Looking back as an adult, it is clear to me now that I never really had a normal childhood. A person could argue that it was normal on the surface, but there are elements here and there that I can't ignore, that set me down along a path that was anything but mainstream. I'm not really sure I know what "normal" is anymore, and I don't envy those that do.

There were so many little things that I never noticed as a kid, but it wasn't until I was in high school that I began to realize that I was different, that my life would be different. When I say different, I mean different than anyone else that I knew, even my parents. I'm not like they were. At least I think so. I won't ever know for sure.

It was the summer and we were in Shell's Cove. My parents, who were well off, owned a house down on the beach, about a mile from our neighbors on either side. Shell's Cove was a smallish island, big enough for tourists but small enough that it didn't have a boardwalk. Most people who came here were either older tourists looking for a quiet place on the beach to sun or former islanders who were visiting family. My parents were the latter, except that there was no one left alive but us. My grandparents had died years ago, and both my mom and dad were only children.

Still, we came to visit every year. We always stayed at least a month, or I did anyway. One of my parents, usually my dad, would go back home to carry on with work after about a week while the other stayed behind in our vacation house with me. It never occurred to me that our family was in a minority that was able to do this. I always thought everyone went away during the summer for long periods of time.

I'd had a love-hate relationship with the island for along as I could remember. I love the beach and the water, and would spend hours digging in the sand and collecting shells. There weren't any kids around then, but I didn't care and simply amused myself with imaginary friends and scenarios. I even enjoyed watching the sea when it was storming out, the darkness and the brewing, churning ocean. It got to the point where I was secretly angry that I couldn't breathe under water; there was so much to explore and my stupid human lungs wouldn't let me do anything fun.

But that was during the day. At night, I hated being there. It wasn't just that I was a kid and hated sleeping in general; I hated sleeping in Shell's Cove. It was the only place in the entire world that I ever dreamed. I didn't like dreaming. The images I saw weren't frightening, but they were vivid, too realistic. I would wake up confused, as if believing that what I had seen had actually happened. My parents would comfort me in the morning and try to explain the images away. I stopped telling them about the dreams after a while. Even as a kid, I knew they didn't understand.

One year was different though. It was the summer after my first year of high school and I was itchy. Itchy to get away, itchy to be alone, itchy to be somewhere safe. I had spent my freshman year out of place, unable to relate to the kids around me. A part of that is normal teenager stuff; all teens go through an awkward phase where they don't feel comfortable in their own skin. Everything changes so fast and your immature brain is struggling to keep up with your rapidly maturing body.

I wasn't like other teens though. My parents and teachers didn't understand. They would laugh and say it was hormones, that my shyness and aversion to the other kids was normal, that eventually I'd come to terms with what they called "my budding sexuality".

Except that I wasn't "budding" or anywhere close to it. My body wasn't… craving like other teenager's bodies do, especially boys like me. Teenage boys are notorious for not being able to control their hands and urges. I'm told that the need to touch and be touched, even by your own hands can become overwhelming. I never went through that, not like the other boys in my school anyway.

It left me feeling isolated. I felt like I was being constantly judged for being different. There was little to no outright teasing, but I was avoided instead of simply ignored. It might have been all in my paranoid teenager brain, but I was constantly uncomfortable. It wasn't just at school either. That feeling followed me everywhere I went.

Shell Cove was a welcome break from my problems and school, even if the dreams were there. The island was my safe place where I knew exactly what to expect.

I had one of the dreams the first night I was there. They always begin the same; me walking down the beach, drawn to the dark water of the ocean. It's always pitch black except for any small amount of natural light given off by the moon, and anything coming from the artificial lights of the small town further towards the center of the island. The water is churning around me, pulling me in deeper with its rhythm. It's hypnotic, especially while I'm dreaming.

Then they come. The hands. Touching me everywhere. It's not exactly sexual, more like they are inspecting me, and I'm frozen, unable to do anything but let them. After a few moments, they usually start smearing something on me, on every inch of my skin. Sometimes one of the hands would dip their fingers into my mouth, urging me to lick whatever it is off. The taste of it is the only thing I can never remember when I wake up. When they are done, I'm covered head to toe in the stuff; it almost feels like chunky mud but it's too dark to tell for sure. All I know is that there isn't an inch of my skin that is bare.

That night was different. I wait for their inspection to end and the smearing to begin, but it doesn't come. Instead, one of the hands brushes against my lower belly, finding a small indent there. I've always had it, but I had always assumed it was a scar of some sort.

When the fingers first found the indent, I bit back a groan. There's a pause and then a thumb rubs over it, more purposeful, testing. I couldn't help but cry out that time; my body was jerking all over with sensations that I had never ever felt before. I wanted it to go on but I also wanted it to stop, eager and afraid at the same time. More hands were drifting towards my abdomen and the thumb was still rubbing, trying to delve deeper.

Eventually, I think I stopped breathing. I don't know. The last thing I remember is lifting my head to the sky, watching the barely visible clouds overhead. I felt like I was opening…

The next day, I was so restless that I couldn't stay in one spot. Dad had recently bought me a bike so I took the time to ride it all over the island. Three times. It's like I had too much energy and there was nothing that got rid of it all.

I was coming back to get something to eat when my life really changed forever. That was when first I saw him.

He was in the water near my parent's house, staring off into the distance. A kid about my age, maybe a year older, standing motionless in the water. His side was too me; he didn't move as I approached from further down the beach.

At first, I was furious. This was private property. This side of the island was off limits to tourists and everyone knew it. The islanders and their small police force were extremely strict in enforcing this, something I never thought was out of the ordinary.

As I came towards him, I started yelling. It wasn't just that this was private property, it was my own little sanctuary of beach. He was an unknown, a stranger, and I didn't want to be anywhere near anyone right now, let alone someone my own age.

