Archive of Our Own

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Sex and the single scientist.

Kind of an oxymoron, huh? We're all supposed to be stodgy, nerdy types who can't get a date unless it's over the test tubes, or who don't want to date unless they find a girl who knows the periodic table backwards and forwards. Well, let me tell you something. That's rubbish.

... well, all right, it's not completely rubbish. I'd like the woman I date to at least know the noble gases. 

Still, despite our quirks, we academics need love and affection too, right?

And I needed it more than anybody.

I've been divorced for ten years now--a state I welcomed, because my marriage was made in the seventh circle of hell. Then the last “real” relationship I’d had ended eight years ago. Eight years is a long time to go without, ah... companionship. I was... eager to... 

Aw, hell. I wanted the sweet touch of a woman. And truly, it’s a perfectly natural part of life. Not just the human condition: Pokemon do it too, after all! So there was really no reason for me to feel ashamed about seeking love, even at my age.

Of course, when you’ve not really dated anyone for that long, it’s a little hard to know exactly how to go about finding a good significant other. It’s not like I had extensive experience in it anyway. Once I’d gotten to know my women as friends, I pretty much just woke up one morning, decided I wanted them more intimately, got them to sign off on it, and off we went.

And, it must be said, when you’re Professor Oak, yes, that Professor Oak, it’s hard to get to know anybody very well. The allure (read: baggage) of my fame tends to push those who can’t handle it away, alas.

Being awkward and pretentious and sarcastic as all hell on a good day doesn’t help those who can handle it want to stick around, either.

What I did know was this:

Even in the winter, I tend to run my room a little bit colder, because I always generate a lot of heat. It was the beginning of March in Pallet Town, that time of year where spring is just around the corner but not quite there yet. I’d been dreaming of the last time I’d had someone else sharing my bed, eight years ago. I remember that although my room was cold then, being in her embrace was… nice and warm. Comforting.

Something snapped me awake, I’m not sure what, and when I woke up, I discovered that I was cold and reaching for someone who wasn’t there and hadn’t been there. I was in my room, cold and alone, and I was tired of it.

I knew I’d be a victim of my own failure, because I’m me, but I would never know just how badly I’d fail until I tried. 

I was four months into 52 years old, but that didn’t mean it was too late to try.

Nine years ago is… a whole other story I’ll have to tell you sometime, and the story of the end of my marriage is… awful and not to be relived if I can help it. Let’s just say that I’ve had two serious relationships in my life. One lasted 22 years, and ended in a public blaze of my finding her in bed with my ex-best friend; the other lasted eight months, and ended in a public blaze of my finding her in bed with her ex. After that, I said, “Screw it, I am not dating for a while, because clearly I am the problem here, and I have to work on myself.”

No, I can’t promise that I actually worked on myself. I did use the fame I’d gotten to build the Professor Oak industry, to elevate the profile of the lab, and to pick and choose the things I wanted to do and the people I wanted to be around. I did raise my grandson, and although he can be a jerk (he gets it honest: I’ve always told him to know his value), by and large he’s turned out well. I did keep the League happy, even though we don’t fundamentally see eye-to-eye much any more.

But I did not date, and this was known. My female colleagues knew they weren’t getting anywhere (although Philena Ivy did try), and regular people got a gentle let down.

All this to say that I had no idea how to approach women now. Would anything that worked, God, over thirty years ago still work? I had no idea.

Interestingly enough, I started my new dating career by not having to worry about it.

“Good afternoon, Professor Oak speaking, how can I help you?” I said, seconds before the video link became active.

The screen winked, and Gym Leader Erika appeared on my screen. Well! It was never out of the realm of possibility for me to get a call from the Gym Leaders of the region. Still, even though we shared Celadon in common, our spheres of influence rarely overlapped. What in the world could she want with me?

“Good afternoon, Professor. I’m so glad I was able to reach you. Do you have a moment?”

“Yes, of course. I’m always happy to talk to one of our esteemed League leaders. What can I do for you?”

She was dark-haired, with stormy gray eyes and delicate cheekbones. She couldn’t have been more than what, 27?

“I understand you’re coming to Celadon for the Boylston lecture this weekend.”

“That’s right. Even though I’m speaking on the advances we’ve made into Steel-type research, I hope you’ll be able to come. It really is fascinating work.”

“Thank you, I’d be glad to attend. However, I was wondering…” She twirled a tiny finger in her hair. “Are you free for dinner after your lecture?”

I thought for a moment. “I suspect the Chancellor and some of my colleagues will want to have some time with me, although nothing official’s in place yet. You’re certainly welcome to join us whatever we do. We’d love to have you.”

A graceful blush covered her cheeks. “That’s not quite what I mean. What I’m saying is… I’d be honored if you’d have dinner with me… as a date.”

What?!? And I’m me, so I fell out of my chair.

“I know this must be a shock to you,” she continued, “and I know you’ve often said that you’re not quite ready to date. But I hope you’ll reconsider, because I would like to get to know you better.”

“Um,” I managed when I pulled myself back into my chair.

What the hell? Why me? What was actually happening right now? But who was I to look a gift Weepinbell in the mouth?

I wore a really stupid grin. “Actually, you’re in luck. I just recently decided to begin dating again. So I’d be honored to have dinner with you. Thank you so much.”

Samuel Oak was about to get his groove back.

