Lyle's Story

by Kay Berrisford

  “Alright,” said Ben, his voice tight. “It’s horribly stony under foot here. If I can just get myself swimming, I’ll be fine.”

  Lyle relaxed on his back, fluttering his multi-coloured tailfins as he watched Ben tiptoe gingerly through the breakers. Though it was past eight o’clock at night, these evening swims remained his favourite part of the day, especially when Ben came with him.

  Ben did so most instances, though not every night since the summer season had ended and the temperature had dropped. Lyle fought the urge to rush over and grab Ben to drag him deep quicker. He’d got in trouble for that too many times lately. Ben liked to ease himself in, although from Lyle’s point of view, Ben seemed to be prolonging his own torture.

  Each occasion Ben came in, events unfolded as they did now. Ben crept forward until the water lapped at his thighs, then paused. He hugged himself tighter, one arm about his belly and the other protecting his adorably cute pecs. As the first roller washed into his groin, encased by those baggy green swimming trunks he insisted on wearing, he emitted a pained yelp. Then he stood there, rigid, for minutes that seemed to stretch into hours. Lyle waited, by now sharing in Ben’s torment. Lyle’s every scale and sinew ached to get closer to Ben.

  Finally, after a series of white horses had splashed as high as the six o’clock shadow on his chin, Ben leaped, floundering, into a tentative front crawl. Lyle seized his cue and was all over Ben in a flash, grabbing Ben, kissing his tightly scrunched eyelids, then forehead, and then cheeks. Lyle smoothed his hands and fins around Ben’s chest and shoulders, trying to ease the tension from Ben’s tightly wound muscles.

  “It’s g-getting c-c-colder every night now,” stuttered Ben. “I’d rather keep my toes on the ground t-tonight. Let’s not get out of my d-depth.”

  “I’ll keep you safe and warm,” said Lyle, enjoying how the heat of his breath brought a twitch of a smile to the edge of Ben’s mouth. “I wish I could swallow you up—you’re so gloriously sweet when you’re as soaked as I am.”

  “I f-feel like an ungainly whale,” said Ben, “c-compared to you. I’m like the opposite of your fins. On land, so inc-congruous, but in the sea… they w-work. Though, in t-truth, I c-could never be as b-beautiful as any p-part of you, at any t-time.”

  “Don’t be daft.” Lyle cupped Ben’s arse, where the glutes were clenched hard as walnuts. “I know what’ll perk you up.”

  Lyle dived beneath the surface and set to work. He peeled down Ben’s trunks and lavished the full attention of his lips and busy tongue on the contents, meanwhile sending his fins shooting to the cleft of Ben’s arse, where Ben enjoyed being toyed with. Lyle swirled his tongue about Ben’s shaft, sucked and lapped. Nevertheless, despite Lyle’s coaxing, the only parts of Ben that truly stood proud were the goose-bumps Lyle scampered his fingers over on Ben’s thighs.

  This wasn’t working. Gods, had Ben tired of him at last? Was Ben still angry about Lyle’s uselessness at work? Or… no, surely not? Ben couldn’t have learned what’d happened with Welwyn and be recoiling beneath the unsolicited attentions of a merman accused of fratricide.

  Lyle withdrew his touch and erupted back through the surface, grasping for a way to articulate his rush of anxiety. Before he’d managed a single utterance, Ben pressed icy fingers to his parting lips.

  “It’s not you, Lyle. You’re sexy as hell and I love you. I’m just a bit tired, and I’m bloody freezing. It’s the end of September, love. I’m not sure I’m going to be up for night swimming much longer, let alone having sex out here.”

  Ben’s fingerprints trembled against Lyle, who swallowed back an angst-ridden repetition of all his old fears about being deserted. Fixing deep into Ben’s eyes, which glittered with the reflected lights from the hotels and seaside illuminations, he understood Ben still adored him as much as he adored Ben. And Lyle would swim to the moon and back for Ben, if Ben asked.

  He must share with Ben—kind, caring, and right now, quivery and frigid-looking Ben—the troubles in his heart. Yet instead, he caught Ben’s wrist and sucked in Ben’s fingers. He hoped the sensual velvet of his mouth might offer Ben warmth, as well as satisfy his own cravings to have Ben inside him and distract him from his woes. Through chattering teeth, Ben managed a fragile smile, which was some small progress.

