Chapter 2

Not only was Misty Waterflower a lightweight drinker, but she was also a bona fide lightweight. Gary was thankful for her dainty frame as the red-head was far too inebriated to stand, leaving him to carry her. It was a long walk down the hallway to room 231. If Misty had been a heavier-set girl, the task would have been unbearable due to her sporadic limb flailing.

Gary feared that Misty may puke on his fancy vest, thus, he opted against carrying her 'princess style' and chose to haul her via 'caveman style'. Gary hoisted his well-hydrated companion over his shoulder like a sack of Pokeballs. Her face and arms dangled down his back, her bellybutton was pressed on his shoulder and her knees knocked against his chest. Once positioned this way Misty was relatively still for a good minute, and Gary dared to hope that she had passed-out. But then she started giggling.

"What's so funn—Ouch!" his inquiry was swallowed by a yelp! Something collided painfully with his already sore buttocks! Gary jumped, nearly dropping Misty in the process. His alarm only caused her to laugh louder.

Although he was a professor it didn't take one to figure out that the drunken brat had slapped him on the behind.

"Nice ass ya h-have there, O-Oakie!" Misty sang through gasps of laughter.

Two could play at this game.

"So is yours." Gary reached across his chest and pinched her right butt-cheek.

Misty managed to shriek and giggle at the same time, declaring: "I'm gunna kill you for that!"

"So you're allowed to slap my ass and I can't even pinch yours?"

"Yeah, exactly!" Misty snickered.

Now it was Gary's turn to laugh. "That is called a double-standard and not fair."

"Deal with it, snob!" Misty smacked his rear again, driving her point home.

Gary wished that she could see the wicked grin on his face. "You know, bad behavior like yours can't go unpunished, m'dear. Professor Gary Oak may have to bend you over his knee and administer a real spanking if you don't settle down."

Misty squealed with mock terror. "You-you wouldn't dare. I'd kick you!"

Gary shook his head, choosing to let her win this round since he was approaching her hotel room door.

With his free hand Gary swiped the key-card through the lock. The door beeped once and a green light informed him that he was welcome to enter. Once inside Gary dashed for the bed and set Misty down. She squirmed like a newborn Caterpie, appearing more restless than nauseous. Gary hoped that her queasiness had passed.

"Quit twitching." He instructed. "You'll feel better if you just lay still."

Misty frowned but –- to Gary's pleasant surprise — took his advice and closed her eyes, trying to relax.

The young professor began searching the room for anything Misty could use as a bucket should she feel nauseous again: a coffee mug, plastic bag, anything without holes would do.

Misty's hotel room was nearly identical to his, just smaller and with ugly Pokemon paintings decorating the walls. Where his room showcased stunning artworks of Rapidash running and Dratini swimming, her room showcased a collection of freaky Mr. Mime artwork. A cheap copy of the famous 'Mimea Lisa' painting hung by the foot of the bed, and Gary could swear that the Pokemon was smiling it's creepy smile AT him!

Misty's bed was positioned against one wall and opposite was a small couch and dresser. The bathroom was next to the dresser and Gary headed that way, retrieving the wastebasket from under the sink. He set the wastebasket on Misty's nightstand so she couldn't miss it should sickness rouse her.

Misty continued to lie quietly with her eyes closed. She must have fallen asleep, Gary decided. I guess I should head back to my own room then.

Gary was almost to the door when Misty bolted upright, crying: "Wait! Oakie, wait!"

He headed back to her at once. "I thought you'd passed out." Gary explained as he sat beside her on the bed. "How do you feel?"

"All aloneeeee!" Misty wailed mournfully, but a mischievous smile spread her lips.

Gary raised an eyebrow, amused that she could embody an oxymoron. "Alone, eh? How could you possibly feel lonely when you're hanging out with me? The famous Gary Oak?" He flashed Misty his trademark grin, generally reserved for the paparazzi.

Misty matched his expression. "Good point." She agreed, the ridiculous smile on her face was evolving faster than any Pokemon . . . from super cute to super creepy! Gary shifted uncomfortably, Misty was starting to remind him of the 'Mimea Lisa' painting on the wall!

