Mermaid
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

They had almost reached the radio buoy when Nate called out that there was something in the water, off the starboard bow, maybe 200 metres distant. Skipper Greg Hanson was behind his own exacting schedule and was disinclined to investigate, until Nate called out: “I think it’s a body.”

The sound of their engine bought Anthony to life. He had been floating face up for almost 24 hours, using the buoyancy of his wet suit inflated with air from his tank before he had discarded that. He used the empty compensator to shelter his face from the sun. It was only the back of his hands that were sunburnt.

He had thought he would be found before nightfall, but after that he became increasingly worried, then desperate. Desperation had turned to anger two hours after daylight. He had cursed everything and everybody for a full hour, as the maddening thirst began to eat into him. Then came resignation. The acceptance that death was inevitable. It was just a matter of how. He almost begged for a shark attack, for his death to be quick and spectacular, with blood and guts, rather than the whimper as his organs slowly collapsed without water to sustain them.

It was in that state, floating, shaded, delirious, that he heard the sound of a diesel engine. He floundered to get off his back, and to see the approaching white hull of “Mirabelle” for the first time. Somehow he found the strength to raise an arm and to croak from his dry throat: “Over here. Over here.”

They had seen him and were soon alongside him, with the sea door open and Nate and Gordy standing ready. Nate was ready to jump in, but Gordy had a gaff at the ready, and the strength to pull Anthony aboard with it.

Sefo came with a water bottle and Antony grabbed it without a word, filling his mouth with water that seemed sweeter than fine wine.

“Easy does it,” said Nate. “Not so fast.” And as if a cue, Anthony started to cough up the sweet fresh water he had drunk. They supported him, unsteady on his feet, his flippers now lying on the deck.

“If you’ve been without water all day, drinking it like that will do you no good,” snarled Gordy, as was his way.

“All day?” Anthony sneered. “And the rest. All last night and most of yesterday as well.“ He was exaggerating a little, but they didn’t know that. Nor did they need to know. They disliked him already. All of them.

Matt was up from the engine room with Greg in the wheelhouse, watching it all. He said: “I thought it was a woman for a moment, with that long red hair. But unfortunately, it’s a dickhead.”

“The Little Mermaid,” said Greg. “That’s all we need.”

Back on the deck Anthony was sipping now, sitting on the hatch cover of the port brine tank, catching his breath under the gaze of all five others on board. Maybe he should be thanking somebody. Maybe God above? Or at the very least those who had pulled him from the sea that had almost taken him? The thought never crossed his mind.

“Who’s in charge here?” he demanded.

“That would be me,” said Greg, leaning on the rail outside the wheelhouse on the deck above.

“We need to get back to land immediately,” said Anthony curtly. “I was abandoned out here – I think on purpose.”

“No surprise that,” Matt whispered.

“A crime has been committed,” Anthony continued. “It must be reported at once. We should go back to Cairns.”

“Well listen here, Sunshine,” said Greg. “We don’t go to Cairns. We fish out of Gladstone. We’ve only just come from there. We have fresh bait and ice for a 7 day voyage and we are 2 days in. We’ll get back to dry land, but we’ll be taking the long route.”

“I demand that we head to Australia now,” said Anthony firmly.

“Five days, is all,” said Greg, even more firmly. “You can spend it in the chain locker or you can help around the boat, but we are busy. Why don’t you show him the chain locker, Gordy?”

“Sure Skip,” said the largest man aboard, grabbing Anthony by the arm, his hand almost encircling what suddenly seemed to be a pathetically inadequate bicep. He opened the fo’csle door and then the small hatch to the chamber which held the anchor chain. The space above the chain was barely large enough for Anthony. It smelt of rotten seaweed and estuarine mud. Anthony shuddered.

Back in the daylight on deck, Anthony called up to Greg: “If you don’t take me back, you could answer for this, Captain.”

“He doesn’t know when to shut up, does he?” whispered Matt.

“You had the good fortune to have been rescued by the most luxurious longliner in the Pacific, my friend,” said Greg. “If you stay aboard, and endure a few days with us, we can let you bunk down in the owner’s area. It will be like an ocean cruise. Sort him, Nate.”

Nate came forward with a smile. “You lucky bugger,” he said. The stateroom. But we best get that wetsuit off first, and take you through to the galley for something to eat. But this time, don’t scoff it. Just a little at a time.”