  “I can’t help getting horny when I swim,” said Lyle when he finally let Ben pull away. “I don’t feel the cold as badly as you, and it makes me feel strong—so alive. But obviously, the main reason I get turned on is you being here. I suppose if it gets too icy for you to bathe, I’ll save my energies for our lovely warm bed.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” said Ben. “I’m going to go get myself dry and dressed. I’ll wait for you on the beach while you get your fill of the sea.”

  Lyle knitted his mouth tight, refusing to complain. Fortunately, Ben read the shadow of disappointment on his face. As a parting shot, Ben wrapped himself bodily about Lyle, buffing the full length of his naked self about Lyle’s merman form, sliding up and down. Ben’s sudden beam suggested that the rough slide of Lyle’s scaly tail against him had kindled some small spark of arousal. Then he planted a lazy, drugging kiss on Lyle’s lips and extricated himself from their embrace.

  “Take your time.” Ben dipped under to hoist up his trunks from his ankles as he prepared to swim back to the beach. “I’ve got some exciting news to share when you’re done.”

  Ben launched into a laboured doggy paddle, kicking salt water into Lyle’s face as he inched away. Lyle spiralled and swooped beneath the waves, beating his tail. He raced fast and wild into the depths, praying all those wearisome niggles that saturated his brain mightn’t be able to keep up with him.

  When he eventually surfaced, he’d rushed a good half mile from the shore. For a brief moment, the exhilaration of freedom conquered all. After so long cooped up in the forest, he’d never tire of roaming where he pleased across open horizons. He relished nearly everything the wide world had to offer, particularly the fast-moving human realm with its breathless onslaught of fresh wonders.

  From this distance, Eastbourne looked beautiful as ever, with its palatial hotels, floodlit so they shone a radiant white, and the garish brighter colours that delineated the promenade and the pier. In contrast, shadows veiled the beach. He could just about discern which two dark breakwaters he’d set out from between, but couldn’t pick out where Ben waited for him, doubtless still shivering, on the shore.

  Of course, he trusted Ben would wait. Ben had waited for him earlier that year for a full three months without hearing a word from him. Lyle understood Ben’s love was strong… but could it be strong enough? Did Lyle even deserve such a love? Or such a home as this pleasant hinterland between land and sea, where they could settle and build their nest?

  “Possibly not,” he murmured, lying back and floating on the swell. He stared up at the ebony blanket of the night sky, with its pin-prick stars and the crescent Goddess Moon. Viewed from Lyle’s current angle, even she seemed to deride his hopes of joy with a mocking grin.

  On realizing he’d never outrun his anxiety for long—especially given Ben’s latest threat of “news,” which usually engendered something to do with putting down firmer roots—Lyle began his swim back to the beach at a more languorous pace than usual. A collision with a piece of driftwood provided a welcome distraction. He looped a fin about the splintery plank to secure it. Considering how it might be used in new artwork provided a brief lift to his increasingly dour mood.

  At least his dip in the moonlit ocean had replenished his powers, as it always did. When Lyle reached the shallows, it took scant effort to shapeshift his body into a perfect human form, both his tail and fins vanished for now. He planted his sensitive, newly-reformed soles on the seabed and flinched as the mean little pebbles bit his toes.

  Ben, who’d dried himself and dressed, had spotted Lyle approach. He stood on the otherwise deserted beach holding a large bath towel open wide. Despite the nip of the stones, Lyle couldn’t clos
e the distance between them quickly enough. He even tossed aside his driftwood prize so he could melt into the soft fabric and Ben’s embrace.

  “Missed you,” he said. He always missed Ben, suffering a physical pang when Ben wasn’t near him and undiluted rapture whenever they were reunited. The notion of losing Ben for good? Heavens above, it might kill him.

  Still, a few moments of Ben rubbing his back—whilst not even complaining that Lyle’s dripping hair must be soaking him again—blunted the edges of Lyle’s fears. He sensed Ben’s steady heartbeat, echoing through him, filling him with love, and he realized all he could do for now was to be brave. Tell Ben, who would understand, everything he recalled from that awful night, and that he’d not intended to kill Welwyn, he really hadn’t.

  “I hope I wasn’t too long?” Lyle pressed his face to the curve of Ben’s neck.