With speed to rival a Vine Whip Attack, Misty's hands volleyed outward and seized hold of Gary's tuxedo collar! The Grass-type Girl yanked him forcefully downward and on top of her. Misty gripped him with the might of a Victreebel and Gary could not shake her off!

"Misty? What the hell are you-mrrpf—" Misty devoured his words with her lips. The red-head kissed Gary with such a hodgepodge of frantic passion and utter clumsiness, that Gary couldn't help but laugh into her mouth. Misty's frenzied lips were all over the place, awkwardly struggling to urge a response from his. She either didn't notice he was laughing or the knowledge spurred her onward, because now one of her viney hands migrated to the back of his head. Misty's fingers gripped a fist-full of Gary's hair and pulled him closer, crushing her lips more firmly against his.

Gary placed his hands on her shoulders and tried to ease the hormonal girl off of him. Only, every time he started pushing her away, she started yanking his hair! Their lip-locking had suddenly become a tug-of-war game where — if he won — he earned a bald spot!

Misty felt his hesitation and wasted zero time raising the game's stakes. Her tongue became a bold adventurer and parted his lips, trying to engage his own within flirtatious play. Gary squeezed his eyes shut, desperately trying to resist the effect that she was having on his libido. Misty's lips were sinfully soft, supple, and tasted like Chocolate Martinis. When his sight had first indulged in her image at the bar, all he could think about was this . . .tasting her sweet lips, touching her, making her his. But Gary wanted to kiss and touch the real Misty – not this desperate drunken one. He had to end her kissing-fest now, while he still retained the will to deny her lustful requests. He just had to hope that the sober Misty would still be as attracted to him as her drunken doppelganger.

Of course there was a chance that Misty wouldn't speak to him after this. Who knew what – if anything – she would remember or how warped her sober interpretation may be?

Damn, but it was a chance that Gary was going to have to take. No matter how good it might feel, kissing Misty back was wrong. She was not in control of herself and so he had to have enough self-control for them both.

Gary was no longer laughing. He was now gathering every ounce of fortitude he possessed to not return the kiss which she begged him for. One of Misty's hands explored his chest and stomach, her fingers seemed to enjoy the feel of his hard abdominal muscles and she moaned against his mouth. Her little purr of pleasure was intoxicating! Gary fought against his painful arousal and resolved to do what he had to do and fast.

Gary tightened his grip on Misty's shoulders and pried her eager body from his. It was like dredging an anchor from a pit of quicksand. Misty fought against him like a ravenous Machamp – -struggling against his hands, jerking his hair and nearly head-butting him when he shunned her lips.

"Stop please, Misty." Gary pleaded with her, coaxing a reassuring smile to his lips. "You don't want do to this, you're just drunk."

Abruptly, Misty did stop. She recoiled her hands from his hair as though it were flame, her face bleaching. She did not appear embarrassed or angry or even confused. Misty's absolute lack of emotion made Gary more uncomfortable than he'd been when she had first kissed him. Concerned, he touched her chin and tipped her face toward his. Now did sapphire and emerald stares infuse within a precious blend of sensation. Gary's spilled worry, shame and lust . . . he searched her sights for any semblance of emotion . . . anything which would assure him that she was not upset.

He never should have let her kiss him for so long, he should have pulled her off sooner, even if it meant losing some hair. Cursing himself, Gary continued to hold her gaze. He was unblinking, allowing his raw anxiety to penetrate her and, at last, Misty sighed.

Although Misty's eyes were tinged red from the alcohol and were certainly blurry, there was now a conscious trace of understanding within them. No anger or bitterness or disgrace, just a comprehension that the two of them had shared more than alcohol tonight.

"Oakie?" she murmured cautiously, now averting his stare.

Gary eased his body away from Misty's and simply took her hand and squeezed it, encouraging her to complete her question.

"I think . . . I think I'm going to . . ."

Oh crap!

Misty wasn't the only one with Vine Whip-reflexes! Gary grabbed the wastebasket and shoved it under Misty's head, one second later and she would have puked all over him.

