space, all facing a shabby wood podium. Most everyone was seated, and only a handful of empty chairs were left.
He felt several curious pairs of eyes on him as he took his seat and was relieved the room was dimly lit. Ethan was confident he looked normal, but soft lighting always helped.
Sitting quietly, he avoided making eye contact with anyone and instead listened carefully to the limited conversations around him. Traffic. Movies. Weather. Last night’s episode of some reality show he’d never heard of. Small talk. Nobody seemed particularly close to anyone else.
He took a moment to turn and scan the room. A good ten seconds passed before he spotted her, five rows back, her makeup minimal except for her trademark red velvet lips. He was a bit jarred by her appearance-he’d only seen Sheila in professional attire. Or naked. Tonight, in a sweater and jeans, you’d never know she was a distinguished professor and board member of the American Psychological Association. Sex Addicts Anonymous, indeed.
Their eyes met for a brief moment. He felt a tingle go through him. Then her eyes moved to the front of the room, no trace of recognition on her face.
“Welcome, everyone.” The man at the podium was the same ginger-haired guy Ethan had met in the stairwell the first time he’d followed Sheila here. “Happy Thursday to all.”
Voices murmured around him.
“My name is Dennis, and I’m a sex addict.”
“Hi, Dennis,” the group chorused on cue.
“I see we have some new faces here tonight.” The meeting leader’s smile was warm. “Welcome, so happy to have you. For the benefit of our new members, I’ll quickly go over the rules.
“First and foremost, we are anonymous. We’re a twelve-step program whose purpose is to support and encourage our members. We aim to achieve sexual and emotional health and stop the compulsive sexual behavior that has hurt ourselves and the people in our lives, using these twelve steps. You’re all encouraged to share as much as you can, but for now you may simply choose to listen until you’re ready. When we’re listening to other members’ stories, we do not judge and we do not interrupt.” Dennis smiled encouragingly and scanned the room. “Who’d like to begin?”
A hand shot up in the front row, belonging to a bald man wearing a denim jacket. Dennis nodded and stepped aside. The man positioned himself in front of the podium, his scalp shiny and pink under the dim spotlight above him.
His large Adam’s apple bobbed as he spoke. “My name is Kenneth and I’m a sex addict.”
“Hi, Kenneth,” the room responded in unison.
“It’s been a tough week. I got caught masturbating again at work. I thought I was doing so well, but I was searching for something on the Internet my boss needed and one of those ads for free porn popped up. I don’t know why they don’t block those! Anyway, that’s all it took. Next thing I know, my hand is down my pants and I’m…”
Ethan listened with great interest as Kenneth the Masturbator relayed his embarrassing story, concluding with the look on his poor supervisor’s face when she walked into Kenneth’s office and caught him spanking the monkey.
Ethan bit back his laughter. And to think, the fun was just beginning.
CHAPTER 13
T he first half of the meeting was over and they were given a fifteen-minute break. Eight people had shared their stories so far, and Sheila hoped this part was finished for the evening. In her three years attending Sex Addicts Anonymous meetings, she’d just about heard it all. Nothing really surprised her anymore, but it could be pretty depressing.
Kenneth was on the verge of being fired from his third job in two years due to his uncontrollable urges to masturbate in public places. Christina suffered from blackouts during sex and often woke up unable to remember where she was or why she was there. Curt was addicted to online pornography and had spent over $40,000 on membership fees to various websites. His wife and kids had left him after the house was taken by the bank.
These stories might have been interesting, funny even, if Sheila didn’t have to count herself as part of this group of addicts struggling day in and day out for control.
Her butt sore from sitting on the hard metal folding chair, she welcomed the opportunity to stand up and stretch. She followed the herd to the back of the room where the coffee and doughnuts were and watched as people began to pair off or stand in small groups. She murmured a few hellos, but she had no desire to bond with anyone here. If anybody asked, she always said her name was Stella.
She waited patiently for her turn at the free coffee dispenser, which produced mild but not horrible-tasting coffee. A corduroy-clad arm reached out from behind her to drop a $50 bill into the large donation jar. She turned, curious to see who’d donate such a high amount, and a man about her age with smooth caramel skin and tinted glasses met her glance. A newbie. His eyes stayed on her face for only a second before darting away, which happened a lot in SAA. Nobody wanted to be recognized here.
“Fifty bucks.” Sheila couldn’t resist commenting as she reached the coffee dispenser. “Generous. I think the average contribution tends to run about five dollars. You must be planning to stick around.”
“Depends on what happens in the second half of the meeting.”
The man had an accent she couldn’t quite place. “Enjoyed the sharing, did you?”
He shrugged but his expression was serious. “It was interesting. I can’t get past the size of this group. Back in Ohio we had only seven people. There’s got to be forty here tonight.”
He didn’t sound as if he was from Ohio.
“I wonder what that says about the Pacific Northwest,” Sheila said.
He finally laughed, pushing his glasses farther up on the bridge of his nose. He wasn’t bad looking. “Right.”
“Affirmations and visualizations are next. Have fun.”
She glanced at him one last time before she walked away. Something about him seemed vaguely familiar, but that often happened. She taught hundreds of students every year, of all ages, races, and backgrounds. She hoped he hadn’t been one of them.
At Tony’s Tavern an hour later, Sheila ate her mushroom-and-Swiss burger. Greasy food had become a ritual for her after her weekly SAA meetings. Something about all the sex-addict talk made her crave comfort food, and Tony’s burgers fit the bill. The tavern was only a five-minute drive from the church, and the dim lighting and classic rock booming over the loudspeakers made it the perfect place to pig out unnoticed.
Taking a big bite of her burger, she observed two women sitting at the bar. One sported a miniskirt and high heels; the other wore a top so low her red lace bra was showing. They were attracting a lot of attention from the workingmen who frequented Tony’s, all of whom they shot down with sarcastic barbs.
Sheila understood what they were doing all too well. Whatever their stories might be, these women were here for validation. They weren’t necessarily looking to get laid, though someday that might change.
A tall, well-dressed man took a seat beside them at the bar. Sheila recognized him immediately from the SAA meeting-Fifty Bucks Guy. The two women stopped talking long enough to check him out while he ordered a drink. The blonde with the low-cut top puffed out her chest and gave him an obvious once-over, but he didn’t even glance her way.
Sheila took another bite of her burger and three slices of greasy mushroom fell into her lap. Swearing under her breath, she picked them out of her napkin, popping them quickly into her mouth. She looked up to see Fifty Bucks Guy watching her from the bar with a sardonic grin. He gave her a small wave.
Reflexively, she lifted a hand in response. Instantly she regretted it. She watched in dismay as he hopped off his barstool to make his way over to her. Miniskirt and Tight Top watched with disappointment.
Despite herself, Sheila couldn’t help but feel a tiny thrill at his approach. Validation.
He was better looking than she remembered. A little paunchy around the middle perhaps, but she liked his hip,
