The Last Mermaid

The lake house was beautiful. Its cloud-colored stone walls and orange tiled roof caught the eye as soon as a traveler crested the mountain pass into the idyllic alpine meadow. The various buildings along the road on the approach to the manor house - formerly stables and servants' quarters - attested that the medieval Swiss noble who first owned the manor had been quite profitable. The fact that these amenities had been renovated into a small observatory and a storage for jet skis suggested that the Swiss businessman who currently owned the place wasn't doing too badly either.

But the Airbnb fare he charged for two weeks' occupancy was reasonable, well within the honeymoon budget I had set. So naturally, I diverted the money I had saved on lodging towards celebratory alcohol: partially by increasing the quality of the sangria, prosecco, and champagne I bought (though in Europe everything felt higher quality), but more so by increasing the quantity. I was sure that for such an occasion, I could persuade Grace to let slide her usual fastidious decorum and suspend the one-drink-per-night rule to which she usually conformed.

"Ooh, look! It's beautiful!" Her reaction to seeing the house on the lake in person for the first time was a welcome start, and I smiled in agreement. As we drove closer, she found more details to go starry-eyed over. "Look at the architecture! Most of the stone is original, but you can see

there

indications of where it must have caved in and been replaced. Oh! There's a cute little swing on the other side of the wraparound porch! I could probably sit there all day. I hope I brought enough books to read so I don't run out."

"So you're going to spend our honeymoon paying attention to something other than me?" I teased.

"No, stop that!" she giggled. "Besides, I know you can't wait to spend time stargazing at that observatory."

"Yeah, with you!" I countered in mock protest.

"Don't expect me to be up at all hours of the night squinting into a telescope," she fired back. "This is a

vacation

, and that includes lots of sleep in those cute little 17

th

century beds."

"True, those cute little beds are enticing..." I trailed off with a suggestive tone but a perfectly straight face, winning this round of banter as Grace blushed furiously and lapsed into silence. We both came from fairly traditionalist backgrounds, and the impending consummation of our marriage had been hanging over us for days. Though I was more pragmatic about such issues than she was, we were equally unexperienced, and I hoped that waiting the extra few days between the wedding and arriving here in this beautiful, secluded valley would make things both special and as comfortable as they could get.

Neither of us wanted to spend much time unpacking, so we only dropped off our bags in the manor before running off excitedly to explore. A stone's throw from the back door of the manor, the wild tufts of meadow grass ran up against a thin strip of stony shoreline, with the glassy surface of the lake fading off into the misty distance, where the shadowy forms of mountain peaks bounded the other side of the alpine valley. Walking along the shoreline, we found that despite the altitude, the lake water was tolerably cool. Perhaps there was nearby geological activity in these mountains that prevented the lake from becoming too frigid.

By the time we returned to the manor, it was rather late in the evening, and we were famished from hiking. Fortunately, we had stocked up on supplies in town at the base of the mountain before coming up, and the refurbished kitchen of the manor-house-turned-Airbnb had a serviceable microwave. We quickly settled into lasagna and Merlot, chatting about the lovely scenery and refreshing solitude. As I began clearing away the dinner plates, I made a point of refilling both our wineglasses. As usual, Grace was able to read into even the subtlest actions, and sipped quietly at the wine while her eyes kept flashing down the hallway to the bedroom. My wife and I both valued composure and self-restraint, and our mutual levelheadedness served us well at our jobs as university faculty. It helped us as a couple as well: we never let disagreements spiral out of control. But with it came a shared discomfort with emotional vulnerability. It had taken us two months of dating before we'd worked up the nerve for our first kiss. The prospect of sleeping together was something we had occasionally talked about doing once we were married, but now that we were, I was still nervous. Aroused by the idea, of course, but nervous nonetheless. It was easy to see that Grace was uncomfortable as well, and a good bit more so than I was.

But there would be no time if not now, and as soon as I had finished drying the plates, Grace jumped up and awkwardly suggested, "Maybe we should go... unpack? Put stuff away?" Part deliberate tease, part not wanting to acknowledge the nerves.

