Page 111 of Kiss of Wrath

After a fifteen-minute break, she led the next session on teenage self-esteem. It was sad to hear all the young girls bemoan their self-identities tied in with magazine and TV images of gaunt, too-thin body frames and outer beauty as an indicator of worth. Even more alarming was the bullying that went along with physical appearance.

Finally, the sexual dysfunction group filed in. Only six people came today and they sat on half the folding chairs arranged in a circle. Martin “Marty” Gallagher, a Marine vet who suffered impotency due to PTSD. Jenny Laird, a self-proclaimed nymphomaniac, although Miranda believed she got off just talking about sex in therapy. Bob and Helen Morgan, a couple who argued constantly about sex. He wanted less; she wanted more. And then there was Mordr, sitting there as if he belonged. Today he wore Harley-Davidson attire. All leather, right down to his big boots and a jacket that said, not “Hell’s Angels,” but “The Other Angels.”

Despite being discomforted by Mordr’s presence, Miranda started the meeting. “Jenny, did you try that exercise class I suggested as a way of working off some of your sexual energy?”

“Pfff!” Jenny said, tossing her long blond hair over one shoulder and eyeing the newcomer to the group, who had yet to be introduced. Mordr. “The instructor in the class was a male, and he had us doing these pelvic thrusts to the rhythm of some weird rap music. By the time the class was over, I was so hot I dry-humped him in the locker room. The little weasel reported me to the manager, but not before nailing me in the shower, from behind, and after I gave him a blow job under his desk.”

Marty yawned. He’d heard Jenny’s stories before, most of which were fabricated. Helen gazed at Jenny with envy, and Bob cringed, fearing that his wife was going to be demanding even more of him when they returned home today. Mordr, on the other hand, was gaping at Jenny.

“Thank you for sharing that, Jenny,” Miranda said quickly before Mordr could speak, as he obviously was about to. “Do you think it was wise to engage in such activity in a public place?”

“Well—” Jenny started to say.

“All the sex books say that if it feels good, go for it,” Helen interrupted. “And Jenny wasn’t even doing it in front of anyone else, which would have been all right, too. Exhibitionism is a natural female fantasy. Bob wouldn’t even do it with me in the bathroom of the country club.”

“It was the men’s room, and there were men in the other stalls,” Bob said with disgust.

“Hell! If I could get it up, I’d do it in Times Square,” Marty said. To Mordr, Marty explained, “Ever since I got back from Iraq, I’ve been unable to make the old soldier stand to attention. I keep seeing this kid who had a bomb strapped to his cock. Went off in a pink mist right in front of my whole company.”

Mordr put a sympathetic hand on the man’s arm. “I had men serving under me who suffered such after battles. Usually, it went away over time. Betimes, a bout of alehead madness helped, but mostly it was time and a patient woman who brought the staff back to life.”

Miranda was amazed at Mordr’s empathy. Most men would make a joke about such an affliction.

“Dr. Hart thinks I need a sex surrogate,” Martin added.

“Dr. Hart?” Mordr frowned in confusion. It was probably the first time he’d heard anyone refer to her as a doctor.

“He’s talking about me. I have a doctorate in psychology,” she told Mordr.

“And a sex sir . . . whatever he said?” Mordr inquired.

Miranda explained what a sex surrogate did.

“Over my dead body!” Mordr declared.

Everyone sat up with interest now, sensing a spark between her and Mordr.

Spark? It was more like a bonfire.

“If you will be having sex, it will be with me, not another man,” her Viking blabbermouth went on.

Miranda felt herself blush. “I’m not a sex surrogate. There are women who provide that professional service.”

“Harlots?”

“No, there are trained women, and men, who have the clinical experience to help those suffering from sexual issues,” she said.

“How do I get to be one of those surrogate things?” Jenny wanted to know.

“Yeah. Can we sign up here?” Helen asked.

Marty winked at Mordr, as if they shared some manly joke.

Enough of this nonsense!

“Mordr, group therapy is serious. What is your sexual problem? What brings you here today?”

Big mistake!