He turned at the sound of my voice, staring at me now. As I got closer, the unconcerned expression on his face made me even angrier. I threw my bike on the sand and stomped into the surf, intent on making him leave anyway I could. Not that I would have been able to physically; he was bigger and taller than me, something that would never change.

My voice eventually died in my throat as I got close enough to get a really good look at him. I was still angry but I was also distracted; he was simply beautiful. Olive skin, long handsome face. Lean, muscular body. The kind of guy that could go shirtless all the time and not a single person would complain. The messy mop of dark curls on his head only made him look more intriguing, wild and untamed and as we got closer to each other, I realized that his eyes were the palest green-blue that I had ever seen.

At some point, I had stopped walking, staring at him, but he had closed the gap, coming my way instead. He never acknowledged my harsh words to him, never said a word at all, only looked me over like he was inspecting me. Up and down.

All of sudden, I felt like I did during the dream. Hot and slightly sweaty. His eyes left my body and locked onto my face, tracing my jawline and my hairline. He lifted a hand and ran a finger lightly over my chin, my lips, brushing my own wind-swept hair out of my eyes.

I should have stopped him; I didn't know this kid! But I guess my hormones were catching up to me. I wanted him to come even closer as much as I wanted to run away. Not a muscle or bone in my body could move, not even when he leaned in and kissed me.

It was my first kiss and it was honestly sloppy. Looking back on it, it was obvious that neither of us had any clue what we were doing. He was just as inexperienced as me, acting on pure instinct. I couldn't have cared less; I was on fire and swept away by the sensations running through me. For the first time, I understood what raging hormones and "budding sexuality" meant. It had never occurred to me that I was gay, but kissing him felt so right, so normal.

I don't know how long we kissed for, hours? Minutes? He started getting bolder, his hands leaving my face and trailing down my chest. They settled on my hips, dipping beneath my trunks and stroking the skin there before taking a gentle grip and pulling me to him. I went eagerly, wanting to be closer, locking my arms around his body. I desperately wished that I didn't have a shirt on so our skin could touch.

It was when our bodies were pressed together that I realized that not only was he bare-chested, but also wearing nothing below the water either.

I pushed against his chest, laughing a little as our bodies broke apart. He was completely naked! What kind of kid was this, skinny dipping in the middle of the day? No wonder he had wandered onto private beach; you couldn't get away with that shit on one of the tourist beaches! It was kinda weird, but also kinda hot at the same time. It was the dumbest thing, but I was finally a horny teenaged boy and wasn't thinking rationally.

As I pushed him away to ask him what the hell he was about (jokingly of course because there was no way I wanted this to stop), I looked into his face and saw someone else staring back at me. It was the same kid, but it wasn't at the same time. His face was the same shape but the pupils of his pale eyes were inhuman. There were dark scaly patches of skin under his hairline. I didn't get a good look other than that. Not that day anyway.

No, I screamed and ran. I left him, left the water, left my bike on the beach. Ran into the house and slammed the door behind me.

I stayed in the house until my parents got home. Threw up in front of the door once it was shut. Put the TV on so that I wouldn't have to think about what had just happened. Cleaned up the vomit hours later, then got sick again as I was doing it. Cleaned that up too.

When they got home, I told them about him. Not the kissing part. Not the inhuman part. Just that there had been a stranger skinny dipping on our private beach. They both looked outside but by then there was no trace of him. Only my bike halfway down the sand. They brushed it off and told me that if he came back, they would call the cops. I was too numb by then to care about their nonchalance.

The few weeks was one of the worst periods of my life. During the day, I was a complicated wreck, just as antsy as before, but now I was sick and afraid, yet dead to the world. The ocean that I loved so much became a hated and ever present entity. I was on an island, surrounded by it. He was in it somewhere. My safe zone had been shattered.

By night, I was still dreaming, but now they were only filled with him and his hands. I was still in the midnight water, but it was him now touching me, not the mysterious hands. I let him explore my body in ways that I had never fantasized about before, and he let me do the same to him, almost encouraging me learn him everywhere. Some nights, he was human and some he was the inhuman thing that had frightened me, but in my dreams, I wasn't afraid. We never did anything more than heavy petting but it was enough.

I would wake up every morning so aroused that I could barely stand it. The first thing I would do was finish myself off as quickly as I could, still feeling the ghosts of his kisses on my lips, everywhere on my skin. Afterwards, I would go back to feeling horrified and anxious. I avoided my parents like the plague, not that they noticed. They were used to me disappearing when we vacationed here.

Near the end of it, I started getting aroused when I thought about going to bed too. Sleeping meant dreaming, and he was always there waiting for me when I dreamt. I started jacking off before I went to bed, trying to curb my sexual desires before they started. It never worked. It only made me feel empty and even more desperate in my dreams.

Sometimes I would catch glimpses of him in the water out of the corner of my eye but when I turned to look, there was nothing there. I was seeing things now. And that made me even more afraid. I wanted him to be there because I wanted confirmation that I hadn't just made him up, but I didn't want to see him at all either.

Finally, my parents left a note that they were going to a nearby city for a date at a casino. That meant that I had the house to myself for the night, maybe even until morning. Until then, they had been an unaware barrier between me and the kid that I was dreaming about having mind-blowing oral with every night. I couldn't go looking for him; what if they saw? And if I found him, I couldn't have any sort of sex with him; what if they caught us?

Now they were gone and my hormone driven curiosity got the better of me. There was a frustrating need in me all the time now, and a gnawing emptiness. I wanted him. And I wanted more than just oral. It didn't matter that I didn't even know his name.

I waited until evening, sitting on our back porch for most of the day, looking out over the water. He didn't appear, but I didn't expect him to. My body was still giving off negative vibes, no matter how horny I was feeling and he would have been stupid to interpret the look on my face as anything close to "come hither".