Gary sighed with relief, holding his nose with one hand and the wastebasket with the other as Misty emptied her stomach. He offered her a few reassuring words, but, he sounded so nerdy through his plugged-nose that he just shut-up and let her finish.

After vomiting for about three steady minutes, Misty collapsed, exhausted against her bed. The red-head was not even remotely conscious but she looked stable. Gary wagered that she wouldn't move again until morning. Not wasting a moment, he carried the wastebasket into the bathroom, flushed the foul contents down the toilet, rinsed it and washed his hands. He returned to his patient and re-set the cleaned wastebasket on her night stand with a glass of water. Then, Gary laid her sideways, propping her this way with pillows. He was fairly certain that Misty was finished vomiting but, just in case, he didn't want to hazard her choking if she were sleeping on her back.

As Gary stood over her he couldn't help but smile. He had initially thought of this young lady as an exotic cocktail to pursue and devour. Only, now she looked like a delicately-worn doll that needed a hug. Misty's long ginger-toned locks splayed in every direction and her cheeks were unevenly flushed (probably from vomiting, but Gary wanted to credit some of that blush from kissing him). Her lipstick was smeared as though someone had skimped on the paint-job. Misty's mouth was slightly swollen from vigorously kissing his own. Her legs and arms were nestled together so modestly one would think a toy maker had arranged them thus. Misty was a chaotic mess and a vision of beauty. Gary shook his head, failing to stifle a laugh – he almost could not believe how attracted he still was to this girl, right now, considering that she had insulted him, assaulted him and then topped it off by almost puking Chocolate Martini's on him!

The young professor pulled his sights from Misty and settled them on her alarm clock. It read 12:06 AM. How long have I been up here? Gary granted himself a final gaze upon the resting red-head before heading toward her door. He knew that if sober Misty woke up and found him in her room she would probably freak out. Gary reminded himself that she may not even remember anything about tonight, even meeting him . . .

That would be a cruel twist of fate: for Misty to forget him all-together while he would never forget how soft and eager her lips had been against his. He would never forget how she had made him feel tonight.

A few hours ago Gary was ready to give up on dating, convinced that there were no ladies left in existence who could thrill him, challenge him, inspire him to actually put his heart out and invest it –- trust it –- with another living creature. But what a difference a few hours could make! What a difference Misty had made!

Gary warned himself that sober Misty may be even harder to communicate with than the drunken one. But Gary was enthralled by the challenge of trying to romance this gorgeous, potentially resistant and provenly dangerous girl. Misty's feisty personality probably intimidated lesser men, that was the only explanation why a beauty like her did not have a proper date to the wedding. Gary wanted her to be as feisty as she could be, because that feistiness was Misty. Gary didn't want to be with any girl who pretended to be less than what she was. He wanted to believe that sober Misty would continue to be genuine, even if it meant a genuine pain in the ass. He would prove that he could not only endure this part of her, but relish it. He desperately wanted her to kiss him again, but only when she was coherent and truly wanted him. Gary would not kiss Misty until he was sure.

Assuring himself that he would somehow triumph, Gary headed out the door and into the hotel hallway. With any luck he would cross Misty's path tomorrow at check-out and he could ask for her phone number. Heck, he would even take her email address or P.O. box number. He just wanted to communicate with her again. Gah! He was starting to sound like one of his ownfangirls!

As Gary walked toward his room he pulled out his cellphone and dialed the hotel room service line. He ordered that a big bottle of water and some mega-strong aspirin be sent to Misty's room tomorrow morning. He told room service to put the items on his tab, the last thing that poor girl needed was an unexpected bill, even if it was a relatively small one.

Once in his own room, Gary collapsed on the bed. He hadn't realized how exhausted he was. Granted, he had been tired all day. But taking care of Misty had given him an adrenal-rush, and with her gone he felt as though he'd been wrestling with a Machamp. Oh wait, he basically had been . . . a Machamp that wanted to make-out with him. Not that Gary minded. He liked playing Nurse Joy and taking care of Misty . . . and he really liked being man-handled by her in various ways throughout the evening. The professor beamed, realizing that his lips may well be as bruised as his rear end tomorrow morning.

