Page 22 of Viking Unchained

Oh, good gods! Thorfinn knew what Viagra was, having watched Torolf and Hilda’s TV box; it was a blue pellet for men whose manparts would not rise, or would not stay risen a sufficient amount of time.

He raised his eyebrows at JAM, the questioner, since he was a man who claimed to once have been a priest, or studied to be a god-man. Then Thorfinn responded, “Mayhap our flagpoles ne’er flagged.”

“Hah! Flagpoles always flag sometime, cher.” This from Cage, who spoke with an odd, drawling dialect, unlike the odd American dialect.

“Well, they had aphrodisiacs throughout time,” according to Geek, whose sharp brain never stopped working.

“Probably something disgusting, like ram or goat testicles.” Cage made a face at Thorfinn, as if he would ever eat such distasteful food, though he did, in fact, know some halfbrained Viking men did. No doubt his brother Steven had tried it at least once.

“Lots of other things, too,” Geek went on, “like Spanish Fly, which is no more than ground-up beetles, and can be toxic, if misused.”

Yea, I am going to grind up bugs and eat them, just so I can last longer in the bed furs. When stinksome Gammelost becomes a king’s delicacy!

“Then there are oysters and figs, which are supposed to resemble and smell like a woman’s yee-haw.”

This from Torolf, the idiot.

Thorfinn did not need to be told what a yee-haw was. “And you have told Hilda this . . . that her nether parts smell like oysters?” Thorfinn asked Torolf.

“What? You think I have a death wish? Besides, I never said it was true, just that some people make that claim. Shiiit! Don’t you dare repeat that to Hilda.”

Thorfinn just smiled at his cousin.

“I read that Aristotle once advised Alexander the Great not to let his soldiers drink mint tea before going into battle because of its aphrodisiac powers,” JAM said.

“Lustsome men do not make good warriors?”

“Apparently not.” JAM waggled his eyebrows at him.

“You are all idiots,” Thorfinn proclaimed.

“Time for some hooking up, boys,” JAM said then, flexing his fingers as he motioned his head toward a group of three women who were approaching their table.

“Hooking up?” he asked, but no one answered as the other men pulled out chairs for the women to join them. Torolf flashed him a warning look. Hah! It would be a cold day in Nifhelm afore he took his cousin’s advice on good behavior.

“We know these women from the military base.” Torolf leaned over and imparted this information to him in an undertone. “They’re female soldiers. In fact, female SEALs in a rigorous program called WEALS.”

He made a clucking sound with his tongue. “What is it about some females who e’er try to be men?”

“Shhhh! ”

The women wore those den-ham braies, which were so favored in this country by both men and women, though he must admit they looked far better on the women since they delineated their thighs and buttocks and flat stomachs. On top, they wore tight armless and neckless sherts, which left naught to the imagination about the shape of their breasts, even though none of them had gone through that watering device at the door which produced some greatly-to-be-desired effect called a “wet T- shert.” Even without being dampened, on one of them, a tall Nubian, the nipples were apparent. Were all women in this country wanton? he wondered. If so, how nice for the men!

He noticed that Torolf, respecting his marriage vows, pulled his chair back, distancing himself from any one female, though conversing with all. He admired him for that. Not that fidelity had done him any good when he’d been married.

“Ladies, this is my cousin Finn from . . . um, Norway. Cuz, this is Terri Evans.” He indicated a petite woman with red hair and mischievous green eyes; then, “Donita Leone,” who was a tall, slim Nubian with ebony skin and tight black curls like a cap . . . and the nipples, of course. Finally, there was “Marie Delacroix, who is a Cajun like our Cage here,” whatever that meant, indicating a dark-haired woman with chestnut-colored eyes. All of the women were well-muscled.

He stood and was about to say that it was his pleasure to meet the ladies when Torolf jerked him back to his chair and said, “My cousin doesn’t talk much.”

While a tavern wench took orders for drinks from the ladies, Torolf told him in an aside, for his ears only, “Terri used to be a gymnast. That means she can twist her body in lots of intriguing ways.” Torolf rolled his eyes meaningfully.

What a lackbrain! But then, he considered what those twisted positions might mean in the bed furs and reconsidered his opinion of his cousin.

“Donita there was an Olympic swimmer . . . you know, like the Greek games of old. Later she had a job diving from a high board through a circle of fire into a pool of water at circus events.”

He gave Donita a considering scrutiny. He was a Viking, and Vikings admired feats of bravery, whether they be from men or women. Mayhap she would be the one enjoying his “enthusiasm” this night.

“And Marie was a Marine; they are fierce fighting men . . . and women, too, second only to SEALs. Her father died in the Twin Towers on 9/11. Remember that terrorist attack I told you about? She joined WEALS to enact just retribution.”