I didn’t tell anyone, precisely because it would make everyone fall down dead. They’d know enough once the paparazzi made it known.

I usually hate wearing a suit, because they’re stiff and you can’t get anything done in them. But for this lecture I put on my best black suit, with a red shirt and a black tie--yes, I even put on a tie--because post-game was a date.

I’m going on a date! Me! With a beautiful and talented young woman, even!

I began my lecture with an elegant welcome to the dignitaries present, including the honored Gym Leader of the city, to great applause. Erika was in the front row, draped in a fashionably understated kimono of black and forest green, and she gave a demure smile and nod at my welcome. Afterward, I extended an arm to her, which she took with a faint blush, and off we went.

Flashbulbs everywhere. I’d forgotten what it was like to really have the media looking at you. But Erika took it in stride, not letting go of my arm but giving that same graceful blush. She was three inches shorter than me, and I remembered: I liked my women tiny.

In keeping with her own cultural tradition, we went to an exclusive kaiseki restaurant in the city center. Very elegant, very Japanese, very good. I don’t even like shokuji, but that was the most delicious version I’d ever had.

Our conversation was also excellent. We talked Pokemon research, perfume making (which actually sounded interesting with the science behind it), and the ways we both attempted to foster a sense of purpose in up-and-coming trainers. 

Over the shabu shabu, I tried to charm her with tales of my own training adventures, all exciting and ridiculous. Erika gasped at all the right moments and gave several girlish giggles throughout my telling. “Professor, I never realized just how funny you are!”

This is amazing, I’m killing it!

Before the tome-wan arrived, her hand reached across the table, small and soft. I gave it a shocked glance before allowing my hand to touch hers. For her to want to touch a man she’d basically just met so openly, given her extremely conservative background… that was stupefying.

“I suppose you must be wondering,” Erika said, once my hand was firmly in hers, “why I wanted to be in your company while you were in town.”

I tried to pitch my voice lower, to sound masculine and seductive. “Well,” I answered, caressing her fingers, “the question did cross my mind a time or two. Still, I can’t worry about it too much. I’m having a great time and enjoying being with you.”

“Oh.” Her expression was tender. She leaned over the table, motioned to me to come closer.

Is she going to kiss me?!? Oh, my God!

Her breath was hot against my ear. “I’m with Sabrina. But the press was about to find out, and we’re not quite ready to make our relationship public yet.” 

I’m me. I would have fallen over on the tatami mats, but she had my hand firmly in hers and her cheek firmly against mine.

“I needed someone to help us throw them off the trail,” she continued, “and I thought you might be the person who would understand the need for media coverage the most.”

Yeah, I did get it. Mew knows I’ve had more than my fair share of having to throw the media off. I wish I’d known ahead of time, though, because I’d actually started to like her.

Well, at least I was getting a new friend out of it. And I had a nice time, and she told me she had a nice time. And if you’re going to announce that you’re back on the scene, well… this was certainly one way to do it.

A Shocking Couple Revealed!

Erika Tanaka and Samuel Oak?

Probably a better way to do it was to tell your PR people first. I didn’t want to answer the phone on my drive back to Pallet Town, but I knew I should.

You know my PR person as DJ Mary, the person who does my radio show and other events with me. What you don’t know is that she handles everything media-related for me, because I can’t be bothered, and she’s good at it, and she loves doing it.

Except when I’m me. Like right now.

“So.” Her voice held about fifteen notes of anger. “As a PR person, I have the one dude in the world who is famously not dating. How does he announce that he’s suddenly dating? A normal dude with a PR person would like tell her and shit--"

“Mary, Mary,” I began, but she wasn’t having it.

“--but no, I have the dude who asks out a Gym Leader of his region and doesn’t tell anybody!”

“Now wait a minute. She asked me out--” Not my place to say why, however.

“What? Because the story out there in the press is you asked her out, and it was nice but you all weren’t sure if it’s going anywhere--”

Oh, God. But my phone buzzed, and I didn’t know the number. “Look, you can yell at me some more in a minute. I’m getting a call, though, so hold on.” And I put her on hold. “Samuel Oak speaking, how can I help you?”

The voice on the end is female, a sensual purr. “It’s Sabrina calling. Thanks for your help yesterday.”

Ah. At least I didn’t have to worry about a jealous girlfriend. I hoped. “No problem at all.  I was glad to have an excuse to get to know Erika better, and believe me, I get the media thing. Don’t worry, I treated her well.”

“That’s what I hear, that you’re a fabulous date. How about I come over to Viridian and go out with you too, to throw people off my tail?”

I would have dropped my phone if it weren’t hooked to the car’s console. “I’m not opposed at all, but what am I getting out of it?”

“If you’ve decided you’re dating, don’t you want to be seen as the guy who can pull two Gym Leaders? Besides, I’m pretty cool.”

Well! Good call. “All right. I’m on the road back home now, but I’ll call you when I get there and we’ll work it out.”

I clicked back over to Mary. “So I made a mistake in not telling you, and I’m sorry. I can make it up to you by telling you something right now.”

“Okay, fine. I’m sitting down. What is it?”

“That was Sabrina on the other line. She just asked me out.”

The silence was deafening. I couldn’t help my smile.

“Strap in, friends,” I said. “Samuel Oak’s back on the prowl.”

