Greg looked down at me, love + concern in his serious gray eyes. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“For the 10th time, yes! Are you gonna keep asking me that for the next 3 days?”

“Probably. I feel like it'd be irresponsible of me not to. I mean-”

“I'm sure! Unless you're having doubts about wanting me underfoot all the time.”

“Never! I want this as much as you do. But I'm not the one being permanently modified here. Because once this GLOO! sets there's no going back.”

“And that's what's so exciting! The thought of being like this forever.”

“In a fantasy maybe. But part of my mind is saying we're both crazy for doing this!”

“Of course we're crazy! Nobody normal does a thing like this. But this is who I need to be if I'm ever gonna be happy. You read my stories, you know what I am!”

“Yes. You're my beautiful mermaid,” he said, cupping my ears in his hands + kissing me gently on the lips. And then not so gently...

72 HOURS: A Mer-Mania Romance (with GLOO!)
Laika Pupkino - 2018
Part One of Four

.

DAY ONE:

Pete the Uber driver seemed tired. He didn't say much for the whole fifty mile ride up through Diamond Bar and Riverside. On the talk radio station they were going on about the “GLOO! Challenge”, the greatest threat to America's impressionable youth since Tide Pods; people calling in to rant about all the crazy things their kids had attached to themselves with the stuff, and debating whether this adhesive---which had been around for years but was suddenly trendy for all the wrong reasons---should be banned.

The topic was a strange coincidence, considering what I was about to do. I kept waiting for my driver to add some complaint of his own or ask me what I thought about this GLOO-ing epidemic; but I wasn't sure if he was even listening to the show he had on.

We pulled into the driveway of Greg's place at a quarter to six, just as the sun was starting to peek around Mount San Jacinto. Pete-the-driver whistled appreciatively, “Beautiful house!”

“It is,” I agreed. It really was the nicest place on the block. Not as big as the McMansions next door or across the street, but old, well built, and a whole lot classier.

'And my house now too,' I thought with a grin. The new ten-foot redwood fence surrounding the whole back yard and the several hundred thousand dollars worth of construction and landscaping that had been done back there attested to that. I said, “And you should see the pool!”

“Olympic sized?”

“Bigger. But I can't say how big for sure because it's a funny shape and wanders all over the place. But it's really unique, with waterfalls and a grotto; like something out of a fantasy!”

Which was exactly what it was. My boyfriend and I had put a lot of thought into our artificial lagoon, ever since he proposed to me and we started planning to make our shared fantasy a reality.

As I reached for my bags Pete asked, “You need a hand with those?”

“Naw, they're light,” I told him. It was strange to think that these two small bags were all that I had left from my old life. One held my laptop and phone, the other assorted toiletries and cosmetics, my "girl pills", a binder full of music cd's and a few mementos. Almost everything I would need from now on was already here. I'd already added on a gratuity when I payed for this ride online, but I was feeling so good about life (plus I'd gotten more than I expected to when I sold my car for cash a few weeks ago) that I dug into my aquamarine wallet and pressed a $20 into his hand.

“Thank you! And you take care now, uh-” he paused, trying to figure out what to call me. I'd come here with just a touch of makeup on and in boy clothes---the shirt of which was the baggiest one I could find---but Pete earned his second tip when he decided on “Miss.”

“You too,” I grinned, and as he sped off I headed up the sherbet colored flagstone walkway that wound through our sand-and-cactus front yard like a drunken sine wave to the house. If all went well this would be about the last walking I would ever do. I really preferred swimming anyway.

I was standing at the front door covering the nude lipstick I had on with a rose shade that Greg had mentioned liking when the door unlocked and swung open. He was wearing just his pajama bottoms, his curly salt and pepper hair all tousled.“You're a little early.”

“I know you said seven; but I didn't get much sleep and couldn't sit around that empty apartment any longer. This is okay, right?”

“No, it's perfect! The sooner we get started the sooner you'll be done,” he said. He wrapped me in his arms and started kissing me, his lips kneading mine as he jockeyed me inside and pushed the door shut with his foot. He twisted the deadbolt into place, grinning, “Hello, gorgeous! You ready for this?”

“I'm good to go! This is all I've been able to think about all week! So it got here, then?”

“Late last night. Just in the nick of time.”

“Thank God! I was starting to worry. They said express shipping it from Wuppertal would take five days, that was two weeks ago!”

“But it was worth the wait to get this one. It's beautiful! Even better than it looked on their web page!” he said.

"It" was the big prosthetic fish tail that was going to be a permanent part of me in three days time. 72 hours, according to the adhesive's manufacturer. Which to the wannabe mermaid I was then seemed like forever.

“I have to see it!”

