It was stupid right? A mate in a minute? And yet….

"What the hell…" Dani Reese muttered. It wasn't like dating was conventional for her anymore. Had it ever been? She mostly sport fucked. And that? ….. just wasn't getting the job done anymore.

Was it possible to be completely anonymously honest and find some miracle match?

She was skeptical, but she didn't have to do anything about it. She could just look. She stared at the laptop and examined the categories. First you had to enter data about yourself. Of course you did.

Name? No way she was using her real one. She wondered if anyone one did. She tried to strike a balance between sex kitten and desperate. She decided to use her mother's heritage and typed in a Persian name from her mother's family. Sameen Saif. There…she hit enter. Let's see what your search engine designed by desperate college white boys makes of that.

The physical stuff was easy. Height, check. Weight, check. Body type? Hmmm…. she checked both athletic and curvy. She considered herself fit, but still womanly. She wondered briefly if others did. If the looks she got were any indication, then yes.

Orientation? "Uh….decidedly straight," she talked to the computer or herself. Why that woman had kissed her was beyond her imagination. She wondered briefly, "do I give off a gay vibe?" Then shook her head, no.

Personality style? Was "in your face" a choice? She scanned the list. "Direct," she read. "That's me," she confirmed with a check.

Clothing style? Why was that even a thing? Guys…. She scanned the list and selected "comfortable yet classy." She doubted it was entirely accurate, but grunge, punk, sophisticated, couture didn't fit at all.

What do you want in a man? What a wide open question.

It meant so very many things. But the physical part was comprised of all the same questions she'd just answered about herself. Age, height and weight ranges. She liked the idea of a tall, trim man who was older than her, more experienced perhaps. Less interested in how many women he could bed and more interested in finding the right one.

Sex Positions Preferred? Now this was getting interesting, she thought. She checked several she'd tried and a few she'd always wanted to. It was just for fun anyway, she reasoned.

Do you like to experiment? The yes or no boxes seemed too limiting so she typed into the blank box below, "with someone I trust." Who was she kidding? She trusted no one – except possibly Crews. Okay, that was a weird thought.

She didn't normally associate Crews with sex, but at that party he seemed more than mildly uncomfortable. She was so preoccupied watching him, his shock and dismay; that the brunette "wife" of one the stoners had been able to kiss her. It wasn't unpleasant, but Crews reaction was one of amusement coupled with mild excitement. He wasn't uncomfortable just then; instead he seemed curious. That was not a conversation she wanted to have. The "hey, did you just get turned on when that chick kissed me" thing, so they hurried off, hurtling past their reactions and into an arrest. She refocused on the questionnaire.

There were the obligatory series of weird questions about the type and importance of things that didn't matter to her. Religion? Politics? Pets? Kids? Okay, that last one might be a deal breaker, but she checked "none now and unsure about the future." Smoking? Drinking? Drugs? Those had to all be no. She couldn't have the temptation. She was an addict. Once an addict, always an addict.

What's most important to you? There were character traits ranging from physical beauty to health, wealth, virility and intangibles. That was where this experiment struck home for her. She examined them closely and concluded that honesty, humor and trust were her top three.

Showtime. There was a small red button at the bottom that assure her QuickieMate could calculate her suitability and give her the candidates matching her based on a mathematic formulaic assessment of her answers and cross matched with her prospective mate's expectations. It all sounded very technical and impossible for the two boneheads she and Crews had interviewed – twice.

What the hell? She pressed the button and waited.

As the spinning color wheel of death churned in the background, a series of disclaimers popped up. Quickie Mate recommends you meet your mate in a public place. Not all matches will last. The top ten candidates returned are based on an assessment of your honest responses. If you weren't honest, your match might not meet your expectations…..yaddah, yaddah, yaddah. So the stoners had a lawyer who knew all the right things to protect their venture. What had Cheech and Chong put into their search engine? Hopelessly nerdy, stoners with new money seek rich money grubbing hot girls?

Then suddenly the wheel was gone, a bell chimed and ten names appeared. None were names she knew. Thank God. She clicked on the first and explored his profile. Then she drilled down into each name looking for Mr. Right….or Mr. Right Now.

The one she found most interesting was an older man who described himself as "long and lean, calm and content and a jeans and t-shirt" guy. That seemed unpretentious. He was about ten to twelve years older than her. He didn't drink, didn't smoke and instead of selecting "hot rack, tight ass or fucks like a gymnast" as most important, he'd selected as an ideal mate someone honest, humorous, loyal and trustworthy. The name attached to the profile read. Donovan Lewis….

Just who the hell are you Donovan Lewis? And where have you been all of my life? She'd check him out tomorrow at work. Run him for wants and warrants, arrests, traffic tickets, maybe pull a DMV photo…Being a cop had some perks, not many, but this she could do. She sure as hell wasn't writing him.