Sabrina: “Can’t wait to see what Sam’s really like this week”

The Sabrina date five days later was also great, although not as dazzling as the Erika date, perhaps because I knew what to expect. We met up at Dulcinea, the best tapas restaurant in the city. Flashbulbs everywhere again. Seconds before I took her arm, I wondered if being so public about it was a good idea.

But unlike Erika, Sabrina was statuesque, bold, brilliant, and I can’t say that I was too ashamed to be photographed strolling beside her--even if I was a little shorter. (For the record, I’m not short. I’m ergonomically designed.)

The conversation was entertaining, full of banter and silliness. She told me about the nightlife in Saffron. I told her about the assistant I had currently who specialized in Psychic-types. We flirted a bit because we knew we could with no issues.

We were halfway into the first set of empanadillas when she made a face. “This is supposed to be good?”

“Well, yes? It’s the best in Viridian?” Uh-oh. Have I fucked up somehow?

“Meh. I mean, it’s fine for what you guys have out this way. Next time you’re in Saffron, call me and we’ll go to Palosanto. No, you didn’t fuck up, I just have discriminating taste.”

...huh, guess she knew I was going to ask if I fucked up.

I ordered the boquerones, which she seemed to like well enough. I was glad she could roll with my liking anchovies. No one else seems to get it. My ex-wife certainly didn’t.

“Yeah, speaking of your ex-wife,” Sabrina said, even though I’d said nothing about her, “did you know that she called and railed at Erika for 15 minutes straight the next morning?”

I groaned. “Oh, no. Sorry, I should have warned her. It’s been more than a decade, and Agatha still hates anything that puts me in a good light. Please apologize for me. I hope she wasn’t too nasty.”

“It shook her up pretty good. Do you know what I had to do to calm her down?”

I thought for a moment. Then I grinned into my pinot noir. I’m a man, not a saint. I could certainly imagine what was needed. Wonder if inviting me into that is the next step--

“Sam.”

I looked at her in shock, because this was the first time she’d used my name.

Her smile was wicked. “You forgot who you’re having dinner with, didn’t you? Your mind is so loud!”

A Psychic-type master who’s an actual psychic--oh. OH! I turned the color of my wine and almost spilled it.

“That was very inventive, though.” she laughed, putting a hand on my leg. “As for the other question… not sure that’s our thing, but we’ll keep it under advisement.”

She’ll deny it if you ask her. But the fact of the matter is that when I dropped her off at the airport afterwards, she kissed me.

“Because you wanted to know, and I did too,” she said, with a wink. “Very nice. Meanwhile, you stop chasing windmills over here. You already have everything and everyone you need.”

I wasn’t sure what that meant, especially because I wasn’t sure what question my mind was asking. After being kissed for the first time in eight years, though, I did have to do some laundry the minute I got back home.

Sam Is Back! Aging Professor Makes A Triumphant Return To Love, Signals A New Lothario Lifestyle

“I’m not a lothario,” I grumbled when I saw the headline in the Lifestyle section of the Saffron Times, “and I’m not that old.” I knew Mary had let those slide to punish me for not keeping her in the loop.

But what next? Janine wasn’t my type. Don’t even think any of the Sensational Sisters: too young, and excepting Misty, too airheaded. Aim high for Lorelei? No, I could only imagine the screaming fit Agatha would give her. Besides, maybe it was better not to shit where you eat. These people were tangentially my colleagues, and my divorce had caused enough trouble already.

That made actual colleagues from the academic community right out too. Right? 

Right?

“Hey, thanks for sending that Marill information over. Tracey will appreciate it.”

“My pleasure.” Philena gave me a cool smile on the screen. “I remember his Marill well. I hope she’ll be all right.”

“We think she will. I’m chalking it up to age-related changes in her system. They get allergies that come out of nowhere as they get older, just like we do. Happily, given the advancements in research we have now, we can course correct, and get them back on the road of aging gracefully.”

“It’s too bad everyone can’t age as gracefully as we have,” she said delicately, with just a hint of teasing.

I took a moment to really look at her. If I remembered correctly, she was just past 40. She certainly didn’t look it--not a trace of grey in her lavender hair, not a wrinkle on her lovely, placid face, and from the way her shirt hugged her curves, everything was still very firmly in place. “Some of us may have aged a little gracefully,” I said, putting a hand to my chest. “Others seem to have found the fountain of youth and beauty.” With a motion of my hand toward the screen.

“My goodness, what a lovely compliment! I’ll take it, and I thank you for it.”

I’d known her since she assumed the League residency in the Orange Islands eleven years ago. We were academic and League colleagues. None of us could ever figure out what the hell she’d done to Brock. Everything said that it was a bad idea.

That didn’t stop the sentence from tumbling out of my mouth. “You know, I’m overdue for a visit to Valencia.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Indeed you are.”

“It just so happens that once I finish the radio show Saturday morning, I’ve got a free weekend. Care to entertain me if I come out?”

“Are you finally taking me up on that date I’ve been asking for?” With the slightest hint of seduction in her smile.

I couldn’t stop my own seductive grin. “It’s about time, isn’t it?”

So I did the radio show with Mary from Pallet Town, and then off I went to the first open airship. Philena met me at the airport, dressed in one of those strapless, nearly backless shirts so fashionable for that area, with a flowy skirt. As she slipped her arm around mine, I was glad I’d ignored my first instinct of wearing one of my Alolan shirts. (Although I think the one with the pineapples is sexy.)