“Yes you do. But I've really missed you, and I just have to-”

And we started kissing again.

o . 0 . O . 0 . o

I'd known Greg for a year before we ever talked on the phone, and then for almost another year before I met him face to face, on our first real date. Which was when we began hatching this crazy plan that would give us each what we most desperately wanted in life. This thing we'd both dreamed of since even before we knew each other wasn't something that any normal person would want, or would even consider possible, but neither of us was normal. It all began at a place called Mer-Mania.

Never heard of Mer-Mania? Neither had I until I stumbled across it.

I was 22 then, and had been at my first and only job for about a year. One evening after work I was at my computer, googling for information about people like me---trying to find out if there even was anyone else like me---when the name caught my eye. At first glance I mistook “mermania” for some clinical term, since it seemed like an excellent label for what was wrong with me.

For almost as long as I can remember I have been convinced to the very center of me that the Universe had made a terrible mistake when I was born as a boy, when what I should have been---and had always been in my heart---was a mermaid. That not only was I the wrong sex, but from the waist down I was also of the wrong biological class. Down there it wasn't so much what was between my legs that bothered me (although I was never crazy about the damn thing...) but that there was a “between” there at all, and I had these two stupid looking human legs that should have been a pretty tapered fish tail! So I clicked onto the Mer-Mania site, hoping it would have information about my unusual body-intergity affliction. Which it did, but not in the way I expected...

The Mer-Mania main page had a border on each side with animated bubbles rising up it past images of fish, starfish and frolicking mermaids; and at the top the site's name in a cheerful font, directly above their motto: “A Happy Harbor for Readers and Writers of Fish-Girl Fiction”

Mermaid fiction??? It wasn't what I'd been looking for but I was definitely intrigued, since I'd written a few mermaid stories myself (mostly of the me-turning-into variety), which I'd assumed nobody but me would ever be interested in seeing.

I started scrolling through story titles, amazed at just how many amateur stories about mermaids they had there. At the time it was almost 10,000, and now three years later it's probably twice that. I'd had no idea there were so many people obsessed with mermaids! Most seemed to be women, and the whole look of the site had a sweet girly vibe to it. I felt instantly at home there.

Not everybody who posts at Mer-Mania is like I was: desperately miserable because they can't be a mermaid for real. I soon came to realize that the sheer depths of my obsession made me somewhat of a minority even there. But there were definitely a lot of site members who enjoyed presenting as mermaids in their stories, blogs and comments; and quite a few had posted pictures of themselves swimming in their fake mermaid tails, or cosplaying Ariel at COMIC-CON; And they at least halfway understood where I was coming from when I poured my heart out about my peculiar form of body dysmorphia in my first blog after I registered under the name Lori Shellcastle. Nobody there tried to make me feel like a freak or a pervert. Unlike when I mistakenly made the same revelation at that transgender support group I used to go to...

“It's weirdos like you that endanger the credibility of the rest of us!” a girl I'd really come to respect told me. “You're what the cis-people joke about when they make fun of us: 'HEY EVERYBODY LOOK AT ME! I IDENTIFY AS A TOASTER!'”

Another accused me of being an 'otherkin'---a word I had to look up later---who couldn't possibly have a genuine issue about this, but was trivializing what they were going through by comparing their gender variance to some bullshit fantasy persona I'd dragged into the real world from Alt.Life or some D&D-type role-playing game I must be into. I wasn't expecting my transgender sisters to just turn on me like that, and it really hurt! I cried all the way home and fell into a deep funk and a dangerous three day ice cream binge.

But at least I learned what not to reveal to the gender shrink I started going to shortly after; who might not have approved me for this hormone regimen or my recent outpatient surgery if she knew I was a mermaid. Everything I told Dr. Jansen was true, I just didn't tell her the whole truth...

I have a lot more to say about Mer-Mania and its community of mostly female wannabe mermaids and mostly male mermaid admirers; but for now I'll just say I learned I wasn't alone there, made a lot of wonderful friends, met the love of my life, and began my journey toward the beautiful 24/7 mermaid life I live today.

o . 0 . O . 0 . o

We kissed a for a long time, our arms around each other. I was five foot nine and a half and rather scrawny. In anything higher than pumps I looked like a stork, but luckily I was never all that into footwear. Greg was six foot three and big framed, and hugging like this we fit together perfectly. At least it always felt perfect to me. And being away from him for two weeks had made me miss this so much!

Being smashed against him like this was starting to get somewhat painful, with my recent sensitivity issues, but the sweet feeling of being held and loved like this more than made up for a little soreness. My heart was beating fast at the thought: 'This is it! We're really doing this...'

Finally he released me.

“Is the lagoon full?” I asked.