The living quarters were on the main deck under the wheel house, with the galley forward. There seemed to be a living area surrounded by four separate sleeping areas separated from the main area by demountable partitions. Nate could see Anthony looking at the setup as he chewed slowly on a muesli bar and drank a can of Coke.

“It’s a strange set up,” said Nate. “The boat belongs to a wealthy guy in New Caledonia. When he is on board he bunks down in the stern and these two cabins fold away to make a big living area. That leaves two crew cabins and the captain’s cabin upstairs. Five crew when we are longlining. Three crew when the owner is aboard or when we are trolling.”

The fishing terms meant nothing to Anthony, but he could see that the interior, and the deck outside, were clean and well maintained. It was most unlike the fishing boats that he had seen in Queensland ports before.

Nate helped him to remove his wetsuit. He had only speedos underneath. His skin was pasty and wrinkled from the time spent in water. He felt naked and somehow very weak. Nate had to help him down the stairs to the stern area below the main deck.

The owner’s area consisted of two cabins each with a small ensuite bathroom. It was not A deck on a cruise ship, but it was not far short of it. Clearly the area was locked off and never used, but it smelt of floral air freshener rather salty air and fish.

“Use the shower, but remember to keep it short. Fresh water is limited aboard. There are more muesli bars here. Have some, but as I said, don’t wolf them down until your stomach gets back to normal. Get some rest. We have to recover our line and get the fish in before we sit down to eat a meal. We want to get to another spot and re-set again tonight.”

Anthony showered, taking a little that he knew he should. He ate a little and drank in small amounts. And then he collapsed onto the bed, naked. It was a big king size bed, with fine sheets and perfect pillows. He fell asleep immediately.

Nate woke him what seemed to be only seconds later. He suggested that he just wear the bathrobe from the wardrobe up to the messroom. Three were already seated at the table. Anthony noticed that only the Polynesian was missing. Sefo was at the wheel with a course set to the new spot to deploy the line.

“Roast beef,” said Greg, noticing Anthony sniffing the air. “We eat fresh meat for a few days, and only fish when that runs out. It’s all Nate knows how to cook. Meat and fish. You don’t cook by any chance?”

“I do,” said Anthony, then almost immediately regretting he had said it.

“Roast meat is good,” said Matt. “A great dinner, and then cold meat for sandwiches the day after. Practical.”

“Thanks Chief,” said Nate. He was the only one on board who addressed him by that title.

As he sat down, Anthony said: “No one’s asked, but my name is Anthony.”

“No, it’s not,” said Gordy. “We’ve got a name for you. From the sea. Long red hair. Your name’s Ariel. And we have the uniform to go with it.”

Gordy produced form the seating beside him a pair of varnished coconut shells held together with palm leaf string with plastic flowers. It appeared to Anthony to be the top half of a hula dancer costume. But instead of the grass skirt Gordy had a pair of tight green yoga pants Everybody around the table laughed, but as he joined in, the laughs disappeared. He was not sharing the joke. Anthony was the joke.

“Fuck off,” he said.

“Now, Ariel,” said Greg. “Don’t be a sour and salty little mermaid. There’s no clothes for you onboard. That robe needs to go back downstairs. You are the junior onboard this boat. We decide your uniform, and this is it. You can do the cooking and cleaning. Maybe a few simple jobs. If your attitude improves maybe one of the guys will loan you something to wear? We may even cut you in on a share of the catch?”

“I don’t want your fucking stinking fish,” snarled Anthony. “Get me the hell off this boat.”

“That is the other option,” said Gordy. “You can swim for it. 100 nautical miles west of here.” He looked Anthony squarely in the eye so as to make it clear that he was completely capable of throwing him over the side. Anthony needed no more convincing of that fact.

Nate lifted the robe off his back and helped to fasten the cups onto Anthony’s chest. He pulled on the pants. Once it was done, and Greg had carved off some meat for everybody, they ate. Anthony in petulant silence, the others in raucous good spirits.

After Matt ate a little, he took his plate up to the wheelhouse to relieve Sefo.

“Oh, she had pretty tits,” said Sefo on arrival. “But hairy body is not so nice on a little mermaid.”

Agreed,” said Greg, saying to Anthony: “You need to fix that. Body hair has to go. If you don’t do it, Ariel, we will. And we’ll pull it off, not shave it off.”