We had dinner and drinks by candlelight and sea air at a charming bar and grill on the coast. The night was just cool and crisp and perfect enough for March; the food was excellent; the mixed drinks were generous with the alcohol; and the woman, dark-eyed and charming and oh-so-stacked, was on fire.

“I’m curious, Sam.” We were in a booth that seemed secluded enough. She inched closer to me, close enough for our legs to touch; her free hand found its way to my calf. “Eight years without any intimacy--what was that like?”

“It’s not anything I would have chosen for myself naturally.” I gave a little shift on the hard, plastic seat. Everything was coming to life at the gentle caress of her hand. “I tend to believe that the greatest feeling in the world is holding someone you love close. Still--”

Her hand started a slow movement up my leg. I jumped, cleared my throat, took a hasty gulp of my rum and Coke. “Still,” I squeaked, “after a while you just don’t even think about it.”

Her voice became a sensual purr much like Sabrina’s. “Didn’t you have any needs, though?”

The little hand creeped further up my leg, so terribly close to certain unmentionables, which were rapidly stirring--

“Well,” I managed around another gulp of my drink, “of course. I’m only human. I just handled those as necessary. If you need something done, do it yourself.”

“Mm. I was quite afraid--” with another teasing slide, so close, damn, so close… “--that you might have experienced, well, a loss in libido.”

And Philena’s hand stopped right on my crotch, just under the table.

Three things happened.

I gasped and spilled a little bit of my drink.

Something, thank all the gods above, kept the unmentionables at attention without making a mess.

She gasped and gave me a look of cautious wonder, while keeping her hand fully in place.

I slung my arm around her shoulders, pulling her close, giving her another seductive grin. “If you had a hypothesis that things don’t quite work,” I murmured, “well, there’s your answer. Experiments can continue at your leisure if you’re really curious.”

Experiments at least started at her lab. She set things off with a passionate kiss and grope session against the doorframe; I kept them going with a makeout session in her computer chair, where I let her sit on top of me and grab my hair while I kissed along that lovely neck and fumbled for the zipper of that barely there shirt and hoped to God that her assistants wouldn’t suddenly show up.

Somehow we were in the bedroom she’d chosen for me, with her almost out of her strapless bra and me very definitely out of my shirt, and then… we looked at each other and burst into laughter.

“So this is nice,” she finally said, “but honestly, all I can think about is the way you lost your shit on the plane to Shamouti.”

“You’re right, this is nice,” I answered, “and all I can think about is the way you sort of put up with your assistants, and I don’t know how you manage it.”

We were right--we really had been colleagues too long to even remotely take anything like this between us seriously. Too bad.

Although, as she was tucking her cleavage back into that wisp of a bra, I hesitated. “You don’t necessarily have to put those away yet, do you?”

She gazed at me, the tiniest of frowns on her face. “I suppose there’s nothing inherently wrong with ensuring your makeout skills are up to par,” she eventually answered. “They’re pretty good right now for your being out of practice, but there’s always room for improvement.” And she tossed the wisp aside and pulled me back down.

So maybe I didn’t get everything I expected out of it. What I did get was pretty good, though, and I had more laundry to do when I got home.

A Torrid Evening of Passion in Valencia!

Oak and Ivy Intertwine at Lapras

Oh, for the love of--I did look like a lothario in that long-range shot, with my arm slung around her shoulders, rum and Coke in hand, practically looking down her shirt.

“At least you looked like the old Sam, confident and handsome and kind of with it,” Mary said before she hung up on me.

Meanwhile, the rest of my colleagues blew my email up, most to the tune of “knew it, how was the sex?” and “aren’t you a little old for her tastes?” Sheesh.

Should I stick with famous people? Maybe? 

In a fit of desperation, I called my second ex Kim. She knows everyone who’s not anyone that I know. She squealed in joy at my call and my request, and gave me the number of a model named Isabella Wilson, who was based out of Unova.

Isabella was happy to come over to Viridian, since she had never been, and we set something up for a week after the Philena date.

She was tall and thin and gorgeous, with brilliant long green hair, and we met up at Maharajah, the best Indian restaurant in town. Flashbulbs everywhere, probably more for her than for me, and that was fine.

Except for the part where we barely talked, and she looked at her phone most of the time.

The chicken tikka masala was excellent; she ordered the chana masala; we would have shared the naan and samosas if she had put her phone down long enough.

“Do you know anything about the noble gases?” I finally asked over the ras malai.

“Huh?”

“Noble gases?”

She laughed. “What do you mean?”

“...Like, science things? The periodic table of elements?”

“What is that? I thought you were about to tell a joke about somebody in Galar farting or something.”

At least the food was good. 

Isabella: “He was cute, I guess, but he told a fart joke”

Dammit. I was going to kill Kim.

So I know you’re interested in anything I have to say because you care about Pokemon and training and research. This is great, and I encourage you to continue! A world of dreams and adventures await you if you’re willing to go exploring in your chosen region.

However, the reality is that for every person who cares about Pokemon and training, there are two who couldn’t care less. Maybe that was the way to go: finding the regular people, those people who had no freaking clue who I was.

That must have been the right mindset, because I got a phone call from my college friend, Allen Westwood the Fifth, inviting me out for a weekend at Seafoam Island.