“It reached the top and started flowing out the spillway late Wednesday. At one point I was ready to order a few tanker trucks full of water to help it along but I'm glad I held off. That little spring out back seems to be doing the trick.”

“Unless the aquifer level drops.”

“It never has. Citrus Creek has run about the same year round for as long as anyone's kept records, when this whole valley was some Alta Californio's rancho,” he said, “You need coffee?”

I nodded vigorously and we went into the kitchen, which like the living room had mermaid figurines, paintings and wall hangings all over. The first time I came here I'd chuckled at the front porch's mermaid wind chimes and the hand carved sign over the door with another mermaid on it and the words: ATLANTEAN SPOKEN HERE, but once inside it was obvious that I was in the home of a crazy obsessed fishgirl devotee. Although I already knew this from reading the stories he'd posted at Mer-Mania, and I found their idealization of girls like me quite flattering.

The coffee maker was squoosh-ing noisily as it finished filling the pyrex pot with heavenly smelling coffee. He poured us each a mug, and I doctored mine with a little milk and sugar. My tits were still sore from the way we'd hugged, and this baggy shirt I had on was feeling like sandpaper on the area around my nipples. As I shrugged it off over my head I asked rhetorically, “Do you mind if I get out of this?”

He replied with a great big grin and a teasing, “Hell no! Flaunt 'em if you got 'em!”

“I'm not flaunting anything. I'm sore! And as you can see I don't have anything to flaunt. How can they bother me so much when they're not any bigger?”

“What do you mean 'not any bigger'? Sure they are.”

“Bullshit!”

“You might not be able to see it when you keep checking them every five minutes, but it's been two week for me, and you definitely have more here. If this hurts let me know and I'll stop, but two weeks ago I couldn't have done this-” he pressed his fingers lightly against my rib under my right breast and gently pushed what little fatty tissue I had there upward, until it almost looked like a boob. Unlike my scratchy shirt, his warm hand holding me didn't hurt; in fact quite the opposite. Sometimes whether something is painful or pleasant is all about context.

He took his hand away, letting my verge of puberty-sized tit not so much drop as settle. “See?”

I refrained from pointing out that as a male who was pushing sixty and a bit on the pudgy side his were bigger (and they were hardly the kind of serious 'man boobs' that might elicit snickers or whispered comments down at the gym) but just said, “Well, maybe...”

“And what did you expect? You've only been on hormones for four months. But I'm sure in another two weeks you'll have a little more, and then a little bigger, and before you know it you'll be proudly wearing that starfish bikini top you wanted, like a proper mermaid.”

“I hope so, because right now they're barely visible.”

“Where? Where?!” he mumbled, leaning down to squint at my chest from a few inches away, like that nearsighted old man (Mr. McGloo?) they used to have cartoons about, then pretended like he suddenly saw them, “Great Caesar's Ghost! Ah, there they are... such beauties!”

-and clamped his lips over my nipple, applying suction and tongue to it while running his thumb around the other one. I gasped and started squirming involuntarily. Yes, it's definitely about context...

o . 0 . O . 0 . o

Releasing my spittle-flecked nipple, he picked me up, one arm behind my back and the other just below my butt. I threw my arm over his shoulders, like we'd practiced on my last visit, to make sure that him carrying me around was practical for when it became necessary, and after another quick kiss he said, “Come on Lori. You ready to go get you GLOOD?”

“God yes, I'm good to go! So where is it? Out by the pool?”

“It'll be three days before you can go in the pool,” he said as he carried me down the hallway toward the bedroom.

“That's right... 72 hours,” I sighed. Why had I agreed to that?

The instruction sheet that came with every box of GLOO! was quite specific about this, mentioning it several times over the course of the instructions plus in a little rectangle at the top that got your attention with 'WARNING! WARNING! WARNING!' Any two surfaces that had been Glood together could be pulled apart within ten to thirty seconds, after which you needed to use the bottle of GLOO! solvent that came in the box along with the two tubes of the binary adhesive. This stuff could un-gloo something or somebody if you used it within eight hours, after which you needed a product called GLOO! Adhesive Super Solvent; which didn't come in the box with the adhesive base and the adhesive activator, and which a lot of the stores that sold GLOO! didn't seem to carry.

Several of the callers on that radio show I'd been listening to on the way here had talked about rushing madly all over town trying to find the stuff so they could get the Tonka truck or whatever unstuck from little Junior's forehead within 72 hours; because after that even the super-solvent wouldn't work, and we're talking surgery and skin grafts.

Greg had bought three jumbo bottles of the super-solvent through Amazon to have on hand, even though I insisted this wasn't necessary. He was cautious like that. Or like how he'd keep asking me over and over for the next three days if I was sure I wanted to go through with this, until I was about ready to GLOO! his mouth shut.