Finally though, I gave up and walked off the porch and down the beach, stripping as I went. Scary monster from the deep or not, I had been won over. I wanted him too badly. All I could do now was hope that he was still around and that he wouldn't eat me after. I had no idea what to expect.

That thought almost turned me back, but he suddenly appeared, staring at me meters away with his head halfway submerged. He was close enough that I could read his eyes and they were just as needy as I felt, but also sad. He knew that he had frightened me.

I closed the gap between us quickly, awkwardly wading through the water with my human legs. He met me halfway, lifting more of his beautiful human-like body into view. At first he was startled when I grabbed his face and pressed it to mine, obviously unsure, but then he was kissing me as if we had never been interrupted the first time.

When I pulled away for air, he was less human than before, but instead of running, I looked him over. His upper body was definitely mostly human looking, except for his eyes and the soot color scales on his scalp and down his back. His spine was raised but not spikey, just more pronounced. I couldn't see what was below his waist in the water. All I knew was that it had more scales. Was he some kind of merfolk?

He panted heavily as my eyes roamed every muscle, every scale. My reaction the last time we were doing this had obviously affected him and he was forcing himself to let me get used to what had to be his normal appearance. But in the end, he was just a kid like me, and couldn't help but reach out and touch, stroking one of my hips and running his fingers over my belly, just above my groin.

As his fingers touched my indent, the emptiness inside me came back and ate its way through my body. I needed him. Inside me. Oh god, not only was I gay, but I was totally a bottom.

I didn't care. And I was done just looking.

My mouth found his again, briefly, but then I was kissing his cheeks, his neck, making a trail down his chest just like I had in the dreams. I expected him to taste like the ocean but there was some other taste that I couldn't identify. I wanted more of it. I wanted it all over me.

His fingers buried themselves in my hair as my tongue licked one of his nipples. My own hands were worshiping the hard muscles of his six pack and began drifting lower, wanting to touch him everywhere. To my surprise, he didn't have a cock like me, but he did have an indent of his own.

I didn't get a chance to do anything about it though. As soon as my fingers touched there, he yanked me up and kissed me harder than ever, pulling me against him. I kissed him back eagerly. So empty.

Soon, I found myself on my back on the beach, staring up into his feverish eyes. His dipped his head down to my neck, my own nipples, biting and sucking any skin he could reach. I lifted myself up onto my elbows and finally got a good look at his lower body. I was right about him being merfolk, but his tail was long and eel-like rather than fluked. It thrashed in the surf, curling and unfolding wildly over and over as if he couldn't control himself. I looked back at his upper half just in time to see him engulf my cock with his mouth.

My back hit the sand again and then arched as the pleasure took me over. I couldn't stop the noises coming out of me or my hands from taking a firm grip on his hair. Every bob of his head and inward suck of his mouth wrenched more crazed reaction from me than the one before it. This was better than anything I had dreamt. If he stopped now, I was sure I would die.

But he did stop, right before I was about to come. Instead of finishing me, he crawled back over me, pressing lengths of our bodies together. I think I started begging, arching up again to offer myself to him. My cock was pressed between us and I desperately started rubbing it against his belly, trying to create friction.

He pulled away slightly and began tracing my torso with one of his hands. I looked in between our bodies, trying to find a new spot to rub against and saw that his own abdomen was swollen slightly. Right at the spot where I had found his indent, I saw the skin bulge, and as I watched, start to part. An oval of shiny pink flesh appeared, hinting at something trying to break the surface.

His fingers brushed against my own indent again and my gaze wavered between that oval of flesh and his hand. He began stroking my crease and suddenly one of the tips of his fingers burrowed in. I arched again as I felt my indent open. I had never—it was just a scar! Right? There had been no—nothing between—

My mind stopped working properly after that. His finger sank further into me and he brought his head down to kiss me. I clung to his mouth and my arms lay useless beside my head. I couldn't do anything but let him do what he was doing, turned on to the point where I was completely mindless and defenseless. His finger felt amazing inside of me.

Finally, he pulled his hands away and pressed the bulge of his lower torso against my own, raising the upper half of his body on outstretched arms. His eyes fluttered, and I could feel him opening my indent again, this time with his own cock, growing from the pink oval I had seen earlier. He looked down between us and I looked with him, seeing a tiny sliver of the pink flesh that joined our bodies. The rest of it was inside me, pulsing and filling me in a way I had never expected. The edges of my indent spasmed around him, trying to close, but that only pulled him deeper into me until we were almost sealed together.

One of his hands gripped my hips again, preventing me from moving. He undulated slowly above me, not properly thrusting, but his tail was still thrashing, giving my own cock below the friction it wanted. In a few moments, I finally hit the orgasm I had been craving, stiffening as it washed over me. He shifted his body inside me again and another hit me, catching me by surprise.

He never really thrusted like I expected he would, but his eyes were rolled up into his head, and his body was definitely working towards something. He panted above me, his abdomen flexing and his cock twitching inside me, growing hotter and hotter.

Finally, I felt something happening. He began to swell even bigger, stretching me to proportions I didn't know I had. Something big was making its way out of him, stretching us both as it traveled. We were stuck there for a few minutes as he tried to push it out and into my body. He moaned desperately, trying to press even deeper inside.

Some instinct took me over and I purposefully flexed my own muscles around him, gripping and pulling. He gasped and the thing he had been trying pass finally broke free of him into my belly. He deflated and pressed our hips together even firmer. I could feel him spurting liquid now but I could also feel the new lump inside of me. I reach down and touched my belly, finding it. Whatever it was, it was about the size of a golf ball and it made my skin stick out like I had a cist or something. Above, he looked tired and relieved, a small smile on his face as he watched. His hands joined mine, tenderly touching the lump before reaching lower.

I don't know how many times we had sex that night. He never entered me again, but he pleasured me with his mouth and hands until I was ready to pass out from exhaustion. Sometime during the night, I realized that although I was orgasming like crazy, nothing was actually coming out of me, not even the first time. I was too sex crazed by then to give it much thought, content instead to pass the time in the arms of the sexy mer beside me.

