Little Mermaid

New flash fiction!

18+ for this one, please.

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Oh, he was to die for!

Dark hair, light eyes, full lips. And those cheekbones! That body, too, even with those disturbing legs. He wasn’t weak or puffy like most princes, overinflated with the luxury of their position. No, he was strong and active, this one, always riding along the cliffs or sailing the waters. He was as drawn to the ocean as I was drawn to the shore, and we were both especially infatuated with boats.

Boats! Imagine the concept! To create a bit of land that could travel the sea; why, I couldn’t help but imagine us creating a bit of sea to travel on the land. We could harness the wind as well, exploring the rolling hills from the comfort of our watertight vessel.

My father’s reaction to this idea was disappointingly predictable.

As was his reaction to my next idea. The one involving the prince.

Fine. As if I needed his permission. There’s always more than one way to navigate the shoals, so I headed deep, deep into the North Sea. There are dark places in the ocean, with dark inhabitants, and they tend to enjoy bargaining.

My first request was simple: “Make me human.”

The Sea-witch’s response: “Give me your voice. And oh yes, you’ll dance, but every step will feel as though you dance upon the sharp points of knives.”

Well. Only an idiot would take that offer.

“Perhaps I can bring him here, to live with us,” I suggested.

The Sea-witch laughed. “He won’t live long,” she warned. “Perhaps a week. Perhaps less. And I’ll still want your voice.”

I frowned. Surrendering my voice seemed unwise. Still, I was curious. His eyes danced in my mind, his eyes and his full lips.

“What about a storm?” I asked.

The Sea-witch raised a mossy eyebrow. “What kind of storm?”

“Enough to capsize a ship. What would that cost?”

She cackled and ran a black tongue over her broken lips.

The storm cost me my maidenhead, which I have not once missed.

I released it on his birthday. He loved the sea, my prince, and his party was held on a ship. The witch’s storm came like thunder upon that celebration. I rode the waves, watching his ship toss and crumple like seaweed. A great many men fell to the depths, where I imagined my sisters examining the bodies, fascination and horror playing across their sun-dappled faces as the stared at the grotesque legs, the mens’ sex so open and vulnerable.

But I did not linger. After one great and terrible wave swept him overboard I had my prize, my prince, in my arms. I dragged him to an island, not much more than rock and water, and tucked him out of sight.

His reaction, upon awakening, was not exactly what I expected.

He stared at the swell of my breasts as though he’d never seen a woman’s chest before. Perhaps he never had. When I took his hand and pressed it to my nipple, he groaned as if in pain.

It occurred to me then I may not have needed my voice, after all.

My first attempts to explore his body were a disappointment. I needed just to press my hand against the place where his legs came together and his entire body shook as salt spilled from his manhood and over my fingers. He didn’t seem to realize I wanted more from him until the day I pulled his body over mine, grabbing his legs and wrapping them around my tail. His eyes widened and he cried out as he pumped against me, spilling his seed inside me in mere moments.

Disappointing.

But perhaps, I told myself, he just needed time. Perhaps he needed to be more comfortable in the cave, or to share something other than our bodies. I brought him food and water, and soft materials for a bed. I even tried to lead his hands along my body, to show him how to pleasure me, but he did not appear to understand.

The fresh water was a hassle to collect and carry; he was displeased with the food. He spoke frequently, in a lordly, arrogant tone, although of course we did not share a language. I doubt it occurred to him that I could speak as well, that he may be able to learn some of my language as he may be able to learn some of my body.

He was, in short, a very difficult pet.

I began to neglect him. I rode the waves, swam with the dolphins, spent hours or days singing with my sisters. When I finally remembered him, he met me with tears or rages. By then I understood enough of his language to hear his professions of love, but they always came just before he mounted me.

One night I swam into the cave on the island and found him asleep. Ah, how handsome he was in the moonlight, when he was silent and still! I almost touched his cheekbone, brushed the hair from his face. But no. I did not want him to wake.

My chest heaved in a silent sigh. I preferred my human lover unconscious.

That morning I found a fisherman’s skiff and towed it through the waves, to the island where I kept my captive, unsatisfying lover. I watched from beneath the water as he boarded the boat, trimmed the sail, and navigated toward the rising sun. Toward his kingdom, where he could rut and lord over any number of girls with legs.

Perhaps he tells stories about me, my human lover. My prince.

I do not often speak of him.

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