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| Brian Driskill couldn't believe his eyes. A mermaid! She had to be a mermaid. What other possible explanation could there be for a gorgeous golden-haired woman clinging all but naked to a channel marker in the middle of nowhere? In the middle of night when there was no one here to see? |
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| "Can you stand?" Satisfied that for at least the moment the water in all directions remained unoccupied, he turned his attention back to her. The woman was still rattling. Still shaking. Still making those faint and involuntary clicking sounds with teeth she'd only barely begun to control. She wavered a little when she pushed herself to a seated position, but she did manage, all the while clutching the ragged blanket close around her as if it was the most important thing in the world. When he'd first spotted her, unable to believe his eyes or his senses when they'd insisted he'd just spotted Neptune's own daughter clinging to the channel marker...when they'd insisted it had to be Neptune's daughter because no one human could possibly be out so far so late at night...he'd thought she was naked. His cock had given a good, hard kick right off the bat at what he'd thought to be so much naked flesh liberally draped with dark ropes of sodden hair artfully covering a few strategic places in ways that only made the unexpected image sexier. His cock had kicked hard enough to jolt him completely back to his senses. And to the reality that of course the naked woman was human. Of course, because there was no Neptune and therefore, no Neptune's daughter. Her bikini had come as something of a sorry surprise after that initial shock. Because as small as it was and as nearly invisible by the light of moon and channel marker, a sort of petally-pink color that would very nearly match the color of her skin under any normal conditions, the bikini did cover things. I did leave a few of them to the imagination. A very few. A fact that only set his cock to straining and struggling again. The woman had continued her own struggle while he'd been preoccupied with his. Still wearing the ragged blanket, draped Indian-fashion around her shoulders now, and held shut with pale and waxen fingers he barely glimpsed at the place where the edges came together, she had somehow managed to get to her feet. Standing before him, she had to be a good five feet ten, much taller than he'd supposed when he'd seen her clinging for dear life to the marker or even later, when he'd fished her half-drowned out of the Pacific. She reeled slightly like a drunken sailor after an especially energetic shore leave as she tried to find her footing on the swaying deck, and doing a pretty good job of it, all things considered. A better job, Brian thought sourly, than he'd have done had their positions been reversed. All his late old man's forcibly instilled 'toughness' notwithstanding. The woman was standing and she was trying to say something, again at great peril to her tongue. Reaching behind himself, Brian opened the cabin door. A long oblong of golden-yellow light spilled out, into the cockpit, onto the rail at the stern, and overboard too. Long fingers of perilously frail man-made light grasping for midnight-dark water it could never reach and struggling to overcome the unearthly radiance of moonlight that would not permit itself to be overcome. The brightness of it seemed to startle her. She reeled backward. Still swaying and staggering, she fought for balance and for a second Brian started to reach for the life preserver she'd abandoned, thinking she was about to go overboard again. |
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