Never one to shy from a bout of verbal jousting, I replied, "I don't know. I think our next priority should be... taking stuff

out

." Nervous smiles twitched onto both of our faces, and Grace practically scampered down the hall. I tossed back my entire second glass of wine and followed.

When I turned into the bedroom, I found her in silky yellow underclothes, stretched out on the bed in what was evidently an attempt at posing seductively, but gave an impression more like someone trying to get up after tripping, with elbows and knees jutting out at strange angles. I smirked, but also lost no time unbuttoning my shirt, gazing her pale thighs and midriff. I sat down on the edge of the bed and twisted towards her, under the pretense of stroking her calf, so that my crotch was positioned approximately in her line of sight, level with her mouth. If I thought that would give her ideas, though, I was mistaken. I wouldn't have been surprised if the concept of foreplay was entirely foreign to her. Besides that, it was likely that being the first one to undress was all the lead she would be taking tonight. To confirm my theories, I unzipped my pants, kicked them off, and sat back down in the same position but slightly closer to her face so that the bulge in my underwear was nearly at her lips. In response, she rolled away onto her back and sat up, leaning back onto my left shoulder. "Um... should we get started, then?" she asked, unaware that I had been trying to get her to do just that.

I rolled my eyes internally. "Of course, dear." We had good synergy for many aspects of our relationship. Clearly, it did not extend to the bedroom, but I was sure that wouldn't stop this being enjoyable. I brought my left arm around, squeezing her in a side hug before working a finger under her tube top bra beneath her shoulder blade. She giggled nervously and turned her head from my shoulder to kiss the corner of my jaw. I bent down and kissed back as the rest of my hand slid under the back of her bra. Slowly, I moved around her side until I was cupping her small, firm breast, and began tracing my index finger around her nipple. She shivered in my arms and kissed more fiercely.

I moved to her right breast and attempted to squeeze what little there was to grip, but she winced and pulled away slightly. Returning to a gentle caress, I placed my other hand on her thigh, finding it damper than I had expected. Her gentle hums of contentment suddenly got shorter and shakier; clearly, she was further along than I was. Without warning, she jumped out of my arms and nabbed something from the nightstand, pressing it into my hands.

I glanced at the condom package. "If you're so eager, I don't suppose you'd put it on for me."

She gave a nervous twitch. "I mean... it's your... part." Some attention from her would have been a helpful turn-on, but she continued to miss this fact and remained passive. Still, in deference to her nervousness around touching a cock for the first time, I stood up, peeled off my briefs myself, and rolled on the condom.

"Errgh!" When I looked over at the bed, Grace was contorted awkwardly trying to pull her panties from where they had caught on her ankle. In her moment of frustration, I detected something in her demeanor that she had been hiding - another reason besides inexperience for her rushing through the motions. Though clearly aroused, she was also internally struggling - no doubt with residual guilt built up around the abstinent lifestyle to which she had been raised - and wanted this to be over soon. Realizing that, I decided to triage my own satisfaction this time and get her off as quickly as possible. Never mind the fact that I had been waiting for this a long time. Though I had been raised with similar values as had she, I had come to terms with the facts of sexual impulses long ago, even if I hadn't been able to act on them until now. Still, having been through the same thing, I knew that making such an adjustment would take time. Hopefully Grace would be willing to try again in the coming nights.

Quickly, I stepped to the edge of the bed, where she sat on a towel with her legs held up, waiting for me. Despite everything, I did pause to savor the moment when my glans pressed up against her flushed pink pussy, slowly rubbing upwards along the lips, building in pressure. Then, with a pop that was nearly lost as Grace let out an involuntary squeal, I slid inside her. Content to let me do all the work, she spread her arms out to the sides and let out short, breathy gasps at each thrust. I held her by the waist, gently kneading her belly with my thumbs as I rocked my hips back and forth. After just a few minutes, she came messily onto the towel. As her breathing began to level out, I muttered "Oh. Oh!" and slowed my motion, leaning onto the bed. After flexing my hips a few times, I pulled out, confident that she wouldn't know the precum lining the inside of the condom from a true orgasm (even if she'd had the slightest inclination to examine a used condom). We showered separately but fell asleep cuddled together as comfortably as any newlyweds on their honeymoon.

