It’s been half a year since NaNoWriMo, and it’s past time to get back to my romance novel. So I’ve reread it this past week, and I have some ideas for what I want to do next. But I was talking to a friend recently and she wanted to know if all my erotica is hetero. I told her I’d had an idea for a F/F mermaid story, and she loved that, so I promised her I’d dedicate it to her when I write it.
Whenever I think I’m going to take a break from monster erotica, I get an idea for another story.
Maybe I can work on both at the same time . . .
Well, here’s a beginning. It’s not done yet but it’s a taste of the watery world of my upcoming story, which doesn’t even have a name yet.
Falling into the water like a cool embrace, like coming back into the womb. The womb of the earth. It’s where I always come when the sharpness of sound through air becomes unbearable, when taking air into my lungs feels like a violation. When my tender feet are no match for the ubiquitous, unyielding concrete of the city. I need to be in the water.
I sail my little boat far enough from the shore that I won’t be bothered by any unwanted company, and drop an anchor. I drop my clothes on the deck and slip, quiet as an eel, into the ocean. The waves rise and fall relentlessly, and I let myself be a plaything of the water. A school of little fishes rives around me, some brushing my skin as they pass. The fish aren’t afraid of me.
Then I see her. But at the moment I don’t know she’s a her. I don’t know anything, just that there’s a glimmer of light reflected off pearlescent scales, a tail tip disappearing into the water. I duck down to see below the surface, but she’s too fast for my eyes, just a shadow shifting among the waves by the time I’m able to focus. It’s not any kind of fish I’ve ever seen.