Everybody was grinning. Anthony was starting to wonder if dying alone in the sea was not the better option. He felt that he had been saved only to be tormented by a bunch of inbred maritime hillbillies.

But that torment had not yet begun. Gordy was the first. He was by far the largest and strongest. After the others were back on deck and they were alone, Gordy pulled down the yoga pants and stuck his fingers in Anthony’s asshole. They were greasy from the fat of the meal he had just eaten. It was disgusting.

He went about his business without ceremony. He pushed a much weaker Anthony over the mess room table and put a heavy hairy arm across his back. He had a jar of yellow stern tube grease that he applied liberally. Anthony knew what was going to happen. He gritted his teeth. He felt a man’s penis enter him.

He cried out: “You bastard” more than once. But there was no stopping this.

He did not cry out for help. He knew already that it would not come. That all wanted a piece of him.

Before nightfall he had felt Sefo inside him, and then Nate. Sefo had the advantage of being quick, and by then he knew what to expect so was perhaps a little more relaxed, not to mention loosened by Gordy’s considerable size.

By the time that Nate worked him over, with some gentleness and soft words such as “Take it easy now - relax and it will be easier for you”, Anthony was able to understand that he could come through this. He learned to shut down.

But rape is rape. He had been violated and his masculinity forever compromised. It was a horrifying experience.

The only saving grace was the bed. He showered again to try to wash off and wash out of himself, the filth of rape. Then he slipped back between those wonderful sheets. He had to live through this. He had survived floating in the sea, now he had to survive this. He had to bear the abuses of these feral creatures, and that he could exact his revenge when they came ashore.

He was assigned the kitchen when he rose. Coffee was the priority. Keep a brew on constantly. There was a dishwasher, but pots and pans from last night to be done. There was a dry goods store, a walk-in chiller, a walk-in freezer, a pantry with exotic ingredients. The crew had limited tastes, but it was clear that the kitchen was equipped for the owner, when he was aboard.

He was back in the coconut shell bra and the green yoga pants. But the air in the cabin was warm and humid, and these clothes could function.

The crew had not had time to set the line the night before. They had steamed almost 100 nautical miles east overnight, and were setting before breakfast, with Nate preparing bait, Gordy baiting hooks and Sefo clipping the line. When they were done there was four hours drifting to let the line “soak” so the crew, except Greg at the helm, played cards on deck.

Anthony was invited to join briefly, but soon began to annoy his shipmates.

“Why is it that you are such a prick?” asked Matt. “You bring all this shit on yourself.”

“Cook us a nice dinner, pretty one,” laughed Gordy. “You know the way to a fisherman’s heart is through the belly. Prove to us that you can cook. A good cook always gets a share of the catch. Sometimes a good one. A well-fed crew makes for a happy boat. A happy boat is a productive boat.”

Anthony decided that he would try to cook well, but only because he could. There was chicken and there were vegetables and herbs, and spices and deli items. He with pleased with what he did.

This time, he was in the wheelhouse with sandwiches for Greg when the line was recovered and pulled back in with the line hauler and the reel on the foredeck. He saw tuna come aboard and he watched the crew kill each by the “iki” method – a spike to the head and a rod through the body to empty the blood. He saw them cover the best fish in protective cloth and soak them in brine before placing them in ice. He watched a live mako shark brought aboard, killed with a galling gaff, but still fighting after death on the deck as it was cut up. He saw the kingfish, and the moonfish, and the wahoo, and the mahimahi. He did not know the names, but he watched in fascination.

“Fishing is good,” said Greg to Matt. “But maybe it’s a little too good. We are getting close to our quota for the season.”

“Should we call Lee?” asked Matt. Then he looked suspiciously at Anthony. “You go downstairs, Ariel,” he said. “The menfolk have things to discuss.”

They set that night after enjoying a chicken dinner meal that only a mermaid could prepare. Sefo helped Anthony clean-up afterwards and explained some more about fishing. They would set the line with around 2,000 baited hooks and the steer back to the first hook set to start pulling in the line in the morning.

There was a good catch that following day too. Greg suggested that a mermaid onboard was good luck. Perhaps it was. After talking to Nate it appeared likely that the ice hold might be close to full, and that this might men they would be returning to port sooner

But Greg told Anthony not to prepare dinner that night. He said: “We’re going out for Chinese.”

