Originally published in The Feathertale Review 14
Sea date 08.083219371293
Are you there, Poseidon? It’s me, Seabiscuit.
Tonight I fell madly, torturously in love at first sight with your most beautiful creation.
I was hanging out by the shrimp buffet checking out the talent with my herring friend Ian when out of the seaweed swam this vision of loveliness. But just as I was getting up the nerve to talk to her, Ian let out a massive, bubbling fart and my love gave me the most disgusted, unblinking glare, turned on her tail, and swam away. Oblivious to my agony, Ian emitted a shrill, squeaky laugh. I swear, sometimes I wish someone would catch and pickle that jackass.
Poseidon, if you’re there, will you please grant me another encounter with this gorgeous being? I’ll do anything. I’ll even give up sushi.
***
Sea date 09.379127391278
Oh mighty Poseidon, thank you, thank you, thank you! This has been the best week of my life!
I saw my love again. Her name, as it turns out, is Trixie.
We were at the club and I spotted her by the oyster bar, floating ever so casually. Our eyes locked. I was so fixated on Trixie that as I started to swagger her way I wasn’t watching where I was going, and thus ended up awkwardly entangled in some seaweed as Trixie’s friend looked on, snickering. I recovered and made my way over.
When I reached her, I frantically searched for an opening line. For a hippocampus, I can be pretty dumb sometimes, I guess. The silence seemed to stretch on forever.
Finally, it came to me. “I saw a snorkeller get stung by a jellyfish today,” I told her. “He totally cried. It was pretty awesome.”
She gave me a radiant smile, looked me up and down, and drawled, “You must be tired because you’ve been swimming through my mind all day.” Then her tail was in mine and we hit the dance floor. We danced the night away. My pelvic thrusts became increasingly urgent and maniacal, and Trixie responded in kind.
It seems tacky and unbecoming a gentleman like myself to go into detail (yes, even in one’s own diary), so let me just say, my first time was spectacular. Trixie nuzzled my neck with her long, slimy nose. The tingling sensation mixed with the pungent smell of shrimp on her breath was so erotic I thought I was going to lose it right there, but I willed myself to hang on and think unsexy thoughts. When Trixie grabbed for my tail, she held it ever so gently at first, swaying me rhythmically among the seaweed. Gradually, we began to pick up speed. At one point, Trixie gave my tail a bit of a tug — surprisingly arousing. Since I like to keep it classy, I won’t get too graphic, but Trixie’s ovipositor was a wonder to behold. As soon as I saw it, my brood pouch ached with longing. When she finally put it in and released her slimy eggs into my belly, I succumbed, exploding in a sea of pleasure. Ever the tease, Trixie then pulled away, blew bubbles in my direction, and disappeared into the shadowy weeds. It was the best night of my life.
***
Sea date 09.506002940239402
I’m not sure what I’ve done to deserve it, but clearly you hate me, Poseidon.
I can’t believe I’m pregnant. Ian swore that couldn’t happen your first time. Why oh why did I listen to that bottom-feeder bastard?
I never noticed just how much the sea stinks before. The pungent smell of shrimp that I found so erotically charged when it was bursting in hot bubbles from Trixie’s mouth now just reeks of rot, exploitation, shame and regret. Plus, I’m tired, bloated and uncomfortable. And I now know why they call it a brood pouch. My emotions are all over the place. One minute I’m weepy, the next enraged.
Trixie was very sweet — at first. “We’re in this together,” she reassured me when I told her. And we’d hold tails, snuggle among the coral, and stay up late thinking up baby names. Let me tell you, it’s really hard coming up with hundreds of names we could both agree on. Trixie tended to favour the hopelessly trendy names like Jayden and Isabella (gag), and I humoured her because I was still besotted with her.
Lately, she comes around less and less. Now, she only deigns to pop in for a few minutes on her way to the club. Poseidon, please help me. I’ve never felt so alone.
***
Sea date 10.3123131293231
Oh Poseidon, it’s true what they say. There is no truer miracle than giving birth. Tonight, I became a father to three hundred little small fries — give or take. Trixie didn’t even show up for the births, but it’s her loss.
It was scary at first. My body began jerking spastically, my pelvis thrusting more forcefully than the night Trixie seduced me. With each thrust, I blasted forth at least a dozen babies. It seemed like it was never going to end and I could barely catch my breath between sprays. I emitted hundreds of the little buggers before it was all over.
I felt tired yet exhilarated. Mostly tired, though.
Before long, Ian showed up bearing a plankton bouquet. “Congrats, man,” he said. “You ready to hit the club?”
“Not tonight,” I told him. “I’m beat.”
“Oh come on, dude,” Ian persisted. “You have to get back out there. Get back on that horse.” With that, he gave me an exaggerated wink to ensure I’d caught his not-too-subtle double entendre.
We impassively watched a fish swim by, lazily open its mouth, and devour most of the babies I’d just birthed. A swift current washed away many of the others, and my few remaining progeny just sat there bobbing foolishly. I didn’t know whether they’d sink or swim, and frankly, I didn’t much care.
As I turned away, I caught a glimpse of a curly, perky tail poking out from the nearby weeds. Ian can be a jerk sometimes, but I decided maybe he was right about getting back out there, and my brood pouch began to tingle in anticipation.
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