In the morning, I woke up in my room, still tired but hungry. My body was slightly sore but also intensely satisfied. My parents weren't home and must have shacked up in a hotel, but I couldn't bring myself to care. Instead, still naked, I made my way to the backdoor and looked out over the ocean. There was no sign of him, but I hadn't expected to see him really. Something told me that he wouldn't be back for a while.

One of my hands found its way to my belly, cupping the new curve. I couldn't feel the lump anymore, but I had a little potbelly now, swelling out just above my groin. My indent was sealed again, not letting any of the evidence of my first bout with sexual intercourse escape. Whatever was in there was going to stay in there. At least for now.

I was a stupid teenager, hormone driven and budding sexually, but I was also kind of book smart. Stepping away from the door, I put on some clothes, grabbed my tablet, and walked back into the kitchen to find something to eat. After setting a pot of water on the stove to heat up for my mac'n'cheese, I googled "seahorses" until my parents came home.

I don't know how I knew that I was pregnant. By all accounts, it should have never crossed my mind at all. As far as I knew, I was one hundred percent male. So was the other father of the life now residing inside of me. Until we'd had sex, I hadn't even known the indent in my belly could even open, let alone stretch enough for a penis. My body had accepted him so easily; didn't it hurt for girls the first time? It hadn't hurt for me, or maybe I had just been too turned on to notice.

I was oddly accepting of the whole thing. It should have freaked me out, but it didn't. On the contrary, it felt completely natural, completely right. Something inside me had been fulfilled and it was an incredibly soothing feeling, leaving me unabashedly carefree.

In the first few days after our encounter, I lounged around, mostly in my own room, content to do nothing. All the nervous energy that had been building up inside of me was gone, leaving me feeling lazy and quietly happy. For the first time in my life, I felt almost entirely comfortable in my own skin, especially at night, right before I fell asleep. My eyes would start drifting closed and I would wrap my arms around my body, cradling the small and fragile life Cy had put inside of me. I had stopped dreaming and my nights were peaceful.

I'm not entirely sure exactly when I started calling the father of my children "Cy". It's short for Cyan, the color that his eyes most resemble, but I always called him just Cy. He's never given me his actual name (in fact he's never actually spoken to me at all) but it's not really human nature to keep calling something you care about just "him" or "it". So I named him, and it's stuck with me forever.

After the first few days of bliss, I finally started contemplating my predicament. I didn't regret what we had done or the consequences, but there were some problems here. I had no idea what exactly Cy had put in me. I didn't know how many Cy had put in me. I didn't know how long it or they were going to be in there, how big I would get before they came out. I was fairly certain that what was in me was like Cy, not human but merfolk, but was I going to give birth to eggs or live young? What would happen to them once they were out? Did I raise them? Did Cy? I was completely in the dark. All I knew was that losing whatever was in there would probably break my heart.

That brought me to my biggest problem; keeping it from my parents. I didn't know how they would react and I didn't want to find out. My apprehension about that only became worse when I realized that I was growing bigger and faster than I knew I should. My potbelly doubled in size in about a week, already making my growing belly impossible to hide in summer clothes. I bulged out in everything, looking like an overweight kid with a t-shirt on. I couldn't count on that as an excuse for even a few days though. Not if I had grown that much in only a week.

In the end, I didn't have to worry about my parents. My dad went back home for work and Mom found herself occupied with some local sewing club. If I had been older, I might have found that suspicious, but as silly and as keen to be alone as I was, this came as a welcome relief. I barely saw her, and when I did, she either didn't notice my changing body or I did a better job at covering my tracks than I thought.

All the alone time went to my head a little. After this first week, I started getting bolder, not bothering with clothes at all eventually and strutting around the house naked. I skinny dipped for long hours in the water. We had a hot tub and I spent time in there too, basking in the heat as if the air itself wasn't already sweltering. I didn't mind. It felt so good, especially after being in the ocean.

When it got too dark to swim, I would wander about the house, munching on whatever we had in the kitchen and taking it easy in general. There was really nothing else I wanted to do but enjoy the feeling of the life that Cy had put inside me growing. And I was growing! I put inches that should have taken weeks on in mere days, soon outgrowing my own t-shirts. I quietly stole whatever my dad had left behind, hoping that my mom wouldn't notice. I was sure she would, especially once I outgrew those too.

I got my first clue as to what was inside me ten days into my pregnancy. I was on the back porch lying on one of the lawn chairs, naked but wrapped in a blanket. The night was so still and I was enjoying it, dozing here and there. My stomach gurgled and I wrapped my arms around my middle, basking in the feeling of being full. I was stuffed with food and offspring, fattened up like a prized heifer and loving every second, at least on that night.

My stomach gurgled again, but this time there was no sound erupting from my belly. I ran my hands over my stomach, trying to settle whatever was going on in there. The skin beneath my hands slid slightly, gliding over the hard dome of my swollen and still growing womb. For a moment, my fingers lingered on my sunken belly button and the crease just above my groin where Cy had entered and impregnated me, but eventually they travelled back above to stroke the sides of my abdomen some more.

Something shifted inside me again and that was when I realized that I wasn't feeling my stomach digesting my dinner. I held my breath as I waited for whatever was in my womb to move again, but it never came. Still, I knew what I had felt. I didn't have eggs inside of me; I would give birth to live young, just as if I were a normally pregnant girl. The movements didn't tell me anything about how many were actually in there, but there was one mystery that had been solved for me.

After that, everything about me began to increase even faster. Not only did my pregnancy progress, but my appetite became almost out of control. I don't know how my mom kept up with my food intake, but the fridge never seemed to be empty. There were always veggies and fish—ugh, so much fish, which is what I began craving the most. One time, she splurged on fresh oysters and I was in heaven for a day.