Just as the sun was setting they came alongside another boat. It was much larger than “Mirabelle” and while it had once been white, it was streaked with rust stains and oil. The deck was cluttered with equipment and people. Many of them. Asian. Chinese was Anthony’s guess.

The Chinese boat had fenders and lines so that the boats could be closely tied to one another and a gangplank dropped to Mirabelle’s foredeck. A thickset Chinese man ambled down and greeted Greg as a brother. They communicated in a mixture of English and Chinese. The Chinese man Anthony learnd was called “Lee” and he spoke some English. Greg even knew a little Chinese.

Anthony was wearing his hula top and yoga pants. Lee could see immediately what he was, although Anthony himself was not sure what that was.

“This is Ariel”, said Greg, pointing at Anthony. “Yi ban noo ren” - It was his best effort at: ‘One half female person’.

“We find woman clothes for eating,” said Lee. “Ariel – you go with Loo.”

Anthony looked at Greg for guidance. He said: “Go aboard their boat. These people are our friends. We dine onboard their boat tonight. You can’t wear coconut tits to a banquet.”

Anthony followed the man called Loo onto the boat and below decks. He was pleasantly surprised that despite the filth the area below decks, although cramped and confusing, smelt of sweet incense and a distant odour of good cooking.

In contrast to “Mirabelle” all crew cabins had multiple small bunks, but a large cabin with only two bunks was their destination. A small elderly man sat on the lower bunk. There was a table which had a mattress on it. And Loo motioned for him to lie down. Anthony removed the coconut bra and lay face down, to await a massage.

Sure enough, the old man leapt to his feet and started to run his hands over Anthony’s back. Anthony began to think that this was an unexpected treat. But then he felt an acupuncture needle go in. First one and then another, and another.

He decided that the time had come to beat a retreat. But he found that he could not move. He could not move anything. Not his legs or his arms. He could not even turn his head. Loo and the old man pulled him from the bed onto a chair, being careful not to disturb all the pins in his back.

“I don’t like this,” said Anthony. “Please stop this. Please stop.” He was raising his voice.

“Is OK,” said Loo. “No hurting is good. No hurting for you.”

The old man inserted more needles. Some in Anthony’s face, some in his throat, one in around each nipple, and some in his groin. Then the old man appeared to be pulling something from his face, but Anthony could not see what it was. He did not like the feeling of the lack of control over his arms and legs, but otherwise the sensations were not at all unpleasant.

The old man then produced a comb and started to comb Anthony’s hair. Anthony had naturally curly red hair that always marked him out. He wore it to his shoulders, but when it was wet it was much longer. When straightened it would be longer still, but for now the only straightening was being effected by gathering it into a bun on top of Anthony’s head.

The pins in Anthony’s back were then removed and the use of his limbs returned shortly afterwards. Then other pins were removed.

Anthony was presented with a single piece undergarment, like a woman’s one-piece swimsuit with built in padding. Then he was given a dress - a long dress in red silk with very short sleeves. They helped him put it on.

He seemed to have been away for only a few minutes but when he arrived in the dining room of the Chinese boat he had been keeping them waiting for an hour. When he entered everybody at the table stood and clapped him. The entire crew of “Mirabelle” plus seven Chinese including Lee and Loo, and the little old man who was identified at Doctor Chow. It all seemed very strange. Anthony was a man sitting down to dinner on a Chinese fishing boat in the middle of the ocean, and he was in drag. He was wearing a red Chinese dress and white silk slippers.

To Anthony’s delight, there was alcohol. They all drank. Lee and Greg toasted one another, talking about their friendship and cooperation between nations, and the bounty of the sea, and the potency of Chinese liquor.

Lee asked whether Ariel could dance, or perhaps sing a little song. When prompted by Doctor Chow, Lee insisted that Ariel sing. There was a karaoke machine in the mess room and Greg selected ‘Man, I feel like a woman’. It seemed crazy, but maybe a little too much liquor allowed him to take the microphone. But when he started to sing Anthony was immediately spooked by the sound of his voice. He reached for his throat and felt that there were three needles in his neck by his voicebox. Doctor Chow was smiling and motioning for him to continue, so he did. The applause was massive, and Anthony felt strangely uplifted.