The following day, I didn't bring up the topic of sex at all. We spent the day trying out the jet skis, traveling way out to the opposite shore of the lake. There was no stony beach on this side, just scrub-covered mountain slope down to the water's edge. "Ooh, we should have brought a picnic," Grace pointed at an indentation in the hillside just flat and wide enough for two people to sit with a picnic basket. We jumped off into the shallows and carefully made our way up to the spot she indicated. "It would be a good spot to read, too," she added as we sat together. "Though I wouldn't want to risk my books getting wet crossing the lake." I gave a contented murmur of agreement and closed my eyes. Then I opened them again as I heard a splash. Had that been a flash of light and motion a few dozen meters away?

Seeing me startled, Grace pointed at a pair of ducks near the shore in explanation. It didn't quite line up with where I had seen the sudden reflective flash, but perhaps their splashing had caught the light in a weird way. I returned my attention to my wife, listening to her heart beat against my side in time with my own.

After relaxing there for some time, we made our way back across the lake. I started tying up the jet skis to the dock, waving Grace onwards in the direction of the house. "Go on, you can find a book and test out that porch swing while I make dinner." She smiled, kissed my cheek, and ran on ahead.

I had just pulled the final knot tight when I heard another unexpectedly loud splash. Looking up, I managed to catch the silvery tail of a huge fish slapping the surface of the water as it resubmerged. The size of it made me frown in surprise. I wouldn't have expected freshwater fish in a relatively small lake to grow to what had surely been the size of a marlin. But then again, I was an astronomer, not a marine biologist.

By the evening of the third day of our honeymoon, I was feeling a little pent up, enough to try gently coaxing Grace out of her abstinent comfort zone again. As the stars came out, I proposed an evening swim, the kind she might have found in her romance novels. As we walked down to the shore, I not-very-subtly added that the characters in those novels - particularly the European ones, as I gestured around us - were implied to be going skinny dipping as often as not. That got me an amused look with a raised eyebrow, but as I suspected, she didn't object. Just being naked together was a step below actual sex on the vulnerability ladder, and hopefully it would build comfortability with the prospect. For a while, we floated in the shallows, holding hands and looking up at the clear, dark sky as I pointed out all the stars that would have been too faint to see in the light-polluted U.S. Eventually Grace stood up to leave, telling me she was getting cold. In the gleam of the nearby house lights, her statement was underlined by the goosebumps that circled her nipples, accumulating droplets of water that cascaded down her wet, gleaming breasts. I promised her that I would only stay a few more minutes before following her inside.

Lying there, floating on my back in the shallow water, I breathed deeply the cool night air, wondering whether I could do a bit more coaxing back inside. I rose to leave, glancing back once more across the lake as I did so, then jumped straight up in shock. Only a few fathoms away, a woman's head was rising to break the surface of the water. I took several steps back in the knee-deep water, trying to cover myself. "What the heck?! Who are you? Where did you come from?"

"Halten Sie! Bitte!" Her face was indistinct, but she seemed as panicked as I was. When I stood still, reached out slowly and pleaded softly, "Bitte... Hilf mir..." As I opened my mouth to launch into an incensed tirade, the water a few feet in front of her rippled, and a large fin broke the surface. That confused me enough that I cut off my accusation before it began. Was this some very lost cosplayer? That was as plausible an explanation as I could come up with, though figuring out why she was here was even more of a challenge than figuring out who she was. I collected myself and waded forwards a few paces, sinking onto my knees so that the water came up above my waist for a bit more propriety. Mollified, she slowly made her way towards me out of the shadows.

Her long hair, inky black and shining with the water, fell past her shoulders and swirled far behind her in the water. She looked at me with cautious eyes that glimmered gray-green in the wavy light reflecting off the water. Though she couldn't have been wearing any makeup, her worried lips were deep rose and her cheeks were flush - though the latter could easily be attributed to the awkwardness of this encounter. As she emerged from the water, the tops of her breasts appeared like round islands in front of her.