Gary summoned just enough energy to stand up and change out of his tuxedo and into a pair of flannel pajama pants and a t-shirt. He then curled into a warm ball upon the bed. His consciousness immediately began to waver, and he surrendered as Sleep's sweet embrace surrounded his mind . . .

"Ohhh, yes! Yes! That feels sooo good, ohhh…!"

Gary's eyes snapped open.

"Ohh, wow, th-this feels so-oo good!"

Gary's tranquility was shattered.

"YES! YES! YES!"

"Oh yeaaah! Who knew what I'd been miss-miss-missing, for-ohhh- my whole-e-e lif-fe," gasped and groaned a VERY familiar male voice. . .

Gary ground his teeth, cursing under his breath.

"Ohh, Ashy, you tease you . . . ohhhh, yes!"

By Articuno, Zapdos AND Moltres, NO! Noooooooo! Gary smothered his own head with a pillow, desperate to deafen the horrendous sexual noises. Tragically, the pillow only seemed to muffle the terrible moans, making them sound all the more bizarre –- like they were 'doing the nasty' under water! BLAH!

This was hell.

Gary snatched his pillow, comforter and sprinted out of bed toward the couch. The couch was against the opposite wall and, Gary prayed, out of ear-shot of his neighbors. There was NO way in hell that he was falling asleep to the soundtrack of Ash Ketchum losing his virginity. Disgusting!

Gary shuddered, raking his hands through his hair as though the act would somehow scrape away the grotesque memories of what he had just overheard. He wasted little time settling down on the couch. The couch was a bit stiff, nowhere near as plushy as the bed, but it was quiet. Gary closed his eyes and sighed. Sleep's wondrous peace again beckoned his consciousness . . .

"Ohh, mmmm! Yeah, just like that, mmmm!"

"Ahhhh! My GAWD! Aahhhh-hhhh….!"

No! Gary shot upright a second time. No way could Ash and Cindy Lou be THAT loud . . . no way . . .

"You're doin' good, Brockie-poo. Just keep that up." Came another very familiar, very encouraging feminine voice. This memorable female voice was followed by a masculine moan.

What were the dammed chances? This is unbelievable! Gary sneered to himself, covering his ears. What were the damned chances that MY hotel room would be sandwiched between Ash's and Brock's?

Continued horror descended upon him: those two losers are getting laid tonight and I – Gary Oak—am not! The realization was nearly unbearable. Now the young Oak had to choose between listening to his ex-girlfriend stealing Brock's virginity in one room, or his former rival being ravaged of his in the other! It was too much! What had Gary done to deserve such repulsive torment?

Gary stood and marched toward the door. He wanted to leave before Anita started yanking on Brock's nipples, then the poor guy would really wail. Gary knew from experience what she had in store for Brock. He covered his ears and contemplated his current situation, and the plausible options he had (given that it was well-past midnight).

Contrary to Ash's and Brock's opinion of him: Gary Oak was not an asshole. He wasn't going to pitch a fit and demand that everyone to shut-up for his sake. After all, this was Ash's wedding night. And Brock? He had to be pushing thirty. Gary wasn't cruel enough to deprive Brock of his one chance to finally experience the pleasures of the female body.

Gary knew that he could probably call the front desk and get transferred to a different room. Maybe he could have Anita's room? She obviously wasn't using it . . . but, he had already unpacked all of his clothes, toiletries and his body was on the brink of collapse.

Groaning miserably, Gary crawled back into the actual bed. He did his best to cover his ears as Ash and Cindy Lou moaned on. Gary was banking on the assumption that virginal Ash would not be able to last very long. And as he was with most everything, Professor Oak was right. About two minutes later Ash and Cindy Lou's cries of pleasure subsided. A few moments after that, Brock let loose a final, considerably loud, cry.

Ah, peace and quiet.

Sleep at last had her way with the young professor.

But Gary's solace was fleeting. Apparently Cindy Lou and Anita were not through with their new lovers.

Three hours later the chorus of moaning revived.