Monday, January 30, 2023

Legs Up! (Mermaid part 2)

Part 1 of the Mermaid story is called Mermaid Needs New Legs, read here . For all the other stories in order click on the Almond Croissant (top right), because Top is always right, right?

I struggle to zip up the bottom of the mermaid costume. It was too tight the last time we played, even tighter now. My head didn’t grow, for sure, but it’s so much hotter in this red long-haired wig, I just yank it off. The door opens, and I quickly climb on my hands and knees in the middle of the bed. With my ankles locked in the tail and the zipper bothering the hell out of me, well, this costume was made for skinny people with a perfect sense of balance, of which I’m neither right now. I don’t care what Nick would make out of it, when I awkwardly fall on my side, face down in bedsheets, and wait for an inevitable remark.

“Are you playing tipping the cow, all by yourself? Please, let me try.”  All I can see is a white plate, right next to my nose, with a half-eaten burger with all the trimmings and a huge pile of still hot matchstick-thin fries, generously sprinkled with the coarsely grinded pink salt that hangs there like crystals of rose quartz. It smells like heaven, scratch that, heaven should smell like these French fries, lovingly prepared by Sarah. I can see Sarah nodding yes-sir and grabbing two already peeled potatoes to julienne the shit out of them, so they will fry faster, as Nick is pacing the kitchen, picking up on pickles, olives, and whatever else he can lay his wandering hands on while waiting for his burger and fries. The kitchen staff doesn’t like when Nick just shows up there, never in the right mood, and everyone skedaddles out of his way, but not Chef Sarah, she will be there to take the heat and maybe, maybe bring him back to Earth. 

Right, Nick, hiding behind the pile of fries. I push the plate aside to meet the softest and kindest eyes ever, staring back at me at my eye level. He must’ve been sitting on the floor. I shove a few shoestring fries into my mouth, Nick takes another big bite of his burger. And as a follow it with hungry eyes, he hastily puts it down on the plate. 

“I’m sorry, should’ve ask to make two.” He breaks a piece off the meat with his fingers and brings it up to my lips. “But you would still eat from mine, right?” I nod, and we alternate the small pieces of the burger with fries. A well-oiled machine, aren’t we? “I brought you a salad, I think it’s Ni├žoise.” He waves at the container he left on the side table.

“Does it have tuna?”

“Duck, I think.”

“Then it’s Toulousaine. Did Sarah put extra olives and tomatoes?”

“Yes, she did,” Nick smirks.

“Pickled beans?”

“I think it’s time for you to write your own cookbook. Sarah says there is no such recipe for a salad, Toulousaine or not. You might as well call it Ibizan.”

“I ate it in Saint-Martin, and it was delicious. I will eat it after.” I wipe my greasy fingers with a napkin and take his dirty hand in mine to wipe his. No, not looking up at him.

“Right,” Nick swallows hard and pauses with the burger midair. “After,” he repeats. “I guess, the show must go on. Is that right, Muriel?”

“Yes, it does.” I wipe his fingers one by one, like it’s the most important job in the world.

“It doesn’t have to, you know?” One nudge of a finger under my chin, all it takes to make me look him in the eyes.

“It does. Especially after everything I’ve done today.”

“It’s for me to decide.” He turns to put the plate away.

“And I trust you to see it through. Will meet you on the other side.” And with these words I rise on my knees again, trying not to trip again.

“No, no, Muriel. If it’s for me to decide, we’re doing it my way. I want to see your face.” He tips me on my back, wraps one arm around my knees, so conveniently trapped in the tail, and drags me to the edge of the bed. “Legs up! I mean, tail up.”

Glittering tail up in the air, I grin. My bottom, he’s so desperate to get or more like, not to get access to, is still inside the mermaid’s costume with the zipper securely guarded under my back. Quick push to lay me on my side and a tumble with a zipper, he yanks it open down to my knees, like a jar of sardines, folding the fabric back, all my flesh freed up. The tiny bikini in matching colour, only another layer to peel off, Nick is never the one to hesitate. 

I’m burning with anticipation, what cool air, a cold shower won’t cool me down. Nick pulls me further over the edge of the bed, so my bum is all out in the open, not dangling, but ready for his assault, as he puts the tail with my ankles in it on his shoulder. No, not Nick, it's Flynn the Fisherman, my hero, my lover, my protector. I shut my eyes and hold my breath. Action!


  1. Wonderful piece, SIM! Thank you!

  2. Thanks, JM ! Is the thank you for delivering on the promise to write a story with legs up position? *wink

  3. Yes, but also the quality of the writing; I love your work!

    1. Thank you dearest! Love yours too, you know that already.

  4. Hi Sore,

    To answer your question left on Ronnie's blog, matchstick, Julienne and shoestring all seem to be interchangeable terms for the same thing, so it works very well. Avoiding repetition in writing is so important, and you nailed it! Fries just the way Ron likes them. I prefer them thick-cut; browned on the outside and soft on the inside.


    1. Thank you, Hermione! I had to dig really deep into my camera roll to find these fries/chips.

  5. Sore hi,

    I enjoyed that, thanks.

    Hermione answered for me. She is totally right. I prefer my chips the same, thick and soft on the inside.


    1. Hi Ronnie, thanks for checking out. Thick and soft are the best... for chips of course. Sorry, you set it up so perfectly, I couldn't resist.