by Syd McGinley
"Col, I have an eye for transformations."
He squirms, but he's well-behaved all evening. It's damp enough with the rain to light a fire, and we sit on the rug and play cards.
Col stretches. “You know, I hardly miss town."
I nod, but I'm guiding his piskie mouth down to my lap. At least talking so much keeps his tongue strong.
* * * *
He's not sure whether to be hurt or pleased the next day when I send him off alone on the tour he's hinted about. I pay for his ticket.
"I'm on a roll with chores. If I have a day to myself, they'll nearly all be done, and we can take more time off."
He gives me his best cow-eyed look. “It's more fun with you."
"Not when I'm grumpy and thinking about the shed roof."
He concedes, and waves from the bus, bubbly as ever.
From the shed roof, I can see the ocean. Soon I'm convinced I deserve a treat, but I finish the roof first. I've no qualms about charging good scuba gear on my card; I'll store it in Aunt Sal's attic for future visits.
Underwater at last, alone. No emmets, but no Col. I do wish he were here. His inability to talk underwater is part of the appeal, but I squash that thought. Him beside me underwater would be perfection—in my element with my beloved. I sigh as best I can in a scuba mask; my beloved. I've been using this holiday as a test drive. And now I know; I can't be without him. I may relish my shady spots of solitude, but they're nothing without Col's sunshine.
When I see the undulation in my peripheral vision, I turn and follow. For all my retreat and surprise, I wasn't scared before, just hesitant about something too enticing. Today, I've given in to the temptation of investigating, but I've promised Col I won't leave him. And I keep promises.
His hair has the green shimmer human blonds get from too much chlorine. He jack-knifes and flips to face me. I prefer lean and fragile, but Col'd swoon over his abs and shoulders.
"You don't need that dryskin thing."
A thin stream of bubbles leaves his mouth with the words. He takes my mouthpiece in a lazy-swift motion. His fingers trail across my bare neck.
"Open,” he says.
My throat flutters. My hand flies up, then jerks away from the pulsing ribbon-slits.
"Mouth closed unless you're talking."
The flutter becomes a steady thrum. My lungs labor, but they're calming to the new flow.
"So Brian Trevithick..."
"Pollard."
"So it is. We remember old families before they left the sea and then the old land."
My great-grandmother's maiden name was Trevithick. She drowned herself when her husband's fishing boat was found empty. My gills are freaky, but part of me knows they've always been there. The merman gives a wicked look—one I turn away from in bars as a sure sign of a smart-mouth sub. Col's silly, but biddable. I've kept things light so far. I cajole before I order, and Col's learning when to stop teasing or sulking and do as he's told. He'll settle to more if he moves in. Besides, I like it when he flirts to get his way. And, despite my lectures, I like paying for him.
The merman grins as if he knows why I frowned. All cuteness is gone; he has rows of thin needles for teeth. I run my tongue behind my lips. He laughs. I don't care. I still have human teeth.
"What do you want?"
"Come home."
"Why?"
"You're family."
That word still sucker-punches me. All the things I lost.
"Your clan is nearly empty. Josiah died in an accident last winter, and Rosie pined after him. They died, but we can live forever."
"I can't replenish the pool."
"I know. We've seen Him."
I wonder why he audibly capitalized Him, but he seems neutral about the implications of Col.
"Come back, Trevithick. It's where you belong."
I realize who Josiah and Rosie are—my great-grandparents returned to the sea.
"I promised Col I'd never leave him behind.” I kick to stay in place and to dislodge a tugging throb in my balls.
"You want Him? We can turn Him."
"I still can't help."
He shows his teeth again. “Ah, you won't touch a female? Not necessary. We fuck for fun, but breed by spawn."
I shut my eyes and imagine jerking off in the ocean, my seed mingling with some jellied floating mass. I groan. Children. I'd thought genetic immortality was closed to me.
The ocean, continued genes, no more office or credit cards, and immortality. I'm sold if Col will come. He likes swimming pools, but hates his hair and face being wet. In hindsight, he was a trooper about the snorkel. Christ, I have a hard-on. Only the scuba suit clamped down on my cock and balls stops me caving right then.
