of the non-invasive variety.
“Huh,” Dr. Drew says, he almost sounds concerned. Great gob of HPV on the uvula, the dangling soft fleshy tissue back of the throat where the HPV grows, dank wet warm as Pasadena sex.
Dominatrix. Internet porn. One last dry hump on the street before PasRec. Penny Flame the big Freaking PORN STAR, the vaginal mucous doesn’t get flowing unless it’s rough but don’t try to spoon because she will kick your testicles, and you need those for ejaculating.
Selma will call her Jennifer Ketcham, the name Penny’s parents forced on her and Selma won’t let her forget it she is an ADDICT and she must be unnerved, unsettled, off-balance and emotional. Selma then takes her steely dans and knee pads.
Dr. Drew is subtler. “How is your addiction manifesting?”
“I don’t care about anyone I have sex with.”
“What’s it about?”
Now it’s not fluid between her legs but fluid from her eyes not her vagina crying but her face. Dr. Drew is so smooth and solid and cool as a middle finger stuck up an asshole.
Phil Varone. Skid Row drummer. Groupies young willing wanting wild wasted existence. The bandmates drank and did drugs but he wasn’t slacking, he was sacking, doing three-four-five-a-day women on top of women, his penis shafting through one into another into another, stacked one on top of another, yet even under all that flesh, still so sad and all alone, the soul retracting even as the penis distended.
Women could not resist Phil Varone. Something about those sticks.
Dr. Drew is going to be intentionally provocative. “You’re spoiled,” he says. He says and Phil agrees. His mother spoiled him until she died, and then fadeout.
“I’m certain that as Phil progresses in treatment a more complete story will emerge,” says Dr. Drew, voice disembodied like an all-knowing voice over, like a narrator coming in at the end of the story and foreshadowing, as The Little Drummer Boy Phil tries to eat his gooey viscous spit-covered yogurt noodles.
COMMERCIAL FOR CLUB LIVE SEX PHONE LINE NO COMMENT ABOUT THAT A TEEVEE SHOW ABOUT SEX ADDICTS RUNNING ADVERTISING FOR PHONE SEX LINE BUT ONE OF THE MODELS IN COMMERCIAL IS FRENCHY AKA ANGELIQUE FROM ROCK OF LOVE AND I LOVE MONEY 2 STOP.
Playboy Playmate, centerfold angel, stapled navel, pages covered in crusting cum, star of sex tape with Colin Farrell Nicole Narain world of women with large, bouncing pulsing fleshy bags on their chests. Sex for cocaine. All-day masturbation sessions to the point of dry exhaustion, blowing auditions lost finally too far gone to get back, Hansel-and-Gretel style.
If you saw the gingerbread house, you wouldn’t blame her, either. Don’t you go judging. Creamy sweet roof, windows like mouths, licking licorice and sucking suckers.
Dr. Drew asks her the safe question, about her childhood. Fairy tales. Hansel-and-Gretel. The gingerbread house- why does she keep going back, getting lost, and bingo children who are sexually abused see their worth as purely sexual.
Having thus uncovered the root of her problems, it’s back to the frying pan with Jennifer-cum-Penny in a room right across from the Little Drummer Boy and Surfer Boy. Penny has the blow pops, somehow Selma missed those, and the chant to herself, the mantra to ignore the tattooed Drummer Boy.
Surfer Boy is less sophisticated. “Every chick’s ugly,” he spits, saliva dripping down his chin, imploring insincerity in his eyes.
Eager Beaver Kendra Jade, so scandalous she somehow managed to break up the committed marriage of Britney Spears and Kevin Federline. How’d she do that? Magic powers, it must be. Married herself now, in a bit of reality teevee synergy to the winner of “Rock Star: Supernova.”
Dr. Drew asks her why she’s in Sex Rehab with Dr. Drew. It’s his show, he can do what he wants.
“I cheated on ever single person I was with.”
Dr. Drew asks why she did that. It’s his show.
Eager Beaver must have watched Nicole because she tells Dr. Drew, and this is so smooth like the creamy roof a gingerbread house that she sees her own worth wrapped up in her sexuality and in that moment she is- sorry. She cannot go on, as she is strictly from sadness and fear now; fear of watching her life crumble into dust, dry and bloodless as an overused vagina.
Meet and greet. Surfer Boy has gone sexless for 14 hours and his fantasy attacks him, overwhelms his senses when he sees and smells Penny and Nicole, Dominatrix and Playmate bent over the buffet now, their attention on the cold cuts and the potato salad spooning those lumps of gravy but in THE FANTASY bent over his board, him bouncing back and forth between them, waves of jizz crashing over them all, ejaculation arcing in the air, rainbow colors as the light hits it just right.