Doctor Chow was to remove the needles from his neck when Anthony left the boat, but he was allowed to wear the dress and slippers until he undressed in his cabin aboard “Mirabelle”. He found his way down the stairs despite the liquor taking effect on his slight frame. As he walked in he caught sight of a woman and stopped suddenly. He was looking in the full length mirror behind the door.

Surely it could not be him. Her face was made up and she wore bright red lipstick, the shade that had appeared on his glass over dinner. Her chin was completely smooth, and soft. Her red hair was arranged on the top of her head and seemed to be lacquered. Her eyebrows were not his. Somehow they had been plucked without him being aware of it.

The dress was beautiful. It had looked beautiful draped over Loo’s arm, but on this shapely body it was spectacular. He was suddenly aware that the garment underneath was now straining to hold in a massive erection. He had to pull up his skirt and pull the crotch band to one side to free his pole.

He sat on the bed watching the girl in the mirror panting as he pulled himself to ejaculation. It did not take much time or effort. What came out drained his balls and filled both hands. It was the best sex without a woman he had ever had. In fact, it was probably better than most sex he had with a woman. It just needed a lot more work to tidy up the mess.

There was a knock on the door. It was Loo to collect the dress. He called out for him to wait. He did not want to take it off. But he did. He checked to see that there was no semen on it, or the undergarment, or the slippers. He handed them through the door, with sadness. Loo handed back the slippers.

“For you to have,” he said. Anthony felt a tinge of genuine happiness.

He knew that there were plenty of guys who got off by dressing as women. Was he one of them now? He had never thought about it before. Now it seemed very bizarre. He put on his bathrobe and looked at his face and hair in the mirror, using a hand mirror to look at the back of his hairdo – the smooth shiny upsweep of his red hair against the soft skin.

Was it physically possible so soon after having expelled every spoonful of his ejaculate, that he was now stiffening again? It seemed as he was going from extreme pleasure to madness, just fantasising about kissing the nape of the neck in the mirror. His own neck.

He reached up and realised that the hair was pinned in place. How could a Chinese fishing boat have a red silk dress and hairpins onboard? How could Doctor Chow know how to make him look so feminine? How did he make him sing like a girl?

He held the slippers for closer inspection. They were gorgeous. That was not a word he ever used, but it was the right one. He lay back and fell asleep.

In the morning he woke and saw with pleasure that his hair was still in place. He put on his coconut bra but today he decided to wear a sarong around his waist. There was one in the drawers of the stateroom, together with a pamphlet “20 ways to wear a sarong”. He would become adept at every method.

There was something different about him that day. Anthony felt it and so did everybody else. He did not really feel like Anthony at all. He felt as if he was a different person – a nicer person. But it did not last all day.

He was on the foredeck in the afternoon and Nate was in the ice hold. He was wearing his boots and a jacked against the cold, and Anthony could see that the hold was emptier than it had been yesterday. What suddenly made sense to Anthony was that he had knew that while they had been dining there had been Chinese seamen on “Mirabelle” in the ice hold and possibly where other fish was stored. As he had come down the gangway in his silk dress, Greg was going over a data sheet with Lee. They shook hands. Perhaps he even saw money being paid?

There was now room in the ice hold for that day’s catch, and the final day too. But Anthony felt that he had information with which to threaten Greg and the crew of “Mirabelle”. The problem was, that while he was smart enough to know that, he was not smart enough to keep it to himself until he was ashore. Or perhaps his subconscious was driving him?

As land came into view, he was in the wheelhouse. He still had no clothes to wear. He wore his speedos and had the sarong tied around his chest. He had made the embarrassing discovery that the coconut bra he had been wearing for a week, just from his occasional brief times on deck, had left tan lines.

As they drew close to the dock, he spoke to Greg, who was concentrating on lining up the boat to come alongside: “How am I going to explain being missing for a week? They are going to ask you questions Greg. I think you’re going to be in trouble. Maybe even more trouble if I were to tell anybody about you selling fish to the Chinese…”.

Greg moved the gear lever to reverse and opened the throttle, throwing Anthony off balance, as the boat came to a dead stop,

“You little bitch,” snarled Greg. “Nasty and stupid too. Matt said you never knew when to shut up, and this proves it.”