While I was frantically incautious about all of this, and in my need for body/mind integrity wished there was such a thing as an 'adhesive super-accelerator', so I could hurry up and be a mermaid already!

o . 0 . O . 0 . o

I felt like a bride being carried across the threshold as we entered the bedroom, even though we were technically only engaged. I gazed at the pewter dolphin wrapped around my ring fingered and smiled, knowing that our wedding was about to become a lot closer to reality. We both felt like our special day would be even more perfect if I was already a mermaid when we got married (This was California, there had to be somebody willing to marry us.). And as far as “consummating our union” goes, over the past year we'd been doing that every chance we got.

Lying on the king-size bed was my new tail. The only thing that suggested it wasn't actually half of some very large fish was that it looked a bit too perfect, the emerald green scales descending in size from its top to the semi-transparent tail fin like a tapestry of gemstones. A fishtail by Faberge.

“Holy shit! It's BEAUTIFUL!”

“I know, much prettier than your old tail. And much more well-made, too. It had a tag in there: 'Individually crafted by-' and then the guy's name- Heinrich Schnitzelheimer or something. And it comes with a one hundred year warranty.”

“That's good to know, considering it's gonna have to last me my whole lifetime. I swear, I will be so bummed out if it doesn't fit!”

“It should. They had us take every imaginable measurement---and a few I never would've imagined---and we took each three times to make sure. Give it a dry run while I go fetch our coffee,” he said, and left.

I took off my shorts and slid my legs into the tail until its top edge was gently hugging my waist. Unlike any of other tails we'd shopped for, the inside of this one was filled with some patented material called Vitaform, that had been sculpted to fit the legs and feet of a single wearer. It hugged me as snugly as if it was a physical part of me, and even though my feet were angled so that their toes were pointed almost straight down toward the tail's bottom they felt as at home in there as they had in my favorite fuzzy slippers. The tail's covering of realistic scales and the spongy filling made it a lot heavier than my old mermaid tail---seventeen pounds!---but the Vitaform was “balanced for bouyancy” so that when you were in the water it would neither drag you to the bottom or force you to the surface.

I looked down at myself. The tail looked even more incredible as part of me. I loved its color, its shape, its shininess, and that I finally had girl hips like I'd always wanted! I wished there was mirror on the ceiling above me but I settled for the pair of eight foot tall ones covering the bedroom closet's big sliding doors, rolling onto my side.

Seeing my reflection, I suddenly felt more beautiful than I ever had in my life! I was vamping for the mirror---elbow on the bed, side of my face resting on my palm, hair pulled down over one eye like Veronica Lake and making fishy-kisses at myself---when Greg walked in. He set our mugs on the dresser and stood alongside of me, gazing down at me with an expression of pure bliss on his face.

“So what do you think?” he asked.

“I think I'm a mermaid!” I squealed and flopped onto my back with my arms out, squirming in a way that let me feel that I had a tail now. When I stopped I lifted my head and grinned, “And I don't need to ask what you think.”

“Huh?” he asked, then noticed where I was staring. He looked down at where the front of his pajama pants was sticking out, and tried to move his man-euphemism to a position where it would be less noticeable, with limited results. “Sorry... I just find seeing you like that strangely erotic.”

“Don't be sorry. The day that doesn't happen, then you can apologize!” I laughed as I wriggled over to where I could yank his pants down to his thighs. Gazed hungrily at his beautiful cock. “And speaking of 'strangely erotic'...”

“Let's wait until we're done. Then we'll have the whole four-day weekend to do nothing but play. But I guess I should do this,” he said, pulling his pajama bottoms the rest of the way down and stepping out of them, “I'll probably get the stuff all over me and have to wash it off in the shower.”

“I can scrub it off of y-” I started to say, when I realized I wouldn't be able to do that. Not only because we wanted to wait several days for the adhesive to dry before I got my tail wet; but also because me having a tail would mean we couldn't stand alongside of each other in there. I hadn't considered this. I said, “I guess we won't be bathing together anymore. Unless we put a chair in there for me.”

“Sure we will! Why do you think I got us that new marble bathtub?”

“Oh.” I said. I hadn't really thought about why, other than that he'd been on a real renovation kick ever since I agreed to move in with him---lowering things and raising things and affixing rails to the walls in various places where someone who can't walk might need them---But this tub was more than big enough for both us. “You really do think of everything, don't you?”

“I try to,” he said. He leaned over me, inspecting me, “Well we both love the way this tail looks on, but how does it fit? Is there anywhere that it feels even a little uncomfortable?”

“Not at all. It fits like a dream!”

“But what about when you move around in it? Because once the adhesive hardens...”