"I'll think about it."
He snarls. “Can't control your pet? You think it wants its pink music box more than staying young with you?"
"Quiet! I've said what I'll do. I'll be back tomorrow.” I swim away without looking back.
The cove is deserted. I strip off my scuba suit. My cock springs free from the rubber, and I whack off fast, thigh-deep in water. My come dilutes instantly. I hike back to town—frequently touching my throat to check my receding gills. Alone, my decision would be easy. The mer's taunt echoes. Will Col be happy without His toys? I shudder. I've referred to him just as the mer did.
I get home first, and stash my scuba gear. I decide to take Col to a seafood restaurant. My image of a pliable Col listening to my seduction is jarred by the arrival of the real Col, hyper and festooned with junk. I half-listen to his versions of tales already distorted for emmet ears. “Did you know, Bri, seeing a mermaid is bad luck? It means death by drowning."
I'm about to say, “I saw one,” but he's already moved on.
"I was gonna buy a figurine, but they nearly cut my card up! The nerve. Anyway, Bri..."
He's seen my expression. I wait while he replays his own babble to hear how he's betrayed himself. There's an itch where my gills were. I want to hit him, kiss him, drag him down to depths with me.
"You're a perfect emmet. No brains to see through the crap, and no self-control."
He hangs his head, and I can't bear it.
"Come here."
He shuffles closer, wary because I have spanked him as discipline, not as fun.
"Did you enjoy yourself?"
He nods.
"It is a holiday, but how could you even try to use a maxed card?"
My mixed disapproval and affection have made him cry. I wipe my thumb across his cheekbone. “Silly boy. Let's shop together tomorrow."
He nods, too relieved to be puzzled, and perks up when I tell him to change for a restaurant instead of the usual fish and chips.
He's bubbly, his re-told tourist tales are endearing, and, although it grates to hear him say Kernow for Cornwall, I still steer him away from the starry-gazy pie. It's probably just a fussed-up fish pie, but I don't want to risk his shrieks if baked fish-heads are sticking through the crust.
He's interested in hearing “real versions” and accepts corrections of his mispronunciations. He agrees Foy instead of Fowey makes sense, but he's convinced I'm teasing him about Mousehole.
"Ask someone else then."
I should know better. He asks the waiter.
"It is ‘Maowzel,’ sir. Dessert, sir?"
"Yes,” says Col before I can refuse.
I wink at him when the waiter leaves. “See? You should trust me. And believe me your ‘homemade’ cheesecake will be frozen in the middle."
He stubbornly eats the icy part while I sip my brandy.
He's yielding and loving in bed; I'm glad I stayed patient. Tomorrow will be a test. Can I shop with Col and resist the sea? Can I stay on land now the tide is tugging?
* * * *
We catch the Helston bus, and Col begs for the Internet café. I sip an espresso while he downloads songs. Although he nurses his latte, he's alert for my first watch check. He's in his element—bathed in constant music and fluoresce
nt lights. Ethereal in his artificial world, his resemblance to his piskie key chain is startling. He implores me to buy him a CD.
"You only have your I-Pod here. Oh God, all right."
I'm round that boy's finger, but I consider our future and sign the credit card slip. He's getting hyper, and I'm longing for the sea.
"Turn your face my dear while the gentlemen go by!” he recites gleefully, and points at the grooves in the cobbles.
"I'm sure a smuggler did come this way, but generations of cabbages coming to market made those ruts."
He's hot-faced, but says, “Can we have a pub lunch?"
The food's dreary, and we bicker. When Col learns I went diving, he loses his temper.
"You'd rather be underwater than with me."
I try for a giggle. “At least I won't be seduced by a siren."
"Diving alone. What if something went wrong? I'd be left behind."
Usually I'd agreed a solitary diver is asking for trouble, but my guilt at even thinking about leaving makes me snap.
"You'd cope. You'd have some other daddy paying your bills. Let's see how fast.” I throw down my fork. “You figure out how to pay the damn bill."