Yes, he has a very epic name, and his family is a Celadon University family, with all the privileges that being a legacy family of five generations entails. Ultimately, though, he’s just a regular guy who happens to do research out at Seafoam. He and I went to college together. We had a falling out around the creation of the pokedex because he was making up entries. But we’d patched it up over the last fifteen years, and I was grateful to have him as an escape. He does research down there, but he doesn’t hang around any other academics in the area, and his life is full of pretty ordinary people. I’d be visible, but not mobbed.

I flew out to Fuschia, and sailed along the ocean on a Samurott I’d borrowed from our stores. The Cinnabar route would have been much faster, but I didn’t want Agatha and Blaine blowing up my car over the weekend.

Allen was standing on the beach waiting for me with his Slowbro. He gave a joyful wave. “Get up here, you old duff,” he yelled.

I grinned as we made it to shore. “Old duff? Need I remind you that I still have all my hair?”

“We can’t all be the shiny Ninetails here. Besides, Patti likes me just fine.”

There was that: he might be plump and balding and wrinkled, but his marriage had worked, unlike most of the rest of us.

Allen and I roamed around town for a bit. It felt good to spend the first day in the sea air. Spring was coming, bringing the first wave of tourists. Not quite bikini season yet, but certainly swimsuits with wraps and flowing sundresses. Feminine life abounding! But it seemed rather rude to start off a weekend with my friend in the pursuit of womanly charms rather than maintaining his friendship, so I merely mentally noted the places where the beautiful women tended to hang out for tomorrow’s adventures. The first day ended in pleasant company with Patti, who was an excellent hostess, and I beat Allen at a game of chess.

Of course, maybe Allen was the chessmaster after all. Because his true reason for my invitation came out during our gym routine that Saturday morning.

I enjoy being fit, and it’s something I always make time to do, even with my busy schedule. I ride my bike. I lift weights. I spar with a Hitmonchan once a week. It’s all in the name of keeping this body as pristine a temple as I can get–and now that I’m officially back on the scene, being in shape can only help with picking up the chicks. So Allen knows we’re going to the gym anytime I visit, and he usually grumbles about it.

He didn’t that morning, although he did regard the exercise bike with a look of pure poison. Instead, he merely grabbed his water bottle, hiked up his not-quite-fitted shorts, and hauled himself onto one of the bikes. His knee-high socks added to his not-good look. I wore one of my Celadon tees and some black sweatpants that were comfortable and made my butt look cute.

“Come on, man,” I teased, leaping onto the bike next to him and kicking up the resistance a couple of notches. “We’re 50, not 80. Where is your fashion sense?”

“Wherever my ability to do this is,” he muttered.

We cycled in silence for a little bit while I got used to the machine and he caught his breath and drank too much water. And then he struck.

“So. Whatcha doin’ in October this year?”

I frowned and kicked the resistance up again. Not as good as my bike in Pallet. “The usual shit. Trying to get a paper on best practices together for ACLAM. The first round of League pickups is slated for the end of August, then roughly every three weeks thereafter. Might get a new assistant or two depending on how the MSs look. Doing a two-two all year for Celadon remotely. I actually volunteered for intro to vet med for the year.”

“What? I thought you offered fire physiology and general behavior as your lower levels?”

“Usually. Volunteering for IVM buys me at least three years of not doing it, though, and this seemed like the time.”

Allen paused long enough to give me a searching look. “So you might not be as busy as usual, then.”

“It’s all relative, but signs are pointing to less busy, yes. Why?”

He started his slow, plodding ride again. “Well, the Professors’s Conference is from October 14th to 17th this year…”

A conference that travels from region to region yearly, and not a bad thing for the professors in Pocket Monster medicine and research who work in lower levels in the field and in the lab. They can share their information in its planning stages and network and learn a little more about other areas of the field. The Regional Professors don’t usually bother unless it’s something big, however, because we’ve already heard about or supervised a lot of the work, or we're waiting for the work to be more theoretically or practically sound before we get involved, or we're just too damn busy.

“Sucks for you,” I responded appropriately. “Have a good time.”

“...and it’s actually in Kanto this time, out at Celadon, of all places…”

“Sucks for Celadon, too, then. That’s right in the middle of midterms, though, so maybe Maidenhair won't be too pissed. Again I say unto thee, have a good time.”

“...and I happen to be part of the committee putting it together, with this guy from Alola named Alaka’i Kukui…”

Then I did stop pedaling to stare at Allen in dumbfounded wonder. Our Kukui willingly signed up around all of his obligations? Didn’t he have enough to do with the school and getting the Alola League more established and whatever his wrestling thing was and a new wife and baby?

“...who seemed to be under the impression that you’d be an excellent keynote speaker on the last day.”

I couldn’t help laughing. “He’s a Regional, and he’s earned it, but he’s still a kid. He wouldn’t know that we don’t do that. The Regionals don’t go, and even if they did, I’m expensive. Thank you, no.”

“He said you’d say all of that,” Allen grinned. “His response was, ‘Tell Sam if he says yes, we’ll match his speaking fee, and we’ll make sure the Regionals attend.’”

“And you’re the guy to make the request to me rather than him, huh? How’d you pull that off?”

“Well…” Allen had to take another breath and water break. “I said that our longtime friendship would make it impossible for you to tell me no.”