“Let's see,” I said, and started rolling around on the bed. I hefted my knees up, twisting and turning every way I could think of, and it was totally comfortable everywhere the whole time.

As dense as the Vitaform was you would think it would feel stiff or awkward trying to move in it, but it was just as flexible as my old lightweight tail. Knowing I would be sitting at the computer a lot in the daytime until my man took his retirement in September I sat up on the edge of the bed, and this was fine too. By hefting and dropping the front ends of my feet in there I was able to slap my my rubbery tail fin against the hardwood floor.

I grinned, “It's all perfect.”

“And what about peeing? You should try using that tube in there to see if it works all right.”

“I should, shouldn't I?”

My penis was cradled by a little pocket in the tail's inside lining that kept it pointed downward. And there was supposed to be a duct that lead to a thumbtack sized hole in the tail's rump, which would supposedly allow me to pee sitting down. Supposedly...

I made a grabbing motion. “Hand me my coffee there, and I'll let you know in twenty minutes. You know me and coffee...”

I chugged down the whole mug like somebody dying of thirst, and fifteen minutes later had Greg carry me in and set me on the potty. The pee-tube system worked perfectly and cleanly, and probably would do so unless I tried to urinate while standing on my head. Greg nodded approvingly when he heard the faint splashing coming from beneath me. I asked him, “Is it sick of me to get this happy over the thought that from now on I'll always have to pee sitting down; or at least when I'm on land?”

“I get sexually aroused by mermaids. I'm about the last person you'd want ask for an opinion on what's sick or not,” he said, and in a more businesslike tone asked, “So is that it? Is there anything else we need to be sure of before we make this permanent?”

“Not that I can think of. I'm good to go.............. fish!”

o . 0 . O . 0 . o

Greg helped me pull the tail off and I walked the few steps back to the bedroom, again with that rush of excitement, that every second was bringing my dream closer to reality. But first we had some gloo-ing to do...

The GLOO! instruction sheet said to smear the adhesive base onto the body part to be glued, and then put the activator from the other tube onto whatever you were sticking to yourself. But because it was half my body that was being glued into this tail we would apply the activator to it first, then Gloo up my legs and hips and such and I'd slide into it.

A month ago we'd experimented with this backwards application technique. Busting the little pins off the backs of my favorite pair of stud earrings, smearing the adhesive activator on to their backs, and then waiting a half hour before putting a spot of adhesive base right where the holes in my earlobes were and pressing the earrings onto them. I now have a pair of cute little pudgy gold starfish---the perfect earrings for a mermaid---as permanently attached to me as any tattoo. So putting my tail on me the same way should work fine...

While Greg held the tail open for me I started squirting tubes of activator down into it and smearing the stuff onto its inner surface with the back of a spoon we'd Gloo'd to a selfie-stick. Down below where my pelvis would fit into it the opening split into a seperate sleeve for each leg and foot, with about an inch and a half of Vitaform between them, so both these spaces were tight and narrow, but we each had a headlamp flashlight on to help us see all the way down inside there.

“You might be using way too much of the stuff,” frowned Greg as I dumped in another tube; pretty much filling the space where my toes would go.

“Hey... the more the mermaid-er!” I quipped, and went into a giggling fit like this was the funniest joke in the world.

Which was when Greg turned on the ceiling fan and opened the sliding glass door all the way, like he was worried I was getting high from Gloo-fumes.

I worked my way up toward the opening at the top, only avoiding putting it on the bottom of the tail's little penis pouch, and the concealed buttcrack-sized zipper in its back. Greg had a steel tray with a bowl of water, dish towels and sponges on it, and kept wiping adhesive activator off my arms like an OR nurse, and once off my nose...

And when the tail's Lori-shaped cavity was thoroughly gloo'd, PHASE ONE was complete.

o . 0 . O . 0 . o

We pulled off our headlamps, and while Greg went to wash his hands I positioned myself between the parallel bars that he'd constructed out of steel pipes and elbows left over from the backyard's sprinkler system. Standing nearly level with the tops of my shoulders, these weren't here in our bedroom as some sort of kinky sexual hardware but were simply the best solution we'd been able to brainstorm for the stickiest part of this operation, and they'd be disassembled after that.

When Greg got back he kneeled in front of me and began smearing adhesive base onto me everywhere south of my waistline. Instead of using the crummy plastic spatula included in the box he just squirted some onto his palm and began applying it by hand, which seemed like it'd be quicker. He started at the sides and tops of my feet and worked upward, sliding his goopy hand up and down my ankles.

“My God, your legs are so smooth! They weren't very hairy to start with, but... wow! And you're bald here too,” he said, affectionately patting what remained of my boy bits. Which sort of surprised me. Unlike a lot of men who would love a girl like me, this was far from his favorite part of me; something we both liked to pretend wasn't there. “Did you shave it all off, or did you wax it?”