Pride won't let me go back in, but I wait by the door. Col, crushed but stony, joins me in a few minutes. I don't ask how he paid the bill. We walk silently down the street. I'm ready to offer an ice-cream cone with clotted cream as a dessert-apology when I'm jostled. I snarl. My teeth feel sharp, but they must look ok.
"Fag."
We've been too loud in the pub.
"Ignore him,” pleads Col. We met when I punched a drunk who hassled him. It's become a romantic story, but it was messy at the time, and Col dreads me being dumbass macho.
I would, but another guy pushes Col.
"Walk away, Col. I'll follow."
Col's nostrils are white-pinched with fear, but he shakes his head. I look around. No authority figures. I don't want help; I don't want to be seen. I head-butt the guy grappling at me, and he clutches his nose. I turn to the other, but he's already howling. Col is checking his CD for damage. He smiles pertly.
"Hurts when you get the corner of a jewel case in your balls."
I hustle Col away from the gaping shoppers and say: “We're taking an early bus back.” Safe on the back seat, Col sneaks his hand into mine.
"Don't tell me to leave again, Bri. I won't walk away. Even if I'm mad."
I squeeze, and hold his hand until we pull into the village. I work on the cottage while Col sunbathes listening to his new downloads. He's a city boy and I love him. I'll go back to London.
My throat itches all day, but I don't let myself even see the ocean. I'm worried. What happens if I don't return? Nothing or that underwater bitch would've used it as a stick. Or would he? Would he let me find out the hard way? As the night progresses it seems plausible. I'm painfully thirsty, my skin itches, and my cock throbs. We can't hear the surf, but I feel the waves. I drink water, use Col's skin lotion, and jerk off. I still feel waves.
Col's lit by moonlight. Asleep, he has a perfect submissive face. I long to see it as an awake expression. I moan. I'm sore again. I imagine Col underwater. Basking on rocks, gossiping. Teasing sailors. Eating fish fresher than the best sushi. Singing instead of listening to his I-Pod. Treating wrecks like shopping. Being free with me, and staying young. I convince myself my pain is psychosomatic, but I still want the ocean. Fuck London.
Next day, we walk to Loe Bar. He's quiet for a change as he explores the lake edge. He's fond of Arthurian stuff, and soaks up the atmosphere. It's deserted and sinister even at noon. I've never liked Loe Bar, but Col's wanted to visit all holiday.
"Enough?” I ask after awhile. He obediently crosses the sandbar, but looks over his shoulder at the landlocked lake, and then at the sea.
"It's so weird, Bri. Safe, freshwater there. Ocean here."
I take his hand—there's no one around. “The ocean's safe if you respect it. Come on in a little. It's tame here and I'll be with you. Trust me?"
He studies my face, then the gentle waves. He nods. We wade in and Col starts to relax. We splash around, and Col swims a little, head high. He stands up every few yards to check his feet can touch the bottom. I don't tease him.
When the water roils and the mer appears thrashing his tail to stand upright like a dolphin, Col falls over. I support him as he chokes and points. I pet him until he's calmer. The mer stays quiet, but rolls his eyes at me over Col's shaking shoulder. I bare my teeth at him as I turn Col round.
"So Brian Trevithick's boy, do you like what you see?"
Col squeaks with fright, but sticks his chin up.
"Brian Pollard's my man. Who are you?"
"Your future."
I sigh. He's an even bigger drama queen than Col. I squeeze Col. “Col, listen: I'm related to him. I can be like him. My family wants me back. And baby, listen, you, too. You can be part of my family."
Col's eyes glitter. Family's a magic word for him. He grew up in foster care.
"Not real. Too much sun. Ate something bad."
"Real,” I whisper. The mer strokes my neck again. “I'll be right back.” I dive, then break the surface to float on my back next to Col. I waggle my tail, and he shrieks. I guide his hand over my familiar abs and scaly hip.
"Real,” he says. When I release his wrist, he leaves his hand there.
"You're still mine. Do you want to walk away?"
Col shakes his head, but his fingers tense. “The waves, Bri."
"Nothing to fear with these.” I guide his hand to my gills. He shudders as he feels the slits. I moan. It's an unexpected erotic charge. Col gets a hint of his bedroom eyes. “Private,” he snaps at the mer.