Far

in front of her: there were two or three inches of boob submerged between those exposed islands and her collarbone. When she rose further, water dripped from nipples the same wine-dark color as her lips, and several ounces were scooped up in her triangular cleavage. They took several seconds to drain through, trickling down over her belly button. At least, where her belly button should have been; her smoothly toned stomach was without feature down to her hips, where skin transitioned into silvery opalescent scales. Five feet of solid, muscular tail supported her in the shallow water, with a fanned caudal fin twitching out of the water nervously behind her.

Curiosity and confusion were now gone. I was mesmerized. It would have been a struggle to find any words to reply to her in English, much less try to converse with her using my extremely limited German vocabulary.

Without meeting my eyes, she murmured helplessly, "Ich heiße Meredith. Ich... Ich brauche dich kinder zeugen." She brought her tail around between us and pointed near the base. Her name was Meredith, but I was unable to parse what else she had said. Was she injured? Delicately, I reached out a hand. Her flesh was smooth and warm under my hand, colors dancing in the diffuse light as she trembled slightly at my touch. I felt along her lithe tail and shivered: it was no costume. Muscles quivered beneath those slippery opal scales. I could feel a femoral pulse. The mermaid placed her hand on mine and guided me to where she had pointed. I felt a slightly raised bump that might have been a large bruise. When I looked up at her face, she nodded, as if to confirm that I had identified her injury.

I was processing the appearance of this gorgeous girl as quickly as I could, but even so I knew nothing of how to treat mermaid-tail contusions. I shrugged helplessly and tried to tell her so, but before I could, there was a flicker of light from the house. Immediately, the mermaid ducked down behind me, slipping underwater as quietly as possible, but her large breasts plopped audibly as she submerged herself. I saw the iridescent flickers of her tail beneath the surface as she swam away.

Grace stepped out onto the back porch, freshly showered. "Coming in, honey?"

"Sure," I called back, standing up. Then I realized that despite the cold water, my cock was sticking straight up and swollen taut. "But first... let me see if I can still see Venus from up on the dock over there." It was unlikely Grace would notice the state of my penis from the porch, but I turned to walk away from her towards the dark timbers outlining the dock. She seemed to nod and drew back inside as I splashed along the shoreline. Thanks to a light breeze, I eventually persuaded my cock to unstiffen, despite images of the flowing curves of a mermaid body flashing through my mind. They still nagged at the back of my mind as I returned inside, showered, and cuddled my wife to sleep.

For the next few days, I avoided the lake. Part of me still doubted what had happened, and the part that didn't was uneasy with guilt. In the meantime, Grace and I ventured down from the mountains to do some tourism in the neighboring town, exploring the scenery and history. For absolutely no reason at all that I would let myself acknowledge, I made a particular effort to converse with the Swiss in their local languages.

About halfway through the honeymoon, Grace revisited the idea of picnicking on the other side of the lake. At this point, there had been no sign of the mermaid for days, and I was beginning to believe that the encounter with Meredith had been a hazy, wine-fueled dream: a subconscious response to disappointing sex with Grace. Still, as we crossed the lake, I found myself glancing about, half expecting to see shimmering sable hair caught in the swell of a distant wave, or the silver sparkling of a fish tail in the reeds, or the play of light upon two pale, buoyant orbs in the depths.

We arrived at the far side of the lake, dismounted the jet skis, and swam together for a while. As the sun reached its zenith, we carefully retrieved the picnic basket, working together to hold it up out of the water between us as we made our way to the steep drop-off and climbed out and onto our picnic ledge. After we ate, Grace retrieved her current novel from the basket, extricating it from the triple-seal of Ziploc bags she had used to protect it during the crossing. When I made to go swim again, she caught me by the arm. "Hang on, you just ate. I'm worried you'll cramp out there and I won't be able to do anything."

I sighed. "You worry too much. I promise I'll stay within a few strokes of the edge. Or the jet skis."

"At least stay a few more minutes," she begged. Patiently, I sat down beside her again. "Thank you," she said, setting her book aside to turn and kiss me. I smiled and embraced her. For more than a few minutes, she effectively distracted me as we made out. Our lips pressed hard into each other's. I rubbed her back above the cut of her one-piece swimsuit, and she stroked the my hair, pulling me deeper into the kiss. At last, we took a moment to catch our breath. "Okay. I think your lungs are stress-tested now," she smirked, as we both breathed deeply.