“I went ahead and had it zapped off. At the same parlor where they did my face and chest and pits. They're really good there, and quick. A few hours every day after work.”

“Electrolysis? Yeeouch!” he winced in sympathy. “And in the most sensitive places!”

I shrugged stoically. “You know what they say: Beauty is Pain.”

“But why?! No one's ever going to see any of this.”

“Because! I don't want to have hair inside my tail, growing and growing for the rest of my life! Even if no one can see it, it would just be like... ugggh! to know it's in there! I mean would you want to have a bunch of hair growing inside your body?”

“I'm a man. I probably do.”

I reached down and teased the patch of crinkly grey hair on his sternum. “Yeah, but on you it looks manly. You got all the girls swooning over your hairy internal organs!”

“Is that why they do that? I thought it was my charisma...”
.

Who knew that Gloo! could be so sensuous? We were both really enjoying the sensation of him smearing it all over my legs and ass, but I think maybe he was enjoying giving me this goopy massage more than I was...

Or at least his enjoyment was more visible. I pointed at where he was becoming erect again, “I'm glad I don't get those anymore.”

“I'm glad you don't either. But I don't think I've ever seen you with one.”

“Probably not. Dr. Jansen had me on testosterone blockers for a long time before she decided I could go on estrogen. I think she knew there was something I wasn't telling her about my dysphoria, but finally just gave in. But now I don't need those blockers,” I said, hefting up my little wiener to proudly show off my empty nut sack with the little pinkish crease running down each side.

“Those incisions healed nicely. And it really didn't hurt? Your orchamanectomy or whatever it's called?”

“Some, but it mostly just felt liberating; getting rid of something that never should of been there. And that didn't hurt near as bad as getting these done,” I said, wiggling my toes for him. They were all healed but looked pink and strange where I'd had their nails surgically removed a couple of months earlier.

Or not exactly surgically, since I had it done at a piercing and modification parlor in San Ber'doo by a man named Spider, who I thought should've spent less money on getting tattoos and more on dental care.

There had been a hastily drawn sign by front door that read: NO GLOO-HEADS! Apparently the body modification professionals resented how GLOO! was cutting into their business. But this was lucky for us, since it made them less choosy about what they would do for a customer...

“Say that again,” Spider had asked, “You want to get what done?!”

“My toenails, completely gone. The cuticles too, so they won't grow back,” I told him; and thinking he might need an explanation added: “My ol' man Yogi here has a wicked no-toenails fetish! And I think it's kinda hot too...”

“Yogi's” cheeks turned red when I said this but went along with my story. Because as embarrassing as it might be to have a no-toenails fetish it wasn't as flat out crazy as turning someone into a mermaid.

“Oh. I think I might've had someone in here with that kink before,” nodded Spider, and started numbing my toes, using a fresh-from-the-packet syringe he filled with something that might not have been quite legal for a non-physician to have. But whatever it was it did the trick. The pain didn't start until after we got back here...

“I know it was necessary, but that was rough to watch!” Greg shuddered as he smeared Gloo! up the insides of my thighs, “You were so brave; and I was the one who almost fainted!”

“I appreciated the support, but you didn't really need to come along.”

“Sure I did. I had to take you home. You couldn't walk for a week.”

“I could get around, more or less. I just couldn't wear shoes,” I said, “But thanks for taking care of me.”

“I loved doing it! It felt wonderful knowing I had you to come home to every day; like a taste of things to come,” he said and kissed me on the navel, which was conveniently located and didn't have GLOO! on it.

Knowing that I'd be quitting my job at Yoyodyne in eight weeks I used up the last of my sick leave recuperating for a full week, which he'd insisted I do here. It was a surprisingly fun little staycation, although since it was agony to have anything touch my toes I couldn't put on the fish tail (cheaper than this one, but still pretty nice) that I wore whenever I came to visit.

Mostly I read mermaid fiction online while Greg was at work, and watched the workmen finish their construction in the backyard. The little artificial hill with its mermaid grotto and a big wide waterfall that would pour continuously into the new, larger pool- a Las Vegas or Disneyland style fake lagoon with a meandering shape, which even meandered a short ways into the house here; ending in a ramp that a mermaid could wriggle up or down. It didn't have any water in it then but it did now, and I couldn't wait to go splashing into it! But waiting was exactly what I was going to have to.

“Okay, we're almost ready,” said Greg after slathering adhesive base all over my empty scrotum and dick (everywhere but right around the urethra). He went to wash his hands again, and when I lifted myself up by the parallel bars he squirted adhesive base onto a 4” paint roller and ran it across the bottoms of my feet, and PHASE TWO was done.

o . 0 . O . 0 . o

When I jacked my legs forward he opened my tail wide and quickly slid it up over them before the stuff started turning sticky. The squooshy sensation of the GLOO! on my sensitive hairless legs made me go “OOOOOOH!!”