By the end of my first fifteen days, my dad's t-shirts were stretched tight over my distended torso. I wasn't wearing clothes all that often, but it would have been nice to have something that fit me in case of an emergency. Even our big beach towels were having trouble covering all of me, and I avoided my mom even more carefully than ever.

I became increasingly more possessive of my alone time, silently wishing Mom was gone to the point where I hated the mere vibrations she gave off in the house. I hated that her presence made me feel like hiding. When she was gone, I could finally be myself, naked and on display for no one but myself and the ocean.

And maybe Cy. I always imagined that he was watching me from some secret spot in the water. I'd stand on the back porch or just behind the back door, rubbing my belly, hoping that he could see how much I'd grown. That I was taking good care of the life he had entrusted to me. At least I hoped I was. It was my first pregnancy.

As I grew, the movements coming from inside of me also got stronger and stronger. A slight shifting became a slow wriggling, which then became harder wriggling. Days passed and I was feeling punches and flips as the limits of my womb were tested. One day, I woke up to find my belly was lopsided, a huge lump protruding on the left of my belly button. My baby had fallen asleep at an awkward angle, stretching my skin out with his butt. After a few minutes of gentle jostling, he finally shifted position in me, letting my belly resume its normal shape.

After that day I was convinced that there was only one, very big baby inside of me. At the most, twins, but I was pretty sure there was only one, and that it was a male like both of his fathers. I was getting good at telling the difference between the jabs and pokes; I knew where his tail was, his arms, his head. I knew when he had the hiccups and I knew when I had successfully lulled him to sleep. He was so adorable, even hidden in my body. I loved coaxing him into following the movements of my hands and I loved the way his gentle shifting at night made me feel so content.

In a nutshell, I was loving being pregnant with him.

Twenty days in, and I looked like I was due any moment. I was so huge that there was no way anyone would think that I was just simply fat, even as a guy. My gut was just too big, too perfectly round. My belly button was threatening to pop out, so shallow that when I laughed or my baby moved in a specific way, it protruded for a split second before sinking back in. I probably could have gotten away with blaming my appearence on a stomach tumor or something, but the baby wouldn't even allow me to have that. His movements were too strong and distorted my belly too easily.

I took to waddling around the house, something that never failed to lull him to sleep. Even though I was carrying somewhat high, my center of gravity was affecting the way I walked, arching my back and thrusting my belly far out in front of me. Sometimes I felt like it was leading me everywhere, rather than me guiding it in front of me. I couldn't help but feel proud that I was so huge though. A big baby meant a healthy baby, right?

I thought that I was done by then, but even more days passed. My belly button gave in to the pressure beneath it and stuck out like a tiny thimble on the apex of my belly, silently telling the whole world that what was in my oven was done cooking. I put on a few more inches after that, and I started getting really worried. There was no way I could keep getting bigger and avoiding my mom. Once she saw me like this, she was going to freak out, and I was almost worried that she'd do something to the baby. I didn't know what I would do. I couldn't let her take me to a hospital or anything.

I needed to stay here. By the sea and Cy.

Thirty two days pregnant and I woke up to find that my belly had drastically changed overnight. As I lurched up out of bed, I was no longer spherical, but oval shaped, my belly lower than when I had gone to sleep and jutting out from my frame like a rather large watermelon. In my time alone in my house, I had done some research and knew that my belly had dropped, the baby permanently head down to prepare for birth. It couldn't be long now.

The next two days, my belly was strangely still. I was feeling waves of pressure, but no real pain or contractions. The baby inside me was quiet, wriggling gently if I coaxed him, but otherwise didn't move. Something was going on underneath my belly but I was too huge now to feel around to check what was going on. The best I could do was park myself in front of the mirror, lifting up my heavy belly as much as I could and peering down at my groin. The opening to my womb, the indent, was slightly swollen, the crease reddish. Instinct told me that it was opening or already open, ready for me to give birth.

I spent the second day pacing and anxious. I was still in no pain, but my heart wouldn't stop racing. Adreneline was pumping through me and I couldn't stop touching myself, rubbing my swollen abdomen up and down as if that would relieve my nerves. I kept expecting my mom to walk through the front door. I didn't want her to. It would be the worst thing ever if she did. A million scenarios were running through my head, and my brain couldn't be calmed.

I ended up at the backdoor, looking out over the darkening ocean and rubbing the skin just below my navel. The baby jerked inside me and I grunted, grimacing as my too full belly tightened up even further. My entrance felt funny and tingly, and I realized that I was finally all the way open. Moisture seeped out of me and down one of my legs, and I knew that it was time.

The birth was not as I expected. There was lots of pressure and burning as my entrance stretched around the baby's body, but there were never any real contractions. As soon as my body lowered itself into the water, Cy appeared, giving me a slow, gentle kiss, and rubbing the swell housing our child. The ocean's rhythm seemed to goad my body on as I labored, pushing our son out of my body. My hands were on the sides of my belly, spreading my entrance wide and Cy's fingers spread me even further, gently coaxing the baby out. Finally, his body broke free and I felt him wriggle out into the water.

I never got a chance to see him. Cy did, following his movements under the water and then dove after him, leaving me alone. I waited for a long time before realizing that neither of them were coming back.

We left Shell's Cove a few days later.

My life in my home town improved in many ways. The whole experience had somehow made me accept the fact that I was different, and it must have showed because I also no longer felt like I was being watched or judged. I didn't really have any friends still, no one who wanted to hang out away from school, but I found that people were less hesitant to make small talk with me during class. My grades even improved. Overall, I felt less awkward and a whole lot more calm than a few months ago.

But I also felt intensely sad. I missed the ocean. When my summer tan faded, it was like all evidence of my experience had disappeared with it. The opening to my womb was a little bit longer than before, the indent deeper and more pronounced, but it was sealed again, looking to all the world like the old surgery scar I had always believed it was.