As quick as a flash Greg had cable ties on Anthony’s arms and legs, and parcel tape across his mouth. He called for Gordy over the deck PA. He needed help to get the mermaid below decks and out of sight.

Draped over Gordy’s shoulder, Anthony realised his mistake, but too late. Any attempt to wriggle free from this man would be a waste of effort. His best hope lay in getting free when he was left alone. They were bound to be in port for a while, or so he thought. Then there would be time.

But he was well bound. No amount of struggle could stretch the ties. He tried to convince himself that he had been wronged – that he would not have reported anything to the authorities other than the fact that the crew of Mirabelle had found him and rescued him. There was something over his chest that could explain the tan line – he would never have said that the crew had humiliated him for 7 days. If only they knew that he could be trusted. But he knew they would not. He barely trusted himself.

The problem was that he could not break free. After spending time rolling around he was able to dislodge the gag, but after shouting for help until his throat was sore, it became apparent that nobody could hear him through the heavy decks of this vessel.

Anthony found himself crying. He had always considered himself too manly to do such a thing, even without anybody watching. But there was something about what had happened to him in the past week that seemed to have released him from the grip of masculinity. He was free to sob there on the floor, bound hand and foot.

He could not even tell how long he had been there when Greg reappeared, and with him his wife Suzy. Anthony must have been asleep when they entered. All he knew was that he was very thirsty and at the same time, bursting to piss. The ties were cut from his ankles and Greg led him to the head. Suzy pulled down his pants and sat him down.

“I can’t piss sitting down,” Anthony complained.

“From now on that is how you’ll have to do it,” said Greg.

Anthony turned to Suzy and said: “I don’t know who you are, but you are not one of these men. You have to help me. I will not say anything about what has been done to me, if you can get me out of this.”

Suzy did not respond. She turned to her husband and said: “You are right. This one cannot be trusted. You guys are in a real mess here. So if your plan won’t work you had better put him back where you found him.” She glanced back at Anthony with a brutal expression. Anthony pissed. He was in a state of shock. There was no help to be found here.

When the head was pumped Greg turned Anthony around without pulling up his pants. “Do it”, he said.

Suzy pulled unpacked two syringes from her bag and injected both of Anthony’s buttocks.

“What have you done?” asked Anthony. With his pants now lifted he turned around to face them both.

“Who are you?” she said.

He seemed relieved that she should ask. “My name is Anthony Wakowski,” he said. “I am an American tourist…”.

“No,” said Suzy. “You are Ariel. A shemale whore who has found herself a job as cook aboard a fishing boat full of randy young men. You are heading back out to sea again tomorrow once there is bait and provisions aboard. You are here by choice not by compulsion. That is our story anyway.”

“I am not a shemale. I am not gay,” protested Anthony.

“Well you soon will be,” said Suzy. “With the hormone shots I have just given you I expect that it will not take many more trips before it will be quite obvious what you are. So you had better get used to your new life.”

“You won’t get away with this any of you,” snarled Anthony.

“By the way,” said Suzy. “You are a pretty thing so I am warning you, stay away from my husband. You can enjoy the other boys but not him. Understand?” She was looking at Greg as well, so his hands were held up in an expression of innocence.

“All of you are crazy,” sulked Anthony.

“She is my size,” said Suzy. “I will get her some other suitable clothes – as feminine as I have. In the meantime, you will have to keep her out of sight until you get back to sea. In fact, every time you land you will have to keep her below decks, until we can be satisfied that she will not have you arrested.”

Anthony was beginning to understand the enormity of his problem. And he was now starting to realize that it was down to his attitude.

Sure enough, he was locked below decks until they were well out to sea with no sign of land or other boats on any horizon.

He came upstairs wearing a pink tank top with “I’m a bad girl on Fridays” written on it, and a tiny pair of floral patterned shorts.

“Go back down and put a bra on under that top,” Greg instructed. “With the inserts Suzy has provided. You are not to step out of your cabin unless you are dressed properly. Do you understand, Ariel?”

It was not as if she had any choice.

She wondered when she would be raped again. She was just hoping that it would not be Gordy first, like before. But strangely for her, this entire voyage was to pass without any sexual advance. She had decided on a new strategy and it was paying off. She was going to do her job on this boat. She was going to cook and clean, and help on deck if asked. She was going to dress as they demanded. She was not going to complain or make demands. She was going to be pleasant.