The mer snorts, but tailwalks a few yards away.
Col still whispers. “What about sex?"
"Mermen have everything necessary, boy.” I thrash my powerful hips so my tail appears. I use slow strokes to stay in position and Col's fascinated by the glimmering, rainbowed, muscular length. My hand matches the rhythm to show him I still have my cock. He sighs as it swells. He licks his lips.
"Can we still fuck?"
"You'll still need to shit, won't you?"
I'm not really sure his mer-ass will take me, but he can still blow me and I'll make sure he's satisfied.
"Can we come back?"
He's wavering; he just needs the right push.
"Be mine and come with me. Or go home alone. I've changed. The decision is yours."
The mer has snuck closer and gives my avoided truth an oblique look.
Col's crying. He trails his hand down my belly. “I'm scared."
"I know. But I'm here."
"You're there. Oh Bri, how could you go ahead alone?"
Christ, he can stab deep, but I reach out my hand. “It's the right thing. Come with me."
"I won't drown? Can I change. too? I'm not his relative."
"Show him."
Col squeaks again when the mer reaches forward. “Don't change me!"
"Feet,” says the mer, careful not to show teeth.
Col's confused, so I scoop him up and offer his feet. The mer strokes Col's ankles. A shimmering line of scales appears, then fades.
Col stays in my arms, and gives a quick nod.
"My boy,” I say and squeeze tight.
"Swim out to deep water. The mortal needs to be under deep to change fully."
Col's too scared to swim, but clutches at me as I tow him.
"Listen baby, I'm going to hold you to me and dive. I'll control your mouth and nose on the way down while you change. Your gills will develop in response."
"Full fathom five,” whispers Col startling me until I remember he was Ariel in his school's production of The Tempest. The mer touches Col's neck, and dives away. I revel in Col's acceptance of my will as I kiss him hard. Then, our lips sealed together, my left hand holding his nose shut, I upend and dive. Col's hair floats out around us. He blinks frantically. The salt must sting, but I know
he dare not lose sight of my face. His arms flail. The mer said his land-lungs would resist more than mine. My hand on his back changes from calming to restraining. His tongue panics under my kiss. I love the moment in scene fucks when my kiss smothers his cry. I glide my hand down over his ass to reassure him and stop in horror. It's still skin. He's not changing. It's not new gills being slow. He's dying from my kiss and embrace. I turn towards the light, dim above us, and push air into him through my gills. Col's tongue moved as we turned, but now he's limp. I hope he understood before he passed out. My mer-strength has us in the surf already. I toss him up the beach and thrash myself out of the water. My tail beats on the sand as I turn Col over, and begin mouth-to-mouth. His face is pallid, his pulse stays stubbornly gone, but then, on a chest pound, Col convulses and rolls onto his side. He wheezes while I cautiously test my legs and fading gills. I'm scared to touch my boy. I put my head on my knees until I feel a hand on my shoulder.
"The merbitch is in the surf."
I look up. Col looks away. I walk to the water's edge.
"You lied."
The mer grimaces. Out of the water, its teeth are black with rotten mackerel.
"And you didn't?"
"For his own good. You lied for no reason."
"No reason? You should never have left us."
The mer yelps. I turn. Col readies another large pebble.
"He's my man.” He draws back his arm, and the mer dives away.
We silently walk back home. I'm awash with shame and horror. I nearly killed my boy. Worse, I tricked him, and he knows it because here I am back on land. He was willingly following me without all the inducements I'd dreamed up. His love alone got him into the ocean. I'm scum.
Back at the cottage, I'm convinced he's leaving me. How can he stay? He still hasn't said a word. I hand him his train ticket and all the cash I have. Col falls to his knees, and wails.
"No oh no, Bri. Don't. I'm sorry I didn't change. I'm sorry I'm not right for you. But don't, oh, don't make me leave."
Christ! My poor boy. I rock him in my arms.
"Baby, no. You never could change. It was a trick. Those scales were a glamour. It wanted revenge on my family."
Col snuffles for a bit and then mutters, “Fucking families. They always get you.” He smiles wanly. “One thing I can't accept."
