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I sold my soul to Ricki Lake

My fiancée and I sat next to each other on the set of "The New Ricki Lake Show," about to come back from break. My heart slammed in my chest as hard as George Forman at the Rumble in the Jungle. I’d finally gotten myself on national television. Now I couldn’t wait to get myself off.

It all began nearly a year earlier when an essay of mine, adapted from my unpublished memoir, appeared on Salon. The essay starts off with me, my ex-wife and several gay men standing next to a Jacuzzi on Fire Island watching a straight couple we’d been having public sex with have public sex with each other. The story progresses, or degenerates, as my ex and I smoke crystal meth from a glass pipe in the company of two gay porn stars. It’s a story of the high life — fast living with a partner whose motto was “more is more.” Things end with me pulling myself out of an emotional death spiral by leaving everything about that life behind — including my wife.

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