Fish fuck. You don’t see them doing it but we do. They love best to fuck in a storm, under the waves where it’s quiet and green and if you look up you can just see the lightning screaming across the peaks above.
I’ll tell you what’s wild. To fuck in front of an oncoming ocean liner, cutting through the phosphorus towards you with its engines throbbing and its huge prow thrusting forward towards you, looking like it’s going to cut you in half, and full of humans screeching softly with their tinny voices in their little circle of light, in the midst of the great darkness they can’t see. To fuck, and roll around in the bow wave, shouting, quick, come, come, are you coming yet, it’s coming, come NOW!
And then at the last moment possible to dive out the way, far below the cutting blades, and wait laughing till it passes over the top of us like a great fat steel whale.
What else? To lie hidden in the long sea gardens, slithering through on your belly, hand in hand, feeling eels stroking your breasts and your gills as you wriggle past, and rainbow fish nibbling at your erect nipples.
In the floor forest, where the adults can’t see us, we lie on top of one another and I feel Rhysshe’s long, fishy dick snaking out and into me, his scales sliding scrapily against mine, his tail flipping ever so softly over the sand, stirring up a little cloud.
He blows bubbles into my mouth, turns about and sucks them out of my vagina with a popping sound like a squid. My long green hair floats up and covers his face – I love how it bugs him, sometimes he threatens to cut it off with a shell but I know he likes it really. I sew sharp little clams into it, that slap into his cheeks.
Some time, I want him to tie me to an old ship, sunk in mud on the sea bottom, and tease me with cuttlefish bones. Or maybe we should make out on a rock, our scales turning to dull grey in the dry air, giggling and thrashing around till some boatload of savages comes near enough to see and we throw ourselves off screaming with laughter, making rude signs with our tails – not that they get it.
But the best is to fuck in a storm, right up where the rain’s hitting the waves like a pile driver and the sky’s white with electricity and you lie on the top of the water and get carried up, up into the sky, and then you’re thrown down again like a dead gull so you think you’re going right to the bottom of the sea and beyond. You just wrap your arms and your tails around each other so tight, you hardly know who’s in who, your mouth in his mouth, or maybe it’s the other way around, and when the thunder cries out I feel Rhysshe deep, deep inside of me, as if HE’s the thunder. And when the lightning comes over the surface, well then so do we, our bodies lit up from inside with the current, you can’t imagine the buzz. No one can touch us for days afterwards, we glow like worms and zap sharks’ fins just for fun. And the fish, they’ve been doing it too, so Rhysshe waves his arms as he swims and clouds of eggs surge into my open mouth, and he says, remember when?