Contributing to my sadness was also the fact that I wasn't as sexually awakened as I thought I was. I went back to being a strictly asexual teenager, except that it no longer made me anxious. Sure, there were hot guys and cute girls at my school, but though my mind acknowledged that they were attractive, my body just didn't seem to care. Not even thinking about my brief time with Cy made me any shade of horny. Well, not a lot anyway. It should have been frustrating, but all it did was make me even sadder.

Despite the sadness and my longing for the ocean, my life in general was a lot easier than I ever remembered it being. I couldn't seem to worry about anything that was going on, not even my schoolwork. I wasn't slacking but I wasn't stressing anymore either. Worrying required a certain amount of caring and investment, but nothing I cared about existed here, despite the fact that this was where I had grown up. No, all I cared about was all on a small island about a two hour drive and a fifteen minute boat ride off the coast.

I remember the school year passing by pretty quickly. May came and my parents were talking about going back to the Shell's Cove, just like they did every year. For the first time in months, I felt antsy. I couldn't wait to be rid of school so I could go back. My dad mentioned something about not going but my mom shut that idea down before I could even say anything. Apparently, I wasn't the only one wanting to get away from the city, even if her reasons were different from mine.

In the end, Mom and I went on our own, but we were both excited about it anyway. She told me that she couldn't wait to be by the ocean, even if she never even put a toe in it. During the whole car ride there, she gushed about her plans with her little sewing club and all the things she wanted to do with her island friends. Seeing her so happy made me happy too.

My plans were far simpler than hers; I planned to spend as much time in the water as possible. If there was another mer out there looking for a human to get pregnant, I would happily accommodate him. If not, the least I could do was cultivate a killer tan. Maybe this year I'd actually find out if there were people my age about, make some friends.

As we got close, Mom turned off the AC and rolled down the window. For the first time in almost ten months, I smelled the salty wind coming off the sea. It filled my lungs and all of a sudden, I felt fully awake, like I had been asleep for a long time. The longing I had felt all year for the ocean melted away. I was here. I was home.

That thought startled me. This wasn't really my home. But in a way, it was. We had been coming here since I was a baby. One of my parents actually grew up in the beach house we owned. During the summer, I spent more time here than back in the city. This place meant just as much to me as my actual house did, and that sentiment was growing stronger, especially after what had happened the year before.

My mom and I spent the day settling in, unable to talk about anything but how glad we were to be back. We unpacked, went out to buy groceries, and then went swimming. I caught her staring at me once or twice, but all she would say was that she was both proud and sad to see how I was growing up. That I had been a cute baby and was becoming a handsome adult. I told her that all parents think their babies are cute; she laughed but didn't bring it up again.

We ate breakfast together the next morning, but she soon left to go catch up with her friends, leaving me all alone for the rest of the day. A part of me was sad not to spend more time with her, but I forgot almost as soon as I stepped in the ocean again. There was a sandbar a few meters out, and I swam out to it, settling myself down on the sand. The water lapped gently around my waist and I leaned back a little, staring out over the vast horizon.

I remember thinking to myself that I hoped I'd have the opportunity to get pregnant again, but with who was the question. Cy couldn't be the only mer who lived around here; there had to be more of his kind about that I hadn't seen. He was the only one that I'd ever been with (human or otherwise), but what if another approached me? Just thinking about it almost felt like I was cheating on him or something.

What if another mer did approach me, and I got pregnant, and then Cy came only to find out that I'd been knocked up already? What if I never saw Cy again? What if I kept coming back here, kept getting pregnant, but all by different merfolk, never seeing the same partner twice? What I never got pregnant again?

I was so deep in thought that when I felt my cheek being kissed, I nearly jumped clear out of the water. Cy back away from me, clearly shaken by my reaction, but I only laughed quietly and reached for him, silently telling him that I was not afraid. He came closer and when our lips meant, the most profound relief washed over me. No, I didn't really want anyone but him. Maybe someday but for now I couldn't imagine anyone more perfect.

We didn't do anything that day but make out. A lot. I think he was honestly just as relieved to see me as I was to see him. We also spent time splashing around in the water, wrestling a little bit. I learned that I could see underwater a lot more clearly than I suspect most people do. I had never tried opening my eyes in the ocean without goggles before. Now I would probably never use them again.

Mom came home in the evening and I went inside, blowing him a kiss and silently telling him that I'd be back tomorrow. He disappeared from sight as soon as I shut the door behind me, sinking beneath the waves. If Mom had seen him, she didn't mention it. I had been careful to leave as soon as I saw her car coming down the road, but there was a chance she could have seen us as she drove in. It seemed that my secret interspecies romance was safe for now.

Nothing major went down between us went down for days except for a repeat of the first day, but by the end of the week, I was pregnant again and blissfully happy to be so. The only thing different was that I was a repeat offender and better at budgeting my time and hiding the evidence of my boyfriend's existence.

I couldn't help but think of Cy as my boyfriend. This time, he came to visit me at least once a week, curiously inspecting my belly and wordlessly marveling at my growth. I couldn't help but laugh at his expression when he first felt the baby move. He was there when I gave birth again, and came to visit me a few days after, just in time to say goodbye. I cried that time, not wanting to leave, but he sadly urged me out of the water, knowing that my summer was over and that I had to go.

I saw him again the next year, and the year after that. And I gave him a set of twins for returning to me every year as a reward. By then, there was no doubt in my mind that I would never be satisfied with anyone else as a partner, even if I did manage to find someone that I was sexually attracted to. Besides, there was no one on Earth who could be sexier than my Cy, and no human would ever be able to give me babies.

Not everything was rosy and perfect though. The way my life was, we couldn't be together all the time. And my fourth pregnancy made that painfully obvious.