She thought: I bide my time and win some trust, and when were are in port, whether it is next time or the time after that, I will make my escape. Then they will suffer.

In fact this trip was called short after only 5 days. They caught what was called a premium fish. Greg said that yet again they had “the mermaid’s luck”. The fish was considered valuable enough to head straight home and have it urgently air-freighted to the Japanese market. And on the way home, Greg broke out a bottle of hard liquor which she also drank from.

Whether what she drank was drugged or not is still not determined, but she woke when they were at the wharf, but she was in a locked cabin. Not this time. They were back at sea for her third voyage aboard the “Mirabelle”.

Then there was a fourth voyage, and a fifth.

Well into the fifth voyage Nate approached her to ask whether she would like to have sex with him. He was so polite about it, it was almost sweet. She could have told him that she knew that anyone of them could rape her, anytime, but she did not do that. She was thrown by the request. As a man, there was only one reply, and that was to say no. But was that the right response? He would tell the others, and maybe they would all go through him as they had done of her first voyage.

She wondered if maybe she use Nate to protect her from the others.

“Nate,” she said, looking at him intently. “I don’t want anyone else. I am happy to do it if it is just you. Only you. Do you understand?”

She figured that he was the gentlest of them. She had been through the worst of it. She knew what to expect. She could bear it, if it was him. He nodded.

“Maybe shave down and was your hair with some of the special shampoo,” he said. “I will come by after sundown.”

When he had gone she wondered whether she had done the right thing. But through dinner she did not let on what was going to happen. Nate stole little glances in her direction right through the evening meal. She found herself almost blushing.

He gave her a gift that night. He had made a necklace from pink coral threaded on fine fishing line. It was a total surprise and somehow made her feel that sje had been right to open her door to this man. The necklace looked to her to be just the thing that a mermaid would wear around her neck.

As instructed she had shaved her body and washed it with scented soap. She had also washed her hair and tried to straighten it a little. She wore it down, cascading around her shoulders exposed by the skimpy pink nightie she wore. And she had taken the time to prepare her point of entry as well. She had used perfumed oil and warm water to squirt up inside herself and she had applied lubrication from among the items Suzy had provided. It was preferable to grease from the engine room.

Rather than put the necklace on she put it on the dresser, but she kissed Nate gently on the lips in gratitude. It was not a sexual thing. Just a thank you kiss. No appropriate between two men, but then men don’t give necklaces to boys wearing nighties either.

He seemed happy with that little peck at first but then she found him looking at her intently, with an almost crazed look in his eyes. Before she knew it his hands were cupping her face and his tongue was in her mouth. And her hands – where were they? Pushing him away? Clawing at his head? No. They were around his neck.

She had planned to turn her back and bend over. He could do his wicked act and she did not have to watch. But that is not the way it went down. Instead her backed her up to the bed an gently lowered her onto it. He pulled a pillow under her buttocks and looked her in the face.

Her own expression must have been amazement. Not so much amazement as to what he was doing to her, but what she was doing in response. Welcoming him. Maybe even demanding him.

This time when his penis entered her, it was not a tool to debase her, but instrument of pleasure. It was that from the moment that it first contacted her, touching her where her pussy should be before sliding down to the lubricated rosebud. It yielded readily. And as he slowly extended the full length, she gasped. It was involuntary, but still girly.

He rocked her to a climax – the first that she had ever felt as a recipient of sex. The fluid from her limp penis squirted over her belly between them. Somehow it changed everything.

When she lay beside him she tried to rationalize what had happened. She tried to convince herself that she was still a man enjoying sex in another way. After all, there were guys who shoved things up their ass to add to the thrill of having sex with a woman – it was just that no woman was involved in this act. There was just Nate. But she found herself playing with the hairs on his chest, and thinking about how different it was from her own chest – smooth and hairless and already with tiny mounds appearing around enlarged areola. He was strong and tanned, and now that her sunburn had faded, she was pale and very weak. On this boat, she needed his protection.

The following day, after the line had been set and they were gently motoring back to the radio buoy, they all had dinner together, with only one seat empty for one of them on watch. She had learned to cook skipjack tataki style, grilled on deck burning dried seaweed gathered from the buoys and line.

“Is that an extra helping for your boyfriend?” asked Gordy with a smile. “It looks like Nate won’t be sharing her around anymore.”

