Once upon a time there lived a young couple who were very much in love.
Maggie was magnificent: flowing golden locks, the face of an angel, a perfect bosom. Her top half checked out as an 11 in Harry’s book.
“What a rack!” he exclaimed to himself the first time he saw her, when she bobbed out of the sea near his homemade paddleboard.
(You have to remember that this was in olden times, when political correctness hadn’t yet got its iron grip on society. And you have to suspend disbelief that back then they had such things as paddleboards.)
But imagine Harry’s dismay when Maggie did a little flip in the water and he saw her tail (even though, as fish tails go, hers was also quite attractive, it has to be said).
Horrified, Harry started paddling like crazy for the shore, but Maggie was an exceptionally nimble nubile and with a couple of flaps of her tail, she was ahead of him.
A little dance ensued between them: he’d try to dodge her, she’d dip beneath the waves and come up in front of him; he’d dodge the other way, and the same thing would happen.
Eventually, Harry was so exhausted that he simply stood there on his board, oar in hand (not a euphemism), floating above his exquisite pursuer.
But why was she giving him such relentless chase? Well, lust at first sight can go both ways, can it not? She’d espied him from a distance, energetically occupied with his paddling, and when she got closer . . .
“What a set of abs!” she’d exclaimed to herself. She didn’t much care for his lower half, actually, as it wasn’t really fishy enough for her taste, but that top half—wowza!
And so, like so many relationships in the real world, began this one, based entirely on first impressions.
“Good morning to you,” Harry ventured eventually.
“Good morning,” Maggie smiled, her teeth as perfect as the rest.
“Beautiful day!” Harry was getting warmed up.
“It is indeed,” Maggie agreed, feasting her eyes on the hunk above her.
From those simple seeds did a deep and passionate relationship grow. Over the days, weeks and months that followed, they exchanged stories and got to know all about each other’s worlds, which were, of course, really quite different—one being mostly dry, the other very wet indeed.
But there came a point when their enthusiasm for verbal intercourse began to wane, and a desire for another kind started waxing like nobody’s business through those young bodies.
Maggie, not shy in coming forward, was the first to broach the subject, but as it was an intimate conversation, I won’t transcribe it here. Suffice it to say that the conclusion was they were both well up for it.
They understood the limitations, though: humans can’t with fish, and fish can’t with humans. That’s just the way it is. So what to do?
It was Maggie again who took control, being, as she was, much brighter and more resourceful than Harry, who was ripped, sure, but not in cerebral terms.
“There’s a fellow who may be able to help us,” she said one evening as she rested her fine elbows on Harry’s board (not a euphemism either).
“Who might that be, sweetest?” Harry’s language had descended to that kind of sugariness over the months.
“An urchin I know,” she said, before flipping over and disappearing.
She swam into the deep dark depths and sought out this young, pink urchin—Tommy by name. What Maggie didn’t know was that he was also lustfully attracted to her, in the obsessed way that young boys often are.
You may be wondering why Maggie would seek advice from an urchin still in shorts. Well, not many people know this, but urchins, whatever their age, are a fount of all oceany knowledge—they just are. And Tommy was no exception.
“What you have to do,” he said to Maggie after she’d laid out her predicament, “is go to him and wait for midday. It must be exactly midday, mind you. And when the sun is at that point, say these words . . .”
And he gave her the magic spell she should recite, sending her off to practise it so that she’d get the words exactly right when the time came. Meanwhile, he floated up to the surface to see a man about a dog. (Well, not a dog exactly.)
The next day, Maggie found Harry in a secluded cove, a-paddling round in circles, as was his wont.
The sun was high in the sky as she approached the board.
“I have a surprise for you,” she announced breathily, beaming a smile that was sheer pent-up desire.
“And I for you,” said, Harry, matching her for hot thoughts and consulting his wrist-sundial.
Maggie looked up towards the sun (not directly at it, obviously!) and gauged that it was just about time.
“May down be up and up be down and lo, the body turns around!”
They gaped at each other in astonishment; they’d just said exactly the same thing, at exactly the same time! They laughed, but only for an instant because before you could say “anchors aweigh” or some such nautical term, Harry was thrown into the water by an invisible force, and on the other side of the board, Maggie was plucked out of the water by the same force, landing on the board with a clatter.
“Ouch!” she yelped, and then “Gosh!”
Where her fishy bottom half had been, she now had a pair of—actually extremely attractive—legs. She lost no time in exploring her new parts, her desire mounting by the second. She was anxious for Harry to surface so that they could get on with the job in hand, but where was he?
Up he popped moments later, but he wasn’t laughing anymore.
“Look!” he cried, and Maggie did. He twisted in the water and a fishy tail broke the surface and flapped.
“Aargh!” they shrieked in unison.
They tried repeating the words but in vain; Tommy, the rotter, had conveniently forgotten to tell them it was a single-use spell.
He’d witnessed the whole scene and drifted down now, away from the distraught couple.
“Let that be a lesson to you,” he chuckled to himself. “Never trust an urchin.”
You see, urchins are notoriously treacherous creatures.
And extremely jealous.