It started out just like the previous three, and it was shaping up to be like my first two—my third, with the twins, had been so obviously different early on from the crazy growth I experienced that I knew I was only pregnant with one this time. Cy and I had the whole summer ahead of us to be together before I figured out what I was doing in the fall. I had been accepted to some colleges, but I hadn't made any decisions as to where I wanted to go.

But fate had other plans for me. Mom and Dad both got called back to the city, and my dad put his foot down when I asked to stay in Shell's Cove. In fact, he got so angry when I suggested it that I didn't even bother trying to argue or butter up my mom. Instead, I went to my room, packed my things, and slowly started to panic.

What was I going to do? I was four days pregnant, and I had never been off the island when I was carrying before. It was the first time I regretted not telling them about Cy but I had been so sure that they wouldn't understand if I explained. I didn't want them to freak out or hurt me, my baby, or my boyfriend. I didn't want this to be the big deal that it was. I was a barely legal adult male, pregnant with my fifth child, one that was fathered by another man who happened to belong to a species of mythical merfolk; how could they ever accept that as readily as I had? I'm still not sure how I hadn't freaked out myself.

I tried to keep myself calm. Anxiety and stress were bad for the baby. But the further we got from Shell's Cove, the more panicked I felt. I had tried to communicate to Cy what was going on, but I knew that he hadn't really understood the reason I was so upset. He would know soon, especially when he realized that I was gone.

That only made it worse. I was leaving him sooner than I should, and I was taking our baby with me. I didn't know what I was going to do about the birth. I needed the water; the baby wouldn't survive in the air. At least I didn't think so. Everything was an unknown now. And I wasn't looking forward to adapting.

The entire pregnancy, I was a wreck. I constantly felt clammy and nauseous. My appetite suffered but I made myself eat and tried not to throw it all up after. The baby took all the nourishment I gave it, not because it was any different from the others, but because I wasn't eating enough for the both of us. I lost weight, which I knew was unhealthy. My skin looked pale. I don't know how my parents didn't cart me off to the nearest hospital.

The worst was my mental health though. Every tiny noise, movement, that I wasn't expecting I saw as a threat. I spent more time in my room, curled up protectively around my belly and my child than I did doing anything else. I was a recluse, even for me. For the first time ever, the home I grew up in felt like an enemy den and I was surrounded on all sides by people and things that could kill me and the baby.

I had been smart enough to buy a Playstation the first night I got back home, using it as an excuse to stay in my room but the games I bought sat unused next to it. I only turned it on to watch a movie or two, if I felt like I needed a distraction from my unhealthy thoughts. I tried to tell myself over and over that I was okay, but a car would backfire outside or a bird would fly by the window and my nerves would be shot all over again.

Although I was growing at a normal rate, this baby was quieter than the others, going for days without moving at all. It only made my nerves even worse. There were times when I was sure that I had lost him, only to feel him suddenly shift position, leaving me chronically unsure about his health. There was no one I could ask for advice. I had never needed to ask for advice before. I didn't even have Cy to comfort me.

I did manage to execute a plan to escape though. Five days before my due date, I convinced my mom that I had been invited by a school acquaintance to look at one of the campuses of a college that we both had applied to. She was surprised, but she offered me the car, which I declined. I ordered a rental and three days later, I was on my way.

Even the ride was hell. As soon as I realized that my plan had worked, my belly dropped, earlier than it should have. The days crawled until I could leave, and my body only got worse, definitely showing signs of labor. It was too early. A couple of days early was nothing for a human pregnancy, but my baby wasn't human. With a gestation period as short as a month, I was truly afraid that a couple days would translate to weeks of development. I was also worried that I shouldn't be behind the wheel of the car, but I had no other choice. I needed to get back to the island and there was no one else to drive me.

My water broke sometime during the night before I was supposed to leave, and I struggled with the instincts to push as I left the house. Sitting in the car trying to drive on the highway while also trying not to give birth was my worst case scenario come true. My entire abdomen was wracked with pain as I struggled not to lose the baby. If I gave birth anywhere but the ocean, he would die and I couldn't allow that, even if my own life was the price.

That thought put me into some sort of paternal autopilot. I became a Super Dad or something. I endured the rest of the car ride and the ferry ride to Shell's Cove with a determination that I had never felt about anything.

When I finally got to the house and into the water, the actual birth took less than five minutes. The swiftness of it was the only reason why I didn't pass out from the pain; I literally had no time to dwell on it. He was out of me in a flash and my insides were left empty but on fire.

I don't remember anything else about the rest of the night except that I had crawled my way up the beach and to the house. I passed out in my bed, curled up in a ball over the covers. For the first time in years, I dreamed, and I finally understood what people meant by nightmares. I saw indescribable things, horrible and frightening. Images that I didn't really remember when I woke up but still made me afraid to sleep for days afterwards.

The last nightmare ended in a scratching noise that actually woke me up out of it. The sun was shining; it was morning. As soon as I lifted my head, I vomited all over the bed. I heard the scratching noise again and realized that it was real, coming from somewhere outside of my room.

I tried to get up, but my whole torso was sore and my head spun. I felt feverish. Looking down, I saw a huge bruise spread all around my lower belly. The entrance to my womb was puckered and red, surrounded by dried blood. The bedspread below me was red too.

The scratching was persistent, urging me to move. I finally did, swaying on my feet, but still managing to remember to throw a towel over my bare body. The scratching needed to stop. I needed it to stop.

I made my way through the house, following the noise. It led me to the backdoor and when I lifted my head to look through it, I saw Cy standing there, one of his hands scratching the glass. My foggy mind barely registered that I had never seen him this far out of the water before. He looked so human, standing on two legs, but that was as far as I got. I opened the door and my balance failed, sending me off my feet.

He must have caught me. When I came back around, I was on the beach, halfway in the water. His hands were on my belly, gently working. I wanted to stop him, but then the pain started to turn into a cool, soothing feeling before finally turning numb. He was smearing something on me, just like the hands had in those long ago dreams, but I was too weak to watch him.

