Originally published in The Stranger on March 20, 1997
A number of the men in this article requested anonymity. Where no last name is given, a pseudonym has been used.
A year ago September I got a message on my machine from a man named Dennis Beejin inviting me to “give a talk”—no time, no date or place, just the request and his number. I’m a novelist, not well known, and any invitation to talk about my work interests me. I phoned back, thinking I would ask for an honorarium, but knowing I would accept regardless.
Dennis told me the event was secret, the location and date could not be shared with “the outside,” and that it was the national conference of NAMBLA, the North American Man-Boy Love Association. Would I speak to them about my work? I was surprised and curious (Dennis said, “some of us have read your books”), but mostly I felt implicated. NAMBLA has been so broadly demonized as an organization of child molesters, the invitation felt like a summons from the underworld.
On the phone, Dennis was flustered and sweet. He apologized for the fact they couldn’t pay me, and praised my book The Child Molester. (In fact, I never wrote such a book. Dennis meant a novel of mine called The Sex Offender.) The weekend would include a number of sessions, mostly about “man-boy love,” the law, and NAMBLA. Several dozen men were coming from around the U.S., plus a handful from overseas. They wanted me to talk about my books and the conference theme “finding our voice.”