“What an amazing human being,” Penny Dominatrix says.
Kari Ann Peniche. Stand at attention and salute, yankee doodle dandy style it's Miss Teen USA. The perfect all-American sweetheart. America was corrupt before her, before the beauty pageants ruined it, before they spawned the reality teevee shows and it’s from the beauty pageants to the reality shows for her. Addiction specialist Dr. Drew cannot tell that she is a meth addict yet, yet he is an addiction specialist, the oily puss-oozing acne of her face a dead giveaway, the hair stringy and dry as a life crumbling to bloodless dust.
“What was your family life like?” Dr. Drew asks.
“It was different. I don’t know. What do you want to know?” Real vague, thoughts scattered, barely containing the seething meth-fed anger burbling up through her pores, oozing greasy hatred.
“I’m not upset about it. It doesn’t affect me. I don’t think.” Short staccato sentences. Five words or less.
“Taken advantage of?” Dr. Drew is trying to communicate with her in the same way, so smooth.
“I was raped many times, but it doesn’t affect me.” She says this over the course of eight sentences.
“Are you afraid to ask for help?”
“How is sex affecting you now?”
“I don’t know where to begin, you know what I mean?”
Dr Jill SexAddSpec tells the American Dream that she’s using her pretty smile to mask something, to hide something. “Intense pain.” Dr. Drew is pouting because the American Dream can’t do it herself. The sex, the meth, America in a nutshell. Kari Ann Peniche is America. Corrupt. Folding in on itself. Hiding behind a mask, hiding deep despair and agony behind a false smile propped up by addictions that must be FED.
Here comes the gay man. Duncan Roy, sophisticated suave confidence trickster a grifter with a British accent, smoother even that Dr. Drew, smooth enough to talk straight boys into sleeping with him and liking it, pretending to be a Lord in France and being sent to prison, finding himself surrounded by all those straight boys who couldn’t help but go gay, the hot hardness of the male bodies irresistible criminal attraction, flesh surrounding flesh, smell of semen permeating the air, the bars of the cells gooey sticky jizz and anal mucous, flesh of sphincter yielding after only minimal protest.
And now? Now it’s all day at home with the laptop, fondling his lap top, fallen mightily to a room of only solitary pumping, no straight boys forced to go gay in sight, contemplation based solely around his own wand, his own spirit, his own self. Worry over ending up alone. Jerking his life away at 43 years old.
“Have you ever had a close relationship that satisfied you?” Dr. Drew asks.
“I’m not an engaged sexual person.” The voice is soft as a ragged man reaching into his own mouth and pulling out dripping chunks of his own viscera, setting them aflame and dancing around the ashes DTs style.
Finally it’s Amber Smith. Model actress and Dr. Drew reality rehab teevee veteran, addicted to in no particular order sex, drugs, alcohol, and the relentless pursuit of reality teevee fame. First a night of trolling for strange penis. Mother helps her choose just the right slut outfit, “Oh, de-ahh, you simply MUST we-ah the le-pahd skin coat and THOSE pumps the-ah… no man will mistake you-ah intentions.” Daughter ready for action, sent away with a kiss to…
…The Comedy Store? Is that really the parking lot she’s pulling into? Looking for stand-up comedians?
Shit. She really does have a problem. A problem more fearful than drug rehab. This is sex rehab, where the serious issues are aired, wiseguy. Painful emotions revealed. Sure, Surfer Boy can bounce his balls on the treadmill all he wants, that will only tire him physically. It’s not until the emotions tire that he can truly break through.
Eager Beaver asks if Surfer Boy’s on capital-D Drugs.
Little Drummer Boy says, “I think he’s like really addicted to sex. I’m not kidding.”
House rules, torture laid out. Dr. Drew thanks everyone for exposing themselves on teevee. Signed contract legally binding, the devil take your soul if you violate the terms. No porn. No seductive behavior. No inappropriate dress. No touching. Only handshakes. Dr. Drew wants every one of them to CREATE BOUNDARIES AROUND THEMSELVES, AND YET HE’S TRYING TO HELP THEM TEAR DOWN THE WALLS THAT SURROUND THEM.
Also, no computers or cell phones.
“This is harder than most addictions,” Dr. Jill SexAddSpec says. “Harder, harder, harder.” It is harder than a fully erect… building. With a blood-filled elevator.
Dr. Drew pic source.
James Lovett pic source.
Dr. Drew and Dr. Jill pic source.
Penny Flame pic source (very not safe for work).
Phil Varone pic source.
Nicole Narain pic source.
Kendra Jade pic source.
Kari Ann Peniche pic source.
Duncan Roy pic source.
Amber Smith pic source.