Greg didn't stop---he couldn't---but frowned, “What's wrong?”

“No, it's nice! Like sliding into a sleeping bag full of warm cream cheese.”

“You've done that before?”

I lowered my tail so that the wide fin at the end was just touching the floor and he firmly pressed my tail's waistband against my hips all the way around, then nodded at the clock on the wall. “Two minutes...”

I had to hang here like this for two rotation of the second hand, which was easy enough with my arms locked straight, even with the seventeen pounds I'd instantly gained. I noticed a strange sensation all up and down my legs and realized the chemical reaction between the two agents was creating heat. It was a pleasant sensation for the first thirty seconds, and then not quite so pleasant; and just as I was starting to worry that the GLOO! would get too hot the interaction was complete and it quickly started cooling. By the two minute mark it didn't feel hot or cold or even sticky anymore. It didn't feel like anything...

Greg grabbed me around my midriff and held me up so I could let go of the bars and hook my arms around the back of his neck. My tail dragged a bit as he walked me awkwardly over to the bed and dropped me on it.

PHASE THREE was done. I was a mermaid!

o . 0 . O . 0 . o

“Roll over,” he ordered as he clambered onto the pristine white comforter beside me.

'Wow! I could tell he was horny earlier, but this new mermaid-me must be driving him crazy!' I thought as I rolled onto my belly.

Without a word he found the hidden zipper in my tail and peremptorily unzipped it. Was my gentle, considerate lover turning dominant all of a sudden?! I had to admit I kind of liked this new take-charge Greg!

Now he was running his index finger along the space under my tail's zipper, between it and the skin of my ass cheek. Which is not where he usually stuck his finger, but I'd never had a zipper before. New horizons in foreplay, I supposed...

I tried to spread my legs for him and discovered I couldn't. Not as if they were being constrained---which is what I would've expected---but as if my brain had sent the 'spread legs' order down my spine, but the muscles that received this order found it incomprehensible, because a mermaid tail wouldn't begin to know how to separate itself like a pair of legs do; so no part of me responded to it.

Which was baffling, and clearly impossible. I had legs in there, they should have at least tried! But since this was exactly what would've happened if I actually was a mermaid I found this suddenly and overwhelmingly thrilling, like I was that much closer to being the mythological creature I was pretending to be! I was a mermaid, in bed with my human lover, just like in all the most X-rated stories at Mer-Mania! And though I almost always prefer giving oral to being anally penetrated I totally wanted him inside me now. I was halfway panting: “Do it! Just don't grab the wrong tube!”

“Tube?” he asked as he drew the zipper over my ass shut. He sounded perplexed, “What tube?”

“For lube! Use the stuff in the end table, not the GLOO!”

Now he understood.“Oh! You thought I was going to... that I wanted-”

“Didn't you?!”

“No! I was just making sure your zipper wasn't glued shut. I mean if you don't want hair inside your tail you sure wouldn't want it filling up with poop! And checking if there were any major gaps where your tail is glued to you, so we could touch them up. I'm sorry if you misunderstood.”

“It's okay... Really, it's fine,” I said, not managing to sound at all convincing.

“Oh, Honey,” he sighed, lying down alongside me, “You know I want to make love to you. But let's give the stuff a couple of hours to finish adhering before we jostle your tail too much. They say it sticks instantly, but you know how cautious I am.”

"And it's good that you are," I nodded, “This is quite an expensive tail, so it's better safe than sorry.”

He slid his hand over the scales on my hip. “You know I would've been happy to buy it for you.”

“I know that. And you know I couldn't let you,” I said, and kissed him. I waved at the view through the bedroom's sliding glass door, that amazing waterfall out there pouring itself into the lagoon surrounded by tropical landscaping, and way off at the back end of our property those three fully grown palm trees so big they had to be installed with a crane. I said, “You're paying for aaaaall of this! So what little I could contribute, I wanted it to be for all the stuff that's 'me'...”

My electrolysis, my castration, HRT, toenail removal, the GLOO!, and this imported $5000 mermaid tail. The tail could have been a problem, until I got $5500 from selling my car...

“I know,” he said, “And I'm glad, if it helps you feel less funny about the money aspect of all this.”

“It does, a little...”

“That's good. And I'm not going to tell you that you shouldn't feel what you feel. I mean it's-” he searched for the word, “It's honorable that you don't want to be a user and a taker. I'd be a lot richer today if Marcie had felt that way...”

