Hexaplex on the Beach
“I heard a rumor you’re a marine biologist.”
I turned and took her in. Did my jaw drop? Probably.
She had a flowing mane of red hair and clam shells on her breasts. Still, it was the stocking that really netted me.
Not stockings mind you, but stocking. In keeping with the mermaid theme, her legs were wrapped in a single net, so snug she must have approached with baby steps. I just stared – it really did look like an old fishing net, complete with artfully tangled beach flotsam. We were at a beach party, sure, but partially covering her smooth, tanned legs it all looked unique and stunning.
“That’s Luidia alternata,” I said, pointing to a lovely dried starfish without even considering the wisdom of my opening line.
“Latin is so sexy,” she said, spinning slightly to show me her exquisite ass. Under the net and flotsam was a sand colored g-string. She pointed to a beautiful shell caught up behind her left thigh and asked “What’s this?”
I said “Hexaplex fulvescens” slowly, putting my lust for her into each syllable.
She sighed. “Do you think you could pick me up? It’s hard to walk in this outfit.”
I was dressed as a pirate – I’d better be able to carry off a beautiful mermaid. She was firm, warm and salty. I carried her away from the tiki torches and over the dune towards the beach. She kissed my neck the whole way.
When we were near the water, with only the stars watching, she asked “Can I leave the net on? I like being a mermaid.”
I set her down on her hands and knees, carefully slipping the net and g-string aside just enough. My hip kept hitting Hexaplex, but none of us was complaining.
Copyright © 2004 by Bryn Haniver. All rights reserved.
Bryn Haniver loves the ocean and writes from islands or peninsulas on both sides of North America – with occasional stints in the Caribbean. Look for longer stories in the anthologies Taboo, Delicate Friction and A Taste of Midnight.
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