Brandon Layng

Her eyes looked a glassy black and I thought they seemed full of death. She stared up at me and laid half on the rocks with her feet in the water. A circle of light, the full moon above us, reflected in each pupil and they were like willow-the-wisps floating over the dark waters of her soul, cheeks coursed with black mascara tears and gaunt with smudges of gray. Her eyebrows were only lines of captured droplets.

Waves lapped at the rocks, hungry for her flesh.

I kicked, slow and deliberate, feeling the water’s liquid resistance to the solidity of my actions. It stayed my place in the deep waters close to the shoreline beneath the bluffs and kept her body close. The water was a cool solution to the touch, raising goosebumps on my arms and sliding her against my naked torso. Her light pink nipples were flush to her areola, her breasts laid flat and sloughed off to the sides of her chest. I take one in my hand, feeling its firm lividity in beneath the palm. I’m tempted to place the other between my lips, the lumps of flesh quivered and when I took the plump teat between my teeth the blood was a metallic tang against my tongue. Her red hair, with highlights of blonde like embroidered trimmings of gold in a crimson tapestry was spread out in cascade over the rocks.

Skin soft and pliant to the touch. It moved over the muscle and sinew beneath like a loose fitting silk sheet over a firm mattress, sliding and wrinkling, yet so erotic to feel against you. Her crushed white rose petal skin, splashed with red where the cuts exposed the red carnations beneath. I smelled the garden of her flesh and her flowers were pitcher plants, the smell made my nipples harden and my body crawl with the heat of arousal. I added my own moisture to the lake at the sight of her blue-tinted lips, a pair of spooning lovers above and pointed chin and beneath a petite nose of commercial beauty.

She stared at the stars as the water pushed against her wet body, her celestial lover thrusting into her.

With reluctance I removed my hand from her chest and waded out until I felt her toes touched me and then back between her slender legs, their length straddling my scaled hips. Her nest of hair pressed to my stomach and I pull her closer. My hands clasped on the sides of her waist beneath the picket fences of her ribs and above the sharp ridges of her hipbones. Fingers clenched tight on the waspish waist and her fur lined lips kissed my flesh as I released her from the rocky sanctuary. The redness of her hair left a splattered stain on the granite pillow. I pulled her out with me, a scarf trailed behind her, black in the water beneath the lunar spotlight.

Oh, how the moon shone in sensual glory as he struggled for conquest with his lover. Always incessant with his need and imposing himself on the lake’s skin.

“Don’t worry poor lost Ophelia.” I said. “Your Hamlet has abandoned you, but I would keep you safe and show you love.”

A bat flitted from a cave in the face of the cliff, his brown body cut the air in zigzagged incisions, his chirps pitched through the night. A pale moth fluttered overhead, a transient lunatic in the light of the sinking satellite whose life is a pale reflection of the sun. I turned my head to watch it course a yard and then another and another over the rippled water. The bat called to it, only to have its beckoning returned unanswered. It dove toward the moth who searched in vain for the false comfort of the moon savior in the sweeping black glitter spackled shroud. The bat lunged within a few wing beats of the moth when a wide-mouthed fish leapt and captured the moth in its maw before splashing back to the water’s safety and cold welcome. A wingtip of the bat touched the splash and shied away like a finger passing too close to the flame of a candle and it coursed away into the night in search of another prospective meal.

A cool smile touched my lips at the irony and I pushed away out into the lake’s vast womb, with the pale-skinned woman pressed upon my body, her breasts firm against my own. My progress, slow and the feel of her so close, relished. I ached for her lips and tender nipple to suckle and to taste the junction of her tight curls.

The moon seemed mere inches from the lake’s edge when I reached my place at the center of the water and the sky to the east had lightened to a purple. I assured the stiffened Ophelia in my arms that no longer will she be a lover cast aside and abandoned but one cherished and patiently appreciated for all she had to offer. I felt the thick strands of fluid seep out from between her cleft and the milky semen was slick and sexy as it rubbed onto my skin. There was a nudging and a squirming, before the minnow, that for a while called her crevice home, wriggled out from between us. I took her down into the darkness with me and saw it circled us before it disappeared as curiosity dissipated.

Black strands of blood threaded out from her hair as I pulled her down and clutched her luminescent body close to mine. My one arm arced around her back, clutching a rounded cheek in my hand and my other curled behind her shoulder blade to tangle my finger in her hair which slowly turned more golden with each ebb and flow of the current. A scattering of bubbles floated up from her mouth and raise like helium balloons to pop at the surface. I searched her eyes and saw the wisp’s lights were gone. Inside her was darkness but not emptiness. I pressed her open mouth against mine and snaked my tongue into the bitter taste of the exposed cavity. Her hipbones dug into my pelvis, I gripped her harder to me. My nipples were pebbles sitting on my breasts. The gills at the side of my neck fluttered in hurried breaths as I licked the soul from her mouth. Her tongue was stiff and sensual like a lollipop, her soul the chewy center. Her lips – once spooning lovers – are like candy as I bit them off of her face and swallowed them.

I fed for a while before dragging her deep into the bottom of the lake and wedging her between two rocks to let her soften more for me to savor later. With a strong kick of my tail I rose to the surface. The water glided over and beneath my scales.

The moon had lain down in submission to the coming day and the sun strode red into the morning sky. It smelled like a storm coming and if the fishermen had not taken heed of the red sky’s warning, another meal waited in this mermaid’s not too distant future.


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