Well, shit. I’d gotten neatly in the position of saying no and setting up both Kukui and Allen for a disastrous failure and lots of irritation from everyone in my direction, or saying yes and setting myself up for more shit to do.

I gave a dramatic sigh and kicked my resistance up again. “I hate you. Why are we even still friends?”

“We knew you’d say yes.” Allen thankfully knew better than to let me see his smirk head on. “Topic’s your choice. Let us know the official title by end of May.”

More cycling in silence as I looked around the room. I hadn’t thought about it, but I supposed the gym could be a place to meet someone ordinary. Maybe I should start paying attention. Anything to get my mind off the nonsense I’d just agreed to do. It was a little bit early, but I spotted a couple of women from afar.

Eventually Allen glanced over at me. “What have you got that bike on? You’re going like it’s nothing.”

I glanced down. “Resistance of eight.”

“Great Mew! I’d be dead.”

“You look dead right now.”

“It’s because I’m out of water.” He managed to pull himself off the bike and pull his shorts up again. “Hold my spot. Going for a refill.”

Thankfully, because it was early, I didn’t think anyone was going to want his sweat-covered space. There was a nice clean one next to me I could point anyone toward. I cycled and imagined the route I usually took around the Preserve’s grounds.

“Excuse me, is this bike taken?”

The cheerful voice broke my reverie. I stopped pedaling and looked into warm yellow eyes. Whoever-she-was was grinning and nodding toward the non-stinky bike on my right.

“Please,” I finally answered, with a silly smile, “make yourself at home.”

Tawny brown hair, very curvaceous in her workout jumpsuit. Maybe late 30s, early 40s? And the best part was that she seemed to know nothing about me. Or if she did, she wasn’t talking, which was also a plus.

The mysterious gorgeous woman frowned and clicked her resistance up a couple of notches too. “Sheesh, talk about working for the lowest common denominator.”

“Not sure these bikes are any good,” I added. “I’m up on eight, thinking of going to nine.”

She stared at me in shock. “Jesus.”

“Eh. Not so bad if you live in Pallet Town. We’ve got all kinds of hills of varying difficulty. I ride for at least 45 minutes every day.”

“Huh.” Her expression indicated that she was… impressed. Well! I crouched into a position that showed off my butt in my sweatpants.

I saw her glance at it and smile. YES!

“Pallet Town, huh? What brings you out here?”

“Visiting a friend. He and I went to college together.”

“And what do you do?”

“Director of a facility specializing in veterinary teaching, training, and research.” It is basically what I do, after all.

“Oh, Pokemon, right? That’s neat. We always have a number of students at our school starting the journey each year. Many of them come back because training didn’t work out and they don’t know what else to do. Nice to know we can still tell them there’s a future in studying them, too.”

“Hey, thanks. We can always use all the interested minds we can get in our line of work.”

We grinned at each other, fellow educators, fellow bikers, and fellow people who are totally flirting right now.

“What’s your name?” she asked after a minute.

“Call me Sam. And you?”

“Vanessa.”

Oh, my God, this is perfect. “I have a fun fact for you about your name. It was created by Jonathan Swift in a poem to one of his students.”

“Seriously?”

“That’s right. ‘Vanessa be the name/By which thou shalt be known to fame:/Vanessa, by the gods enroll'd:/Her name on earth shall not be told.’ Poetry’s a side passion of mine.”

The real life goddess had actual stars in her eyes, and I determined that I was in like Flynn.

But I’m me, living my life. So it all went to hell in short order.

Allen chose that moment to make his plodding return. He pulled up his shorts once more, took a sip of his water bottle, and looked at us with interest. “Hello. I see you’ve made a friend, Sam.”

“Hi there. Vanessa.”

Allen’s smile grew slightly wicked, and I gave him The Glare, because I thought I knew exactly what was coming. Sure enough:

“Did Sam get to tell you about the great prank we played on him in college?”

Vanessa stopped pedaling in interest, and I tried to deflect. “Now it’s not really that interesting–”

“He was being a total nerd once, ‘I gotta go finish this, it’s due in a week,’ a week, mind you, just as my birthday was coming around. We wanted to have fun one evening, just that evening, and he could have spared the time. But instead he decided to spend the evening at the library in his carrel. So to punish him I came up with this story about our room becoming infested with Weedles, and how he had to take his clothes off right then–”

“In the library?” she asked, confused. I stopped pedaling and covered my face for the approaching trainwreck.

“Yep, right there. It was fine, his carrel was a little room that he could lock. We took his clothes, but what he didn’t notice was that we also took the key to the carrel. So we locked him in, and took his clothes, and he spent the night buck naked in there. And that’s how he learned to lighten up sometimes. The little old librarians didn’t know what to think that next morning, did they, Sam?”

Vanessa‘s gaze moved from Allen to me. I was very clearly the color of a tomato.

“Well,” she finally said, lifting her perfect body from the bike, “hope you guys have a good workout.” And she left.

Allen was pulling himself back onto the bike, humming a Celadon fight song as he did. He always feels better whenever he can embarrass me with that story. Another reason to have agreed to the conference: probably everyone on the committee had heard it by now.

“Why?” I nearly screamed. “Friends do not cockblock. Friends are wingmen. Why are you doing this all wrong? I even agreed to do your stupid conference, for God’s sake.”

“Come on, man,” he teased, “you just dodged a Bullet Seed. Any woman who hears that story about you and doesn’t laugh isn’t worth your time.”

