Just a little one-shot for you all. Plot bunnies have been flying around everywhere lately and I want to say thanks to everyone for keeping the ideas flowing. You all are awesome!

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Her glossy red hair spilled down over her creamy white shoulders like a shimmering waterfall. The breath caught in his throat- he was transfixed by her ethereal beauty. She was like a goodess sent from the sky. Her laugh tinkled like a fountain on a summer's day. She was the very essence of perfection, stirring up feelings deep within him that he-

The Professor rolled his eyes and thumped the paperback down onto the table.

"This is what I get for fishing junk out of the lagoon," he muttered to himself.

That morning, a small wooden box had washed up and got tangled in some weeds. The Professor had been out hunting ferns and had seen the box poking out of the greenery. Feeling pretty excited because normally it was Gilligan who discovered things in the lagoon, Roy Hinkley scrambled down the bank (soaking his deck shoes and tall socks in the process) and grabbed the box like a pirate finding treasure and wanting it all to himself. He scurried back to the Supply Hut with his booty, thankful that he didn't bump into anyone on the way. Once ensconced in his own territory, he set about prising the box open with a knife.

Its contents made his eyes pop open. Books! This was even better than he'd imagined! The Professor adored books. They were like food for his very soul. A book would never let you down, not like a woman. You could cuddle a book, get lost in its pages. You could spend all night with a book and it would still respect you in the morning. Why, he was even writing a book himself, and one day he'd get it finished.

But as he riffled through the books, his face fell. The first layer was nothing but romance novels, and so was the second. And the third. The fourth layer was even worse- those tales they called 'bodice rippers', with cover illustrations of fiery women with raven hair fighting off handsome but aggressive pursuers.

He had reached the bottom of the box. That was it. Women's books, every one of them. Not a science book in sight. He sat back in his seat with a dejected thump, pushing the box away from him with both hands. He pursed his lips in disgust. Trashy paperbacks, he thought glumly. Just my luck.

He decided to give the whole box to the girls, but as the morning progressed and he pottered around the hut, his eyes kept flitting towards it. Eventually he plucked a book from the top and opened it up. Just to confirm my suspicions that they're as bad as I think, he told himself.

The book was called 'Red Is The Color of My Passion'. He thought it was a stupid title. "Red is not the colour of 'passion'," he muttered out loud as he skimmed the pages. "Colours are made visible by differing wavelengths of visible light." His eyes widened as he chanced upon a particularly racy passage. "This has nothing to do with the colour red," he murmured, reading avidly.

She flicked her hair back and it caught the light like a living thing, dazzling him with a myriad of reds and gold and oranges that both blinded and transfixed him.

"Nonsense," the Professor muttered. "You cannot be blinded by someone's hair. Hair is made from a protein called keratin. Technically, hair is dead. This book is a mass of lies and contradictions, and what's more, this man is a fool."

He kept reading.

It was not long before Gilligan appeared. The First Mate sauntered into the hut after knocking briefly and not waiting for an answer. The Professor had no time to close his book or hide the box so he just stood there and stared at the boy.

"What'cha doin'?" Gilligan asked, casually. His eyes alighted on the box and his face lit up. "Oh boy, what'cha got there, Professor?"

The Professor came clean. "It washed up in the lagoon," he admitted. "I didn't want to make a fuss until I knew what was inside." Mentally he patted himself on the back for coming up with a perfectly valid reason besides 'I was so thrilled to be the one to discover something that I wanted it all to myself.'

Gilligan accepted his explanation with a happy shrug. "I woulda come yelling into the huts if I'da found it," he grinned. "Then it would've turned out to be something stupid."

The Professor waved his hand over the box. "That's exactly what it did turn out to be. Gilligan, I seem to have found a whole box full of ridiculous women's novels." He plucked a paperback from the box and threw it towards Gilligan, who deftly caught it in midair.

"Nice catch," he smiled.

"I was frisbee champion in Junior High," Gilligan replied, wagging his eyebrows.

He began flipping through the pages of the book. His brow furrowed.

"'She looked at him through lowered eyelashes'," he read aloud. "'Her toffee colored eyes seemed to mes... mesmer... ize him'. What's 'mesmerize', Professor?"

"it means he was besotted, Gilligan. Madly in love, like a fool."

"Oh," said Gilligan. He returned to the book and continued reading. "'Her lips tasted like strawberry syrup and he thought about ice cream sundaes as she kissed him'." Gilligan looked up. "Oh, boy," he said, dreamily. "I sure could go for an ice cream sundae right now."

"Toffee coloured eyes, strawberry flavoured lips, it appears to me the writer of your book had a food fixation," the Professor said, rolling his eyes.

"'Her silky skin looked like fresh caramel'," Gilligan read. He glanced at the Professor with a skeptical expression. "I think you're right."

The Professor held up the book he'd been reading. "Mine's all about a woman with living red hair that blinds the man who loves her."

Gilligan blinked. "Hair isn't alive!"

"Exactly!" The Professor smacked the book with the back of his hand. "Even you know that!"

"Except wasn't there a woman who had hair made out of snakes?"

"That was Medusa, and you're talking about Greek mythology. That's a very different kettle of fish. She was a beautiful maiden who was turned into an ugly monster because she fell in love and got married."

"Wow," said Gilligan. "That's even more of a reason to stay single forever!"

The Professor was about to agree with Gilligan when the sound of laughter coming from outside made them both look towards the window. Ginger and Mary Ann had emerged from their hut and were walking across the clearing with their arms linked. Ginger's beautiful long hair caught fire under the sun, blazing with reds and golds, making the Professor's breath catch in his throat. Mary Ann was wearing her green crop top and her silky smooth arms glowed in the golden sunlight like ...

... like fresh caramel.

Gilligan gulped. He looked at the Professor, who looked back at him, and both men realised that they were clutching their respective books to their chests.

"I better be going," Gilligan said in a slightly squeaky tone of voice. "Skipper wanted me to... um... er... well, I guess I'll remember in a minute."

With that, the First Mate scurried quickly out of the hut, still clutching the battered paperback.

Ginger threw back her head and her hair shimmered like a waterfall made of fire. The Professor couldn't tear his eyes away.

'He was transfixed by her ethereal beauty'.

The girls moved out of his line of sight and headed out towards the lagoon. The Professor pulled the box roughly towards him, put the lid back on and sealed it with one thump from the nearest heavy object, which turned out to be a stone paperweight. He thought about throwing it back out into the sea and letting someone else discover it, but then he went back to his original idea of giving it to the girls. Besides, Gilligan knew about it now and had one of the books in his possession, and nothing stayed a secret for very long once Gilligan became involved.

The Professor wrote a hasty note saying he'd found the books washed up and they were of no use to him, so perhaps the girls might like them. He carried the box over to the Girls' Hut and left it outside the door so they'd find it when they returned home from their walk. Then he went back to the Supply Hut, picked up 'Red Is The Color of My Passion', grimaced at its cover picture of a red haired siren gazing seductively at a besotted man, and placed it gently under his pillow.

End