You dive in, almost purely by instinct. It's much deeper than you were expecting. You can't see the bottom. Heck, you can barely see anything through the murky water. You surface and tread water.
When you dived in, the only thing you could think of was that you'd just found a fish that had to be almost six-feet long, and there was no way the guys at the bar were going to believe you when you told them this story without some kind of proof.
You doggy paddle out a little further and you recognize those almost cartoon-y purple and pink scales anywhere just ahead of you as she jumps out of the water into the air and then disappears back under the water with a huge splash just ahead of you.
You swim in that direction, absolutely giddy with the anticipation of seeing her again.
Maybe you should even come up with a name for her.
Just ahead, she surfaces again, then, bizarrely, turns her head back as if to look at you and then, you could swear, winks right at you again.
She keeps swimming. But this time, instead of diving back below the water, she continues skimming the surface, as if she wants you to follow her. You continue swimming out after her, barely even pausing to consider how far back the shore is or how deep the pond must be getting beneath you. Every time she seems to be getting too far ahead, she stops and turns to look right back at you, like she's waiting for you to catch up.
Then, suddenly, she turns around and swims much faster than she has been, directly at you. Next thing you know, you're on your back, arms around her clinging on for dear life, just barely able to hold your head out of the water.
Getting a close look at her, something about the shape of the dorsal fin and the way it sways reminds you of an ultra-modern and trendy human woman's haircut. But even crazier than the hair are those big eyes of hers. Are you going crazy? Are you imagining things? Or do her eyes really seem to be saying . . . that she wants you?
She squirms and presses that big mouth of hers against you again, this time so her lips go all the way up and down the side of your face, leaving another mark on you in addition to the gooey residue she left across the bottom of your face just a moment ago. You try to make sense out of what's happening. You seem to recall hearing that lipstick is made from fish scales. But could that really account for how she seems to be wearing make-up? And for how she's transferring it to your face every time her mouth rubs up against you?
Her mouth pulls away and she emits a strange sound. You could swear it sounds like . . . a flirtatious, girlish giggle?
That's not all that's going on, though. Her fins wrap around you and stroke your sides and back as if she's embracing you. And her tail fin twists and flaps and works it's way down the front of your pants where it repeatedly flaps right against your groin-area.
It all feels so, so wrong. But you're afraid if you do anything but continue to cling to her you'll go under.
"Uh, uh, easy girl," you say.
You find it hard to get the words out what with the way she's, uhm . . . stimulating you right now.
Your hear that giggling sound again, and she plants another kiss on you, covering your jaw and your neck. You're pretty sure calling it a kiss is calling it what it is now. As bizarre as this whole experience is, it seems even crazier to believe that she's not doing all this -- the hugging, the kissing, the fin-job -- to you on porpoise -- uhr, purpose.
"We shouldn't be doing this," you try to say.
But she just flaps even more wildly and sticks her tongue back in your mouth. Instinctively, you grip her even more tightly.
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
More by this author