“I hate you. I hate everything about you. I’m going to give your stupid speech to your stupid conference for scads of money–my price just went up, by the way–and then I’m never going to speak to you again. We should have stayed broken up after the pokedex thing.”

He started a slow pedaling. “‘What planter will attempt to yoke/A sapling with a falling oak?’ I took that class with you, remember? That poem wasn’t very flattering to anybody.”

“Oh, fuck off,” I muttered, clicking the resistance up to ten.

To add insult to injury, Allen thought it would be fun to accompany me everywhere. No beautiful women for me this weekend. Ass.

Well, my travels took me back to where I usually end up: right back to Pallet Town, to my usual seat at the counter of The Frolicking Bellossom, the best coffee shop in town. Sometimes I start my mornings there; sometimes I end my evenings there. Everything is excellent, from the pastries to the coffee and tea selections, and I can usually get some work on research or grants or poems done.

One of my best friends in the whole wide world owns it, too: another good excuse to invest in the local economy. So I’m pretty much a staple of the place.

Most days are relatively quiet, with a radio softly playing (that day’s station, smooth jazz), and quiet conversations punctuated by occasional teenage worker giggles. The perfect time to pull my laptop from my messenger bag and get a head start on the narratives for the KIH technology grant that was due in a couple of weeks.

“Top off my cinnamon latte for me when you get a second,” I called to my barista friend before settling into the world of science grant funding. It never takes me long to get focused, especially when it comes to the lab’s money, so I didn’t really pay attention to the tiny grumble she gave me before plunking a fresh, hot cup in front of me.

I only vaguely heard the tinkling of the bell signaling the entrance of another customer.

I did hear the slight scrape of the stool on the linoleum next to me, although I didn’t really acknowledge it. Customers have to sit somewhere, after all, and as long as they’re not overly freaking out about me, it’s fine.

The floral perfume, light and delicate, caught my attention.

“I’ll have a peppermint latte,” the low, sexy voice said, “and perhaps add in a slice of that strawberry pie.”

The timbre of that voice caught me off guard, and the unmentionables sprung to life at the possibilities.

I sneaked a glance as my friend casually drew the woman into a brief conversation while she made her drink and arranged the generous slice of pie. Blonde, actually 36-24-36, and smoking hot. Dressed in mid-tier designer clothing–if I’d had to guess, one of the pampered princesses who live in the estates between Pallet and Viridian off Route 1.

Well! How about finding someone where you least expect!

My friend apparently saw me looking, because she pointedly continued the conversation. “You say your husband works in finance?”

Oh. So much for that, then. Back to the grind. The lab wouldn’t pay for itself.

I sneaked another glance over once the woman was fully served and given a polite “enjoy.” She saw my glance and gave me a distant smile before starting her latte and pulling out her phone. Too bad. Her pie looked good, though, and I briefly considered ordering a piece.

Everything proceeded quietly for the next 15 minutes. Then the woman’s phone rang. No problem, I could tune out the conversation.

“Oh, hello, darling, I’ve been waiting to hear from you.”

Okay, maybe I couldn’t. God, that voice could lure men to their deaths. I allowed myself to shut down my computer so I could savor it with no distractions.

“Of course I’d planned to meet you at home. We’re supposed to do you-know-what with the ropes this evening.”

I almost dropped my laptop as I eased it into my messenger bag. Whoa!

And then things… changed, a lot.

“Wait–what? What do you mean you’re leaving me?”

Sweet voice suddenly became that of a banshee, nearly knocking me off my stool with its strength and volume. The coffee shop went horribly silent; my unmentionables shriveled up and died.

“I don’t care if she has been part of it! She’s still the nanny, for Christ’s sake! How could you?”

Well, her day was getting progressively shittier, wasn’t it? I smirked. From the corner of my eye, I could see my friend twisting a lock of auburn-red hair around her finger.

“Get your shit out of my house, and her shit too! Damn you!”

It was absolutely a dumb thought. I knew it was a dumb thought when I had it, but I had it all the same. You know, now that she’s single… she might need someone to help her through this… might be worth it for that voice when she’s not screaming and that body and whatever you can do with the ropes…

“Oh, the lawyers will be involved, I promise you that. You don’t even know where I’ve got the videos backed up. Your ass is grass.”

I turned, settling back against the refrigerated display that sits by my corner, and tried to settle my expression into the sexiest one I can muster.

My friend briefly caught my eye. Her expression became filled with horror. I could almost hear her: this is a really stupid idea, don’t you do it–

The woman slammed her phone on the counter, magnificent breasts heaving in her anger, and it took her a few seconds to notice my intense stare.

“‘Sup,” I said, in the deepest voice I could manage, and added in an upward tilt of my head for good measure.

It took me a few seconds to realize that my vision was being obscured by strawberries and sugar and a perfectly flaky pie crust. The plate’s clatter on the linoleum echoed throughout the shop.

“Men!” the woman screamed before snatching up her phone and storming out. The bell tinkled cheerfully for her.

The plate finally settled down. I wiped my eyes free of strawberry pie and decided to take a taste. It was delicious, even from my face. The silence in the coffee shop was deafening.

And then, in that silence, laughter. Riotous laughter.

Laughter from the proprietress of the shop, one of my best friends in the entire world.

Delia Ketchum had the nerve to laugh at me. 

