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that she might go the same way, and was already borderline diabetic. If anything, the worry over it made her eat more. It was always tomorrow that she was going to turn herself round and radically change her lifestyle. Her face was fine. She had the look of Gillian Anderson, the actress who’d played Dana Scully in the X-Files. Maybe if she had her hair dyed auburn and styled, and could just lose a few pounds, it would give her the kick-start she needed to get with a programme. Her self esteem needed a boost. A makeover would be a start. And she would have to exercise. Sat in front of the TV – sometimes with a comforting box of chocolates within easy reach – was never going to be the answer.
    It was over three years since Marion had felt the fullness of a man inside her. The memory of the incident was at once exciting and abhorrent. It had been at the Christmas office party. One of the psychiatrists, Barry Levin, had plied her with vodka and tonic until she was three sheets to the wind, and her already wafer-thin inhibitions were overcome by an alcoholic haze. There was a vague memory of him leading her into an interview room, pushing her over the table, lifting her skirt up and pulling her tights and panties down below her knees. It had lasted all of thirty seconds. Just wham, bang, and not even a ‘thank you, ma’am’. As she had wiped herself with a Kleenex and rearranged her clothing, he had left without a word. The only lasting impressions were bruises on her breasts, caused by his fingers digging into them. Neither of them ever mentioned the one-off encounter. He had needed somewhere wet and warm to off load, and she had served the purpose. Damn the fucking man! Being a shrink, he had recognised her need, and treated her as easy pickings.
    Her rule of thumb, now, was that all men were bastards, whose brains were, for the most part located in their pants. But that didn’t stop her from wanting sex.
    “You seem a little, er, distracted, Marion. Are you sure you’re all right?” Gary asked, noticing the preoccupied look in her eyes. She was staring off into the middle distance and chewing the inside of her cheek. Looked like a fucking hamster.
    “Uh! Sorry. I was away with the fairies for a minute, Gary. Tell me about your week. Any voices?”
    “Hardly a murmur. The new medication is brilliant, with a couple of small reservations.”
    “Being?”
    “I don’t sleep too well, and...and, just one other thing, but it’s not important.”
    Marion tutted. “We don’t have secrets, Gary, do we? I thought we could talk about anything and everything.”
    “It’s a little embarrassing, Marion.”
    “There’s no one else to hear. Don’t forget, a trouble shared is a trouble halved.”
    “I think the drug has made me...you know, impotent. I haven’t had an...been the same since shortly after starting this course.”
    “And are you active, Gary? Is it causing relationship problems?”
    “Well, no. I haven’t done, er, been with anyone for a long time. It’s just making me a little anxious. I feel as though I’ve been, well, chemically castrated, like how they sometimes treat sex offenders.”
    He let his head drop, clamped his face in his hands, and even forced a few tears from his eyes. Kevin Spacey, eat your heart out. This is an Oscar-winning performance.
    Marion put her cup down, heaved herself up and went to sit next to him on the settee, draping her arm around his shoulder and actually hugging him. “I’ll talk to the doctor, Gary. I’m sure we’ll be able to prescribe an alternative. Maybe risperdone or olanzapine. Don’t worry about it, or you’ll make it worse.”
    He put his hand on her thigh, casually, and felt deeply buried muscle quiver beneath the soft, pliant flesh. It was time to push the envelope. He continued to sob, half-turned towards her and buried his face into her massive bosom.
    She stroked his short, thinning hair, and actually rocked him as though he were a child. This