  “Not at all,” said Ben, pulling away so Lyle had to straighten and hold his own towel up. Ben pointed to something behind Lyle. “I’ve been watching that interesting bird sitting over there. I’m not a twitcher, so I can’t be sure… but I’m pretty sure it’s an albatross.”

  “What?” Lyle whirled about so fast his wet hair whipped his neck.

  There it was—a black-winged, black-browed monster of a waterfowl standing as high as Lyle’s knee above the breakwater. Its beady eyes glinted a dim orange as it fixed an iron stare on Lyle, opened its bill, and brayed like a cantankerous donkey. Then it stretched its wings to its full span of nearly two yards, flapped once, twice, three times, and took flight.

  It soared low, setting horror piercing into Lyle like a crab’s pincer before the gloom over the ocean swallowed it. The albatrosses had long been allies of Lyle’s merman kind—often, when needed, their spies. This bird had to be a scout, sent by his family to discover where he was.

  “Wow! Will you look at him go?” said Ben, whose excited panting should’ve been a warm balm on Lyle’s bare shoulder. Instead, Ben’s excitement elevated Lyle’s fright. “It’s amazing! I wonder if they’re rare. You know, it reminds me of that poem, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. You know the one? Actually, you probably don’t. It, er, has an albatross in it.”

  “Lovely,” murmured Lyle. “I want to go home now.”

  “Are you okay, baby?” Ben lifted a corner of the towel to dab the moisture from Lyle’s face. Lyle could only nod wordlessly. He was far too miserable to want to talk, let alone figure out what to do.

  “I don’t care for albatrosses,” he said in response to Ben’s tight-lipped expression of concern. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you about it another time.”

  Lyle dressed himself quickly, then Ben slid an arm about Lyle’s waist, and they clambered up the stony beach together. Lyle realized he’d forgotten his driftwood, but he figured it might still be there in the morning, if he dared go near the shore.

  “I get why you don’t like albatrosses,” said Ben, once they reached the brightly-lit prom. “They’re kind of magnificent, but they’re not the prettiest of birds. I don’t think the ancient mariner in the poem liked them much, either.”

  Lyle sniffed. At least Ben’s chatter kept his mind off worse things. “What is the poem about?”

  “Oh, some guy stuck on a becalmed ship. Anyway, he shoots this albatross, which has turned up to steer the boat for him—don’t ask me why, it’s all a bit trippy. So, he’s in trouble for killing the albatross, and the rest of the crew hang the dead bird around his neck for punishment. Then they all run out of water and die of thirst, leaving this guy who shot the albatross as the only survivor. Even though he succeeds in shaking the albatross off from around his neck, he never manages to really get rid of it. For the rest of his life, he’s stricken with a burning need to share his story.”

  A burning desire to share his story. Lyle empathised with that. All he needed was to find the courage to act on it, and the damned albatross had stolen it from him for now.

  They walked a little farther down the front, behind a line of light blue beach-huts. They soon approached the sloping green that ran up to the Wish Tower, the squat old fortress in front of which Lyle had been reunited with Ben.

  The remembrance of that wonderful night brought a lump to Lyle’s throat. Life had seemed so fantastical, he’d worried it’d prove a dream. The first few days here in the human world had blown his mind—so many dizzying sights and sounds, beyond anything he could’ve imagined. But being with Ben had been the best part by far. Nothing in his long life had been more wondrous than discovering the human world with Ben as his guide.

  And it was still all so new. He grew accustomed to daily life, but there remained much to learn, even about living in this one spot. He wasn’t ready to move on, let alone leave Ben.

  Yet it had to be done. Lyle took Ben’s hand and pumped it hopefully. “How, uh, would you feel if we went on a little journey? Maybe we could go on one of those holidays you’ve told me about?”

  “What?” Ben stopped dead, dropping Lyle’s hand and turning to look at him. “We can’t, not now. We’re saving for our wedding, remember, and we need a deposit to buy a house. And also… well, you remember I mentioned I had news?”

  Lyle swallowed hard. How could he forget?

  “I’ve been offered an interview for that job I applied for at the district environmental office.” Ben’s grin sparkled with excitement. “It’s for a senior management position, the same as my old boss Tessa’s, back where I used to work in the midlands. If I get it, all our financial woes will be over, and we can settle down for sure. Isn’t it great?”