I didn’t have the nerve to get mad at her about it, and really, the loud cackle I gave along with her was the only way I could respond. I did deserve that, after all, and it was pretty damn funny.

“Serves you right,” she managed when she could catch her breath. She threw one of her bar towels at me, hitting me square in a sticky red chest. “Lothario.”

“That’s not even the worst part,” I said, savoring some more of the strawberry filling from my cheek. “She wasted a perfectly delicious piece of pie without even tasting it. Really, you all should try this.”

People did buy the pie after that, although they seemed pretty awkward when they thanked me for the recommendation. It probably is a little weird to talk to the local celebrity when he has bits of frosting on his face from a failed pickup attempt.

“You’ve been avoiding me lately,” Delia scolded on our walk home after closing.

“I have not. I’ve just been busy.”

She snorted again. “Yes, I can see that, busy being… the man about town. Is that what I should call you?”

I kicked at a rock and shook my head. “It wasn’t supposed to be like that. Things just happened and snowballed in ways I didn’t expect.”

“Come on, Sam.” Her voice was soft. “Like a month ago your dating wasn’t part of any conversation we had. Where’s this all coming from, really? Unless you don’t feel comfortable talking to me about it--”

“You know that’s not true,” I answered immediately. “You’re one of the four people I feel most comfortable talking to in the whole world.”

“So what’s going on?”

“I was bored at the lab and decided to stir up some shit.”

She walked quietly next to me, waiting my response out.

“President Goodshow dared me.”

She gave me a look, because she knew how much President Goodshow got on my nerves.

“Spring is coming. The power of the rut runs strong. It’s my mating season.”

Delia stopped walking and folded her arms over her chest. I kept going, but at the loud clearing of her throat, I turned to face her.

“Honestly, it’s not that complicated.” I shrugged. “I’m 52 years old. I’ve been single for eight years. I woke up one morning and realized that I’m lonely. That’s all.”

The silence of our little lane was deafening.

“Aren’t we enough for you?” she asked.

That was a good question, and why I really should have been talking to her before now. She was referring to her, and Spencer, and the boys. My two best friends, and her son, and my grandson. The four people who cared about me the most.

“Well, yes,” I finally answered. “But don’t I deserve to be wanted and loved as a man, too?”

Because I knew they weren’t going anywhere, and I also knew I wanted more.

She walked over to me. I couldn’t read her expression, and I wondered.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes. A thousand times, yes.”

We continued on our way home, passing my lab. I always make sure she gets to her front door, not because we have mean streets in Pallet (although sometimes we do), but because we’re usually still carrying on about something.

“You’ve been avoiding someone else in town, too,” she said with a smirk. “Gus Florakis cordially invites you and me to The Breakfast Club at Maractus in the morning.”

“Oh, no. I haven’t been avoiding him, either.” No, I definitely had. Delia’s father, longtime proprietor of The Dancing Maractus, and city council member who had been harassing me about some zoning requirements for the past three months. “But all right. Meet at the lab at eight?”

“That’s fine. Don’t worry, he’s going to yell at me too.”

“What’d you do?”

“I don’t know yet, but he’ll tell me.”

We made it to her little house. She climbed her three stairs and waited on her porch. I thought of the young girl in pigtails from, what, twenty years ago (where’d that time go?), and marveled at the woman she’d become.

“You don’t have the full story on any of my dates yet. I promise I’ll give them all to you on the way to Maractus. It really did start out as… things snowballing.”

“As things always do with you.” But her teasing was fond, and I returned her smile. “Can’t wait to hear what happened. See you in the morning.”

“Good night.”

In bed that evening, I took stock of the situation and found myself sorely lacking.

52. Still in good shape, with all my faculties (mostly) intact. One of the most famous and respected men in the world in certain circles. Fairly respectful (most of the time), willing to learn and do better. Open to the possibility of being more loving and kindhearted if just given a chance.

But always under scrutiny. Always having a weird circumstance. Making a weird choice or two along the way for the dumbest reasons. Awkward as all hell, and having others helping by getting in the way, and getting in my own way most of all. The loneliest of strangers in the world, never knowing what’s going on, not letting people get close to me.

Ugh. I flopped onto my back and smushed my head into my pillow. I was a mess, and finding a girlfriend was going to be next to impossible. 

Wait a damn minute. What the hell was I doing? I’ve been an emotional wreck plenty of times before now, but never a whiny or wallowing one. I forced myself to sit up and face my reflection in the TV screen. Time for a pep talk.

“I’m Samuel Joseph Oak,” I told myself. “Youngest tenured professor in Celadon history. Former League Champion, current League Regional Professor for the Kanto region. Accomplished poet and artist. Inventor of the Pokedex, for God’s sake. And I’m a good guy. A worthy catch for any woman worth her salt. Finding someone to love is just the next great adventure, that’s all, and there’s not an adventure I can’t handle.”

Because my whole life has been built on adventures and quests for discovery. Getting a significant other was just another quest for discovery, even if I didn’t know the twists and turns of the road yet, or where it started. That would come with time and effort.

Satisfied, I nodded and fell back onto the mattress.

“It’ll all be worth it,” I mumbled into my pillow, “when she’s here in my arms.”

But for now, some rest. Dealing with Pallet Town and the lab and whatever else may come demanded it. And a little beauty sleep never hurt.