This statement of fact was about the most judgmental thing I'd ever heard Greg say about his ex-wife. But no matter how he attempted to minimize her faults, what I'd learned about their last years together and divorce spoke for itself. She'd done everything in her power to hurt him. To destroy this kind beautiful man. And I hated her. “Fucking bitch!”

“I guess she is,” he shrugged, “But Marcie has demons I wouldn't wish on anybody. And the twelve million she got plus the Palm Springs property hasn't made her any happier.”

I wanted to say stuff like: 'Well GOOD! Choke on it!" but I didn't want to be this spiteful around Greg. And it was this attitude he had, of pragmatic positivity or whatever that helped him bounce back from that whole awful mess, and one of the things that made me love him so much. I hoped I could become more like him over the years...

I snuggled against him as he put his arms around me. He said, “I just wish you could see that having you in my life is what makes me happy. And to be able to pay for this---our life together, you getting to be a mermaid, me getting to be a part of you getting to be a mermaid---it's the best thing in the world for me; and there's nobody in this world that I envy."

“Me too! And me neither! Well except the real mermaids, if there are any...”

He kissed my forehead. A benediction. “You're real enough for me... And you know, there was a time when nobody thought there was anything strange or wrong about a husband supporting his wife. And I guess there was a lot of bad stuff that came with that---'male privilege' and 'entitlement'---but not always.”

I turned to face him better. “Say that again!”

“Say what again?”

“Wife...”

“Wife,” he said and kissed me; “Wife,” (Smeck!) “Wife...”

“Four months?” I asked. His retirement. Our wedding date...

“Four months and a week. Saturday, September second. Not a day later,” he said. And since Greg had never made a promise he hadn't kept I knew I could depend on that.

It had occurred to me after I discovered couldn't spread my legs that I might be somehow paralyzed; perhaps some kind of toxic reaction to the supposedly non-toxic GLOO! that covered so much of my former surface area. And as I tried to spread my legs again I still felt no sensations indicating that they were trying. But I could wag my tail from side to side, and bend it in the places that corresponded with my old hips, knees, and ankles- just like I had a single large leg extending down from my pelvis. A Dufflepud.

This wasn't as good to me as having a real mermaid's tail; which I'd always figured would undulate down its whole length like a fish's body. But moving like that wasn't possible, and at least I wasn't paralyzed; which would totally suck, sitting beside our incredible pool never able to use it. I'd always loved swimming more than just about anything, and swimming in a mermaid tail even more than that!

71 hours, 23 minutes...
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He looked around for the remote, which was supposed to be on the bed's end table but seemed to be able to teleport itself to strange places when we weren't looking. “Do you want to to watch TV?”

“After,” I purred suggestively.

He raised an eyebrow, grinning. “After what?”

“You were saying earlier you didn't want to fuck me because you didn't want to disturb my tail or move it too much, right?”

“That was the only reason. Believe me, in a few hours I'm going to be pounding that sweet little fish tail like there's no tomorrow!”

“Greg!” I gasped. He never talked like this so it shocked me a little, but I couldn't deny it excited me. I said, “I'm looking forward to it. But until then, what if I didn't move much but you sat up against the headboard there, and I lie on my stomach between your legs, and uh...”

He looked, saw what relative positions this would put us in, and started scooting “Oh yes, that'll work.”

I'm trying to keep this story less than X-Rated, so I'll just say that I'm an extremely oral kind of mermaid, and Greg's a guy, so we both really enjoyed this first of many interspecies blow jobs...

o . 0 . O . 0 . o

8:37 am: As early in the day as this was, not a whole lot about the remainder of DAY ONE had much to do with me becoming a mermaid (except most of our conversations) so I'm going to fast-forward the rest of this chapter:

We found the remote, and sitting in bed watched TV shows and movies. Our tastes aren't identical, but I did love his 1960's French WWI-escaped-lunatic comedy King of Hearts, and Greg was surprised by how much he enjoyed my Spanish time travel adventure series Ministerio del Tiempo...

When our tastes diverged too much, the other of us would read something, or fool around on line. At different points we each tried to read mermaid stories at Mer-Mania, but we both discovered that this felt sort of redundant since we were in the middle of living one. I wanted to post a blog there about our day, but Greg---concerned with real life notoriety and intrusion---convinced me to just write this diary and post it later as a story...

We committed heterosexual (+ heterospecies?) sodomy...

We watched more TV, and I watched (65 hours... 64 hours... 63 hours...) the clock...

Greg zipped out and grabbed take-out from Thai Me Up, Thai Me Down; a much better Thai place than the weird gimmicky name might imply...

I used the bed pan...

We tried to go to sleep at 11:15, but wound up talking and talking, and when I woke up it was past nine.

47 HOURS to go...
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