  Lyle forced a delighted smile, though his face felt heavy as rock. He leaned down to kiss Ben’s cheek and receive Ben’s happy bear-hug. His mind screamed even as his heart cracked.

  He was going to have to run. And now it seemed he would have to run alone.

  Chapter Three

  Ben turned the key in the door of their second storey flat, opened the door, and switched on the light. Lyle slunk in past him, unsure whether to crash on the sofa or head straight to bed. Ben would want to eat, but Lyle didn’t require food like humans did. Besides, he wasn’t in the mood for it, let alone the talking that usually accompanied evening meals.

  It was weird. When he didn’t have anything that important to say to Ben, he adored chit chat. But now he had something crucial to share, it felt like his throat had locked up.

  “Good lord, what’s that rubbish on the floor?” asked Ben.

  As Lyle hovered, indecisive, just inside the door, Ben hurried over to the rug laid before their cosy two-seat sofa. The sofa was the largest piece of furniture in the main room of their flat and took up almost half the floor space. A kitchenette filled the rest of the chamber, which Lyle considered both roomy enough for two and astoundingly well-appointed with the shiny gadgets he was still learning how to use. But then, he’d never had any mod cons before, having lived his formative years in a sea cave before his long stretch in Shanty Wood.

  Ben, however, who’d grown up in something called a thatched cottage, which Lyle had yet to see, found their current living conditions cramped. Indeed, as Ben scooped half a dozen seashells from the rug, his exasperations bubbled over.

  “What are these doing here?” Ben stood, cradling the pretty conches in his arms.

  “I was sorting them out when you were eating your cereal this morning,” said Lyle. “I thought you noticed? Look.” He plucked one of the shells from Ben and held it up toward the naked lightbulb that dangled from the ceiling. “Their delicate shape reminds me of woodland birds—goldfinches, blue-tits and the like. I figured I could paint them the correct colours, and then add some little sticks for legs, and ta-da! I’m sure folk would love to buy them, and I’ll earn you thousands of those pennies and pounds you love.”

  Lyle was slowly getting his head around human money—it seeped chiefly from a little plastic card, and Ben had opened something called a “joint account” for them—but he still didn’t comprehend Ben’s constant worries about it. Ben fr
etted about money so much that Lyle sometimes feared Ben would suggest selling his beautiful engagement ring. Fortunately, though, that was the one thing Ben didn’t seem to regret spending his hard-earned wages on. For now, at least. Lyle wished he could conjure notes and coins, but magicking up that sort of matter permanently seemed way beyond his powers. Indeed, Ben claimed even the food Lyle produced seemed to have little nutritious value compared to real grub. After an initial feeling of fullness, it seemed to vanish inside him, and rarely left him satisfied for long.

  Ben offloaded the shells into Lyle’s outstretched hands. “I’ve told you a thousand times now. Making a living is little bit more complicated than that.”

  “Yes, and I’ve heard you a thousand times.” Lyle couldn’t help being waspish, placing the shells down on the coffee table before picking up one that’d toppled to the floor. “I’m not a child. I understand success as an artist doesn’t come overnight, but I want to try. It’s not like I’d need to quit the ice-cream parlour. I can be creative in my spare time.”

  “Okay, okay. Hopefully, neither of us will be at the ice-cream parlour forever,” said Ben, who’d reached the kitchenette and turned one of the burners on the gas hob. He pulled out a frying pan and started cracking eggs into it. “Things will get better. We’ll get a bigger place, and there will be room for your art, I promise. If we have a garden, how about I build you an art shed. Or—oh, you’ll love this—how about a hot tub?”

  “What’s a hot tub,” asked Lyle, collapsing onto the couch. That one was new to him.

  “A little outdoor pool filled with bubbly hot water that even I might enjoy in the winter.”

  Lyle cradled the conch shell that’d been dropped in the palm of his hand and stroked it. He had to admit, the idea of a hot-tub was appealing. But sometimes, just sometimes, Ben could be a tad too… bossy.

  Lyle understood Ben feared letting years drift by without doing what had to be done, of not realizing what was important until too late. Perhaps as a reaction to how Ben believed he used to live his life, the risk-assessment obsessed environmental officer side of him had been in the ascendancy of late. Lyle enjoyed being cared for, so that wasn’t the issue as such. But Lyle could be strong too, and besides, he wanted to look after Ben in return, to contribute his share.