Text ©2003 Roger E. Moore (firstname.lastname@example.org)
Daria and associated characters are ©2003 MTV Networks
Feedback (good, bad, indifferent, just want to bother me, whatever) is appreciated. Please write to: email@example.com
Synopsis: On a most unusual day at Lawndale High School, Upchuck discovers that he has—somehow—become king of the babe magnets.
Author’s Notes: It is assumed that readers are familiar with the characters of the “Daria” show, so detailed explanations of who is who are not needed. The story takes place during Upchuck’s senior year at Lawndale High School.
Acknowledgements: My thanks to Brandon League, who got me involved in a discussion of Sandi’s age that resulted in my discovery that she was a year older than the rest of the Fashion Club—thus, her (accurate) comment about her age herein.
Charles Ruttheimer III knew it would be a most unusual day at Lawndale High School when Jane Lane goosed him as he was getting his books out of his locker. He had his back turned, suspecting nothing, when Jane walked up behind him. She growled like a female jaguar in heat and grabbed his left rear gluteus with a firm, artistic—nay, athletic—grip, before walking on down the hall as if nothing at all had happened.
Startled, he regained his composure as he watched the unflappable Miss Lane saunter away. Yes, this was going to be a most unusual day, he thought to himself with a pleasantly surprised smile. Still, he wondered what extraordinary event had triggered this display of previously unsuspected primal passion on her part. It was impossible to know what impulses fueled the sensual side of the feminine sex, but whatever it was, Upchuck hoped it would continue. He wondered what could possibly happen nex—
“Good morning, Charles,” said a smooth, throaty voice at his right ear. He turned his head, startled again. It was Jodie Landon, her large dark eyes drinking in his image like infinitely deep wells. “Do you have anything scheduled for lunch today?”
“Ah, the ever-vivacious Miss Landon,” he said with a devil-may-care grin. “I have nothing planned at the moment. Did you have a suggestion for me?”
“Yes,” said Jodie. She leaned close to his right ear and whispered, “Me.” She took the bottom of his ear in her teeth, nipped it lightly, then pulled away and headed off to class, her hips swaying under her tight dress to the thunder of Upchuck’s heartbeat.
“Yes,” said Upchuck, overwhelmed at this turn of events. “Yes, that would be the perfect menu selection.” He did not even have the presence of mind to growl. Shaking his head, he got his books, shut his locker, and set off down the corridor—but something was definitely amiss. Upchuck quickly became aware that every female student and teacher he met on his way to class gave him an unabashedly wanton stare—their unblinking eyes glazed over with lust, their lips parted slightly, looking him up and down as if he were the last Fudgesickle on the ice-cream truck on a one-hundred-ten-degree day. Guys, however, were oblivious to what was going on, looking in every direction except his.
A perfect example occurred when Upchuck smiled and waved to cheerleader Brittany Taylor, as she walked by with her squeeze, quarterback Kevin Thompson. Brittany ran her tongue over her lips as she favored Upchuck with a frank gaze, exhaling softly as they brushed past each other. Kevin, at her side, merely shouted greetings to a friend across the hall, missing the entire exchange. Had a powerful mutant pheromone been released into the air from his body? Were all women now at his beck and call? Had Charles Ruttheimer the Third finally achieved Ultrasuave Nirvana?
Evidence for the latter was fast in coming. All four members of the Fashion Club walked toward him in single file as the hallway became crowded. Sandi Griffin slowed and whispered in her husky voice, “I’ll be eighteen and legal in three weeks. Put that on your social calendar.” This admission caused Upchuck to stumble, taken aback at her boldness, but there was more to come.
Stacy Rowe, who was next, stopped him for a moment, too. “I learned a new trick,” she said with an impish grin.
“What sort of magic is it?” he asked, remembering the magic show they’d given together at a recent school fundraiser.
Stacy looked at him with tolerant amusement. “I didn’t say it was a magic trick, silly,” she told him, then walked on, snickering to herself.
Third was Tiffany Blum-Deckler. She said nothing, but she dropped a schoolbook in front of him. Upchuck bent to pick it up, but she stepped so close to him that he brushed up against the length of her slim body as he stood to return her book. She nodded her thanks and walked coolly past him, her body rubbing across his as she did.
Quinn Morgendorffer, the last in line, put out a hand and slapped Upchuck lightly on his chest. He looked down and saw she had put a red sticker on his shirt: PROPERTY OF Quinn — HANDS OFF! “Some days, I have to be direct,” she said, glaring at the other three girls ahead of her. “Why don’t you come over to my house this evening and help me with my chemistry?”
“You don’t look like you need any help with your chemistry,” Upchuck said with a rakish smile.
“You could always check my valences,” she replied with a meaningful gaze, and she hurried off to catch up with her friends.
Upchuck almost followed her then, but he spotted his science teacher, Ms. Barch, glaring at him as she walked up from behind. Ms. Barch was living proof of which sex was the deadliest of the species. For a moment under her man-hating glare, Upchuck thought things had returned to normal—but it was impossible not to notice, a moment later, that Ms. Barch was unbuttoning her blouse.
Extremely unwilling to find out what Ms. Barch had in mind for him (though he suspecting a whip was involved), Upchuck ran for the cafeteria. The moment he entered and shut the door, however, he discovered that the most incredible experience of all was about to unfold. The entire cafeteria was completely empty . . . except for one person.
Wearing a black-and-white French maid’s outfit.
Standing behind a gigantic chocolate éclair so large its edges overhung the cafeteria table on which it rested.
“Your dessert is ready,” said Daria, in her usual deadpan. She hesitated, though, before adding in a low voice, “I hope your appetite is equal to it, Mister Ruttheimer.”
“Um . . . well, I, uh, always have an appetite for the feistiest woman in Lawndale!” he growled back, walking up to the éclair.
Daria dipped a finger in the thick chocolate on the éclair, admiring it for a moment. Her dark brown eyes looked up at Upchuck through her enormous round glasses. “I like the classics best, don’t you?” she said in a deep, hungry voice.
“But, of course!” Upchuck said, giving her a knowing leer even as his brain reeled in shock. This wasn’t possible! Daria Morgendorffer? Coming on to him? “And, which of the great masters did you have in mind, my dear?”
Daria put her chocolate-covered finger in her mouth, her eyes still on Upchuck, and she slowly licked the chocolate off. “I was thinking of Henry Fielding,” she said.
He got it immediately. His mouth went dry. “Tom Jones,” he whispered.
“You get an A,” said Daria. “If you want an A plus . . . have a bite.”
He felt as if he were about to faint. “A bite of . . . ?”
“Your éclair, Mister Ruttheimer,” said Daria, her voice deepening with a pressing need. “Then”—Her body swayed, and he found himself staring at the fine lace covering her gentle cleavage—“I’ll serve you a real dessert.”
His free will gone, Upchuck sat down at the table. Unable to take his eyes from Daria, he bit into the éclair. Daria closed her eyes and moaned as he did. “Hurry,” she whispered. “Finish your dessert . . . and then . . . you can finish . . . me.”
When the alarm went off that morning and Upchuck finally awoke, trembling and covered in sweat, he discovered that his pillow had disappeared.
Comedy, shipper (Upchuck/all women)