“She has earned her place,” said Greg. “With food like this, and the cleaning, and occasional work on deck, she has earned a share, and the right to choose who she sleeps with.”

Nate put a proprietary arm around her butt as she stood beside him. It had developed a lovely round form. He did not need to say anything. He was affirming in front of everybody that she was his woman. She felt wonderful.

The following morning, after another torrid night in the embrace of her man, when she took Greg’s coffee to him in the wheelhouse, he explained the share he had set aside.

“You have been with us for five trips,” he said. “It seems like having a mermaid onboard has brought us good luck. We have done well. You have done well. Your share of catch has been small but has increased with every trip. There is a large sum of money due to you, when you are ready to step onto land. But mermaids don’t walk on land, do they. Women do.”

It was obvious to Anthony what was being said. Somehow, she knew that if she said to Greg in that moment: “I won’t tell anybody what you did, trust me,” Greg would not. Trust him, that is. She would not trust herself if she heard those words. She just smiled. She seemed to be doing that a lot lately.

As land came into site, Greg told her to go to her room. She was ready to be confined again, but when she got there she discovered there was a parcel on the bed. “For Ariel” - She recognized Suzy’s writing from notes to Greg. She opened it.

It was a floral sundress, some underwear, a pair of sandals and a hairclip. There was also a small shoulder bag. Suzy had left instructions. Ariel wanted to put the dress on. She really wanted to. But she needed to shower first, and wash her hair.

The panties were tight and seemed a little padded in the back. She needed to tuck her penis between her legs to get them on, and in front the resulting impression was to make all maleness disappear. The bra had inserts, but by following the instructions and using the tape provided, the flabbiness on her chest was pushed into an inviting cleavage, perfect for the V neckline of the sundress. The hairclip had a large flower on it. The sandals had a small but sexy heel and were decorated with colored beads.

In the bag was some eyeliner, mascara and lipstick, a little scent, some tissues and an empty purse. She decided she might try to experiment with makeup. She was hopeless with the eyeliner, but surprising competent with the mascara and lipstick. She had seen women do this chore so many times, that it only took a few attempts to get it good enough.

She spent quite a while in front of the mirror, twirling her skirts and pouting at her reflection, practising walking around her cabin, and sitting down while tucking her dress beneath her.

The bump of the boat berthing almost knocked her off her feet. They had arrived. The door would be locked. She tried the handle. And it opened.

She paused for a moment to check her look. Apart for the mascara and lipstick she wore no makeup, but her had cared for her skin and her face looked great. She realized that she had a natural beauty. She looked better as a woman than she ever had as a man. No wonder Nate found her attractive. She felt confident. Again, this was not how she had ever felt before this all happened.

She stepped outside.

Sefo was stowing the tails of the mooring lines, but the rest were lined up – Greg, Gordy, Matt and Nate. In front of them were a set of steps up to the bulwark so that she could delicately disembark. They were all smiling. She decided that she would hold her head up and exit in style. The breeze was warm and blew her hair, held off her face by the floral clip. She knew that she looked good. She walked accordingly.

Before she mounted the steps Greg thrust forward an envelope. He said: “This is just a small part of what you are due, but why don’t you treat yourself.”

“Thank you, Skipper,” she said.

On the quayside she felt a little unsteady. Was it the heels? Or was she just getting her land legs? After all, she had been on a boat for almost 2 months without setting foot on land. Luckily Nate was there beside her, to put an arm around her. They walked hand in hand through the port gates and into the town.

“Do you feel like lunch, Babe?” asked Nate.

But Ariel was looking at the salon two doors down from the restaurant. She said: “You know, I feel like getting my hair done, and my nails too.” It was true.

As they walked a little further she saw the Police Station. She stopped. For a moment she wondered what was going on in her head. She had just the briefest vision of a pretty young woman in a gorgeous sundress, her wonderful head hair about her shoulders, blundering up to the counter and shouting: “I am an American tourist, and I am a man, and I have been kidnapped and raped by local fishermen, and …”. And what?

“Have your hair done, Babe, and then we’ll have lunch, if you like,” said Nate. “But to me you look pretty damn good as you are. I just want to make love to you again right now.”

Make love. Yes. That is what it was. That is what they had been doing these last few days. Just the thought of it made all other thoughts flee from her mind.

The End

© Maryanne Peters 2019