It was time to leave this place. As much as Rosalyn knew this, she didn't want to. She didn't want to return back to the city and her boring life. Normalcy was now equivalent to miserable in her mind. After all, what normal person ever had astounding sex with a scaled fishman?
She woke up the afternoon of her departure to an empty bed but wasn't upset. At some point, the fishman would've had to return to the lake. Staying out of water too long might kill him or something. Rosalyn slid out of the bed, surprised the pungent odor of sex still hung in the air, and trudged to the bathroom. She had to shower again from all the sex juice on her thighs. As she cranked on the faucet and stepped into the chilly water, she wondered if he would come back and join her again.
Fifteen minutes later, she was out of the shower and changing into a pair of jean shorts and a striped lounge tank. She finished packing up her belongings and carried her bags to the front door. It didn't take long for her to be ready to go. But she couldn't do it. She couldn't leave.
Rosalyn went to the kitchen to make two slices of toast and slather them in peanut butter. She chomped them down, wiped her face, washed her hands, and then released a depressed sigh. Maybe she had lost her mind. Maybe she never had sex with the fishman. Everything felt so real, but the only "evidence" she had was the smell of sex on the bed. And that wasn't enough. Her lubricant and cum could nearly smell that strong.
So she decided to visit the dock once more. If she saw him, perhaps she could find assurance in knowing she wasn't batshit crazy. If he didn't make an appearance, then perhaps she was batshit and had been alone for too long.
The sky was sinking into a heavenly orange-pink hue as the the sun paddled over the farthest mountain crest. Rosalyn didn't pay much mind to it. She was afraid to allow herself to notice that the sky would be completely dark in less than an hour, and the drive home would feel like an eternity. Yet this was not something she could negotiate with herself on.
She kicked off her sandals at the end of the dock and dropped down to sit on her flabby butt. Her legs dangled over the edge, toes just barely out of the water's reach. The water stretched out beyond her like jade glass. After a few minutes, Rosalyn started feeling anxious.
"So..." she cleared her throat and continued, "Mr. Fish Guy, are you here? Can you do something so I know you aren't fake? I think I'm losing my mind. I mean, seriously. I'm probably talking to myself right now. Yeah. Definitely am. Okay, forget it. I'll see you in my dreams or whatever."
Cheeks flaming hot, Rosalyn got back onto her feet. She spared herself a moment to admire the scenery once more before turning around to grab her shoes. A loud splash sounded behind her and then a pair of arms were around her waist. Without any warning, she was hauled backwards into the water. Water flooded into her lungs as she was trapped under the water. She flailed her arms and thrashed her legs to no avail.
Holy shit, I'm about to die.
Darkness tinged her vision, drowning out the slivers of peachy sunlight still coloring the sky. Rosalyn finally stopped fighting. Her limbs grew limp. Her lungs gave out under the pressure of the water. The lack of oxygen in her blood silence her racing brain.
Her own death was unknown to her. She only she had died when seconds later everything in her body rebooted. The water in her lungs was pushed out and then a fresh gallon was taken in. It no longer burned its way into her throat, but glided in like silk. Rosalyn blinked until the darkness in her eyes receded and the entirety of the underwater ecosystem could be seen. All of it became noticeable to her eyes. The trudging bass, wiggling seaweeds, snoozing snapping turtle, and even the weathered rocks at the bottom of the lake. It wasn't very deep, she realized.
As she greedily breathed in more water, she found the desperation to reach the surface had evaporated; now she was content to simply float in the water. Why isn't my body moving up towards the surface? Rosalyn tipped her head back. It was almost too dark out to see the surface, but she knew it was only a foot or so above her. Something softly touched her back. Gasping, she spun around.
The fishman was staring back at her, his emerald eyes glowing. She wasn't scared, however. The gills on his ribs flared out as he took a deep breath. Rosalyn tried to decide how she felt and, better yet, what the hell had just happened. She opened her mouth ask What did you do to me? but all that came out was a high pitched noise. To her shock, the fishman returned the noise. Only her brain instantly translated it.
'I made you like me.'
Her eyes widened, one hand lifting to cover her lips. He just talked to me! In fish language!
It felt like she might have a heart attack from how fast her pulse was. She took a steady breath from the water and closed her eyes to compose herself. When she opened her eyes again, the fishman had moved closer.
'How...' she flinched at the noise that came instead of the word before pushing on. 'How did you do it?'
Lifting a webbed hand to caress the side of her face, the fishman answered, 'The magic of my people."
'Who are your people?'
He took her face into both of his hands and brought her mouth to his. In spite of the whirlwind of emotion Rosalyn felt trapped in, she couldn't stop herself from getting lost in him. His tongue jabbed at her bottom lip until she granted him access. Then their bodies were a twisting mass of limbs and tongues. She moaned against his mouth.
The fishman's hands traveled down her body, tearing her drenched clothes from her skin. Rosalyn peeked her eyes open as they parted to breathe. An unusual glimmer caught her attention. When she followed the glimmer to its source, she gasped. Her abdomen was ravaged with cobalt-blue scales. The scales blended in with what skin hadn't yet changed, making her body a living mural of matte paleness and shiny blue. She had never felt truly stunning in her life until now.
As the fishman cupped his webbed fingers to her partially scaled breasts, the reality of her situation dawned upon Rosalyn. She gripped his wrists and stared worriedly up into his eyes.
'I'll never be able to leave, will I?'
He gazed back at her before slowly shaking his head. 'No.'
The idea didn't completely dishearten her, though. What life did she have to return to? A busy, tiring one with no romance or sexual reprieve. At least here, with him, she could have wild sex. Then again, there were so many things she never got to do. Like travel the world or zip line or get married. Blinking back the tears budding in her eyes, Rosalyn pulled back from her companion.
A whine sounded from him. He closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around her waist. Her heart wanted to break from disappointment and simultaneously jump for joy at being set free.
'Do not be sad,' he pleaded. 'You will be my queen. You will be my forever.'
This was all insane but so good. Her whole life had been spent in search of someone who would love and adore her, and now she had him. The things she would miss were inconsequential in comparison. She could let go of everything she had and was.
'I will be your queen,' she agreed with a small smile. 'I will be your forever.'
