If You Like Pina Coladas

Part 1

by Verve (verve294 at hotmail.com)

For the lovva Mike! She's writing another one....

Yeah, so it's the third thing I've got started on but I couldn't help it. I'm so weak. Beaten by wussy little plot bunnies *sobs* so weak.... *ahem* Anyhow, this one's gonna be shippy too, a la What Rocket Scientists Want
So without further ado I give you....

If you like Pina Coladas....

(Author's note: Stole Dr. Sethís personal ad, but not her version of Dwayne -- olí Ass Face is too complex for a sorta story like this. Normal Dwayne will be substituting.)

Slate set down the phone and sighed; an all time low -- putting an ad in the personal pages. She felt as if she were selling herself like so many cattle. She huffed down in the nearest recliner in her cozy, though most would call it small, apartment on the Quark compound and reflected for a moment. Her brow furrowed as she tugged absently at her earlobe. It was just the Neutronic Daily -- and this was the twentieth consecutive Saturday night she had spent alone (a thought made worse by realizing that twenty Saturdays ago she had gone out to dinner with her mother.) She was just looking to get out of the compound for a change. Meet someone new. It wasnít that bad.

Was it?

Dwayne set down the phone and looked at it for a long moment. So they had found his match, a 'soulmate' was Jimís words for it.

"Sheís perfect, man, just put in her ad a few seconds ago." His voice was almost drowned out by the noise of fingers taping on keyboards all around him in the Neutronic Daily offices.

"Listen, Jim, I really appreciate all youíre doing to get me a date, but you can consider the debt paid." Dwayne scratched his head and leaned up against the wall, he was doing his best not to get frustrated at his over zealous friend.

"Never man, you saved my life! You remember that gray foggy day when the war was still going on and we were down in the mess together eating grub and--"

Dwayne cut him off by jumping in with a subject change. Jim Douglas the Third was a longwinded (air supplied via lack of cranial substance) aspiring novelist, who got stuck with the only job he could get writing part time and still indulge his typewriter and heat bill the other half of the time -- the want ads. They used to serve together during the war, and a few of that old group still kept contact.

"So what have you dug up for me this time?" And he meant Ďdug upí when he said it. Dwayne didnít even want to waste one moment thinking of the other bombs that Jim had dropped in his direction for the sake of his Ďgetting some action.í

"Give me some credit, man," Jim said, feigning injury. "Listen to this- Physical Description: 5'1", slim, dark-skinned, long, dark, wavy hair, hazel eyes..."

"With a oozing skin rash and a habit of drooling on herself?" Dwayne butted in quickly.

"Hey! Thatís in the past, man. She sounded perfectly normal on the phone, the drooling wasnít that bad," Jimís voice rose defensively across the line; "and how was I supposed to know that that was the type of ointment that she meant? People but some pretty kinky stuff in these want ads!"

"And you know Iím not into that kinda thing and you still set me up with her? Along with countless others." Dwayne sighed and rubbed his temples. Sure, he had no better way to spend his leave than this, but it was getting out of hand. "Jim, Iím not going to let you be my personal dating service anymore."

"Okay," Jim said, with the tone of someone who was only pretending to surrender, "but how about going out with this one last one, just for old times sake?" Jim listened to what he hoped was thoughtful silence on the other end of the line for a moment. "Címon, man, I owe it to you. One last date and Iíll consider my debt repaid."

"Well, since you put it that way, tell me a little more about her."

"I canít give you any names, you know that, but I can tell you that she claims to be a master of Kama Sutra." Jim tried to put a little mystery into his voice, and Dwayne pretended not to be as interested in that statement as he was.

"Jim, thereís more to that than sex. Itís an art." Dwayne sat down on the floor resignedly. At least this was getting a little exciting. "What else did she say?"

"Likes: Spicy foods, puzzles, deviations from anything normal, sports cars, math" Jim paused. "Hmmm, thatís good for you, man, good for you."

"Why do you say that?"

"Puzzles, that means sheís lonely and desperate. Spicy foods equals good kisser...."

Dwayne jumped in on his list. "Where do you get that from?!" He didnít know whether to laugh or be disgusted at Jimís extreme knowledge of the other sex.

"Man, everyone knows that. Itís like, the birds and the bees, Romeo and Juliet, and chicks that dig spicy food are good kissers. Simple." Dwayne sat in a very puzzled silence as Jim went over the rest of the list. "Deviations from normal, that oneís easy, sheís kinky. She likes sports cars, high speeds -- need I say more? The math is a bummer, though."

"Whatís wrong with liking math?"

"Well, itís fine if you were the captain of your chess team in high school, but this is real life, man." Jim waited for Dwayne to respond. "Dwayne? Man?" Silence. "Dude -- you were captain of the chess team, werenít you!" He exploded with laughter and Dwayne was glad no one could see him turn deep crimson.

"Jim, just give me her number and leave me alone." He could hear Jim still laughing over the phone, gasping between spurts.

"Yeah, just give me a minute to recoup." Jim took a deep breath that rattled the line. "Dwayne, man, here yah go... oh yeah! And don't screw up on this one this time. I mean, you're a good guy, give the girls out there a chance, man."

"Jim," Dwayne said irritably, "the number?"

"Oh, yeah. That. Gimme a sec, it's here somewhere."


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