A Tale of Two Tails - A Friday Flash Fiction Laugh

If you have such wonderful critique partners as I have, I'm sure you've shot ideas off each other and bounced plot's and characters. 


Well one lady, who has a vivid imagination, brought up the subject of mermaids. Anita - I blame all of this on you. She instant messaged me one day asking - how do mermaids have sex?


I don't think she was prepared for the amount of indepth musing we would have to do. I personally think I have it cracked. Mermaids have zippers. There is no other physical way to explain them getting frisky. Unless they do it like fish... which is no fun whatsoever.


So, of course with giggles and some very random mental images later, somehow a unicorn who had 'urges' entered the mermaid realm and a few comments later about 'seafood kebabs' gave Anita a fantastic idea for a funny piece of flash fiction.


And without further a do... I present to you, Anita's: The Tale of Two Tails. It's a tongue in cheek laugh for a friday afternoon. If you want to read about Zombies and Sporks... Anita has that story on her blog. Enjoy :)

A Tale of Two Tails

We always meet under a full moon. It’s not for any magical or mystical reason. It’s pure vanity. He looks breath stealing gorgeous by moonlight, and he knows it. I watch him walk down the sand dunes to the water’s edge. His body steel encased in velvet. The muscles in his legs and back ripple under their silken cover. He arches his heavily corded neck and tosses his head. 

The gossamer strands of his long mane swirl over him, before falling back against his neck. His tail held proud and erect, a peacock display typical of males, regardless of species. His coat pure silver, glistening as it catches and reflects the moonlight. His horn iridescent, a sparkling diamond that crowns his head. I am insignificant next to him. I literally crawled out from under a rock. My scales the muted blues and greens of the deep ocean. I drag my long hair over my shoulder, seaweed and shells living amongst the harsh fibres. It drapes my upper body in a coral reef. I try to arrange it artfully over my bosom. 

He steps into the tide and approaches my rock, waves pooling around his fetlocks. “There you are,” he murmurs. He presses his muzzle to my face, his warm breath hotter than the sun across my cold flesh. I entwine my fingers in his mane, silk finer than any spider or worm could spin. We know we shouldn’t be doing this, it is forbidden, but his beauty calls to me. I don't care he is here on the down-low, because, frankly, he’s hung like a horse. And I’m tired of mermen hung like seahorses. 

He draws back and trails his horn down the side of my neck, to the hollow between my breasts. Humans think a unicorn’s horn is cold, like shell. But it’s not. It’s a living part of him, full of blood vessels and nerves. It’s warm and pulses with life against me. I draw a deep breath, my tail flaps lazily against the rock as longing for him washes over me. I shiver in anticipation, waiting for the moment he’ll flip me over and suggest we play sardines.

“You know babe,” he whispers. “Tonight I’m in the mood for a seafood kebab…”