When he was done, he stretched by my side, placing gentle kisses on my forehead, my neck, my chest; not sexual gestures but comforting ones. My breath started to speed up and all of a sudden, I was sobbing uncontrollably, letting go of all the emotions I had been holding in for the past month. I was feeling so many things at once that I couldn't control my body for a minute or so.

Cy gathered me up carefully, pulling me against his chest. As his scent surrounded me, something I can only describe as smelling like a mixture between ocean, seaweed, and himself, a deep breath left my lungs, abruptly ending my wailing. I laid my head on his shoulder, letting him cradle me. The surf foamed around us intermittently, his tail curled over my legs, and I slept again, this time peacefully.

My fever went away quickly and whatever Cy was using on my belly was helping me heal. Once I was able to, I looked myself over and found that the quick birth had torn my opening. I couldn't see what was what on the inside; I could only hope that the bruising had also been caused by my tearing and not an injury to my womb.

I ended up staying for a whole week. We had left some food in the house, mostly cans of soup and pasta, but it was enough. I ate small frequent meals and slept for most of each day, usually outside on the porch where Cy could see me and keep an eye on me. I felt better knowing he was watching, safer. The amount of time he spent with me—I hoped the baby was okay. I still didn't know if he was actually raising them himself. I hoped not because he hardly left my sight while I was there, certainly not enough time to take care of a newborn. I didn't want to think about the fact that there might not be a newborn for him to take care of.

The week ended and I made myself leave. There was nothing more in the world that I absolutely did not want to do, but I knew that I couldn't stay any longer. This time, he was the one visibly upset that I was going, but there was nothing either one of us could do. I was still pale and obviously not well, but I felt okay enough to drive home. I made it back without incident, but felt like something in me was missing. That pregnancy changed me almost as much as my first meeting and mating with Cy had. I knew that I would never ever let something like that happen to me again, and I would never let anyone keep me away from him again.

That was the last time I ever thought of Cy as just my boyfriend. He was my husband, my partner, my mate. I was in it for keeps.

I kept to my routine of sleeping a lot and eating small, mild meals. My bruises slowly faded away and my opening sealed, although it stayed pinkish red for a long time. As I lay in my bed, I thought about my future and what I wanted to do.

I wanted to live in Shell's Cove. All the time. It was the only way I could ensure that I would never have to choose between Cy and my human life again. That sort of thing took a lot of money though, and that meant a job, which in this day and age, meant education. If we were both human, this would be easier, but Cy was not human and had never been able to understand me when I did actually speak to him. I didn't think I could convince him to wait, even if I could even convey the idea to him.

Unless I could find a job there. The town was so small though, and I had no skills to recommend me. Even finding a job there was no guarantee that I could afford to stay there permanently.

Eventually I decided to talk to my mom. I spent days imagining what I wanted to say, how I wanted to say it. I still wasn't ready to share Cy with her, but I could share my general goals for my future. I knew that she knew that I loved the island as much as she did. My plan was just to let her think that I had no underlying motive for living there except that I loved it.

The day I finally worked up enough nerve to talk to her, I came home after a long walk to find my parents in the midst of a shouting match. They were deep enough in the house that I couldn't make out a lot of the words, even pressed up against the door. After a few minutes of listening though, I did manage to catch bits like "nineteen" and "college" and realized they were talking about me. At least I thought they were until I heard a word that sounded like "died". At that point, I decided I didn't want to know what exactly they were arguing about. Instead, I extended my walk another half an hour or so.

I delayed my plans for another week. I was scared that I'd find out that one of my parents had done something terrible or was sick or something along those lines. My parents weren't the type to argue much at all, so whatever it had been about had been important. It probably had nothing to do with me at all; I knew my dad was a little frustrated that I wasn't making any decisions (that he knew about anyway) regarding my future, but if that was why they were fighting then I would have been the target of his anger, not my mom.

As afraid as I was, my future with Cy was more important to me than whatever was going on with my parents. So I asked my mom if she could give me some advice.

Our talk started out innocent enough, talking about high school and college and my lack of interest in any specific career. I didn't have to lie about anything; I didn't know what I wanted to do. I didn't tell her anything she hadn't already guessed, but she had decided to let me come to her instead of confronting me. After a half hour or so, she asked me if I had ever considered taking a year off.

I was completely taken by surprise. It wasn't that I hadn't considered it, but I hadn't thought my parents would go for it. My dad was the sort to believe that those kinds of plans were just putting things off and that it was better just to either do the thing or not, in this case, go to college or don't.

Her reasons were that she thought that I needed some time to grow up, be on my own. I couldn't do that under my parents' thumbs, and doing it in a college dorm was a waste of money if I ultimately didn't know what I wanted to do. I pointed out that getting an apartment could be just as expensive, but she reminded me that any college that had dorms would probably have a yearly tuition higher than a year's worth of rent.

Then she told me that it didn't matter, because we had a perfectly good vacation house that I could live in for free while I decided what I wanted to do.

I couldn't believe it! She had beaten me to the punch and had no idea that she had done so. Without missing a beat, she went on, telling me that she had taken a year off to wander around Europe, but she thought that I would prefer to be a little closer to home.

It was hard not to cry, I was so happy. Keeping calm and pretending that I had never considered living in Shell's Cove was the second hardest thing I had ever had to do (the hardest being my traumatic birth about a month before). We talked more about what my living there would entail, whether or not I would need a job, how long I could stay there.

In the end, my mom left most of it in my hands. She told me that working was up to me; she hadn't worked much in Europe except when she had run out of money, which would not be a problem for me. I mentioned something about Dad having his say, but she assured me that I didn't have to worry about him.

Her tone was dark and ominous; I didn't want to ask her if they were getting a divorce or that she had murdered him, but maybe they had been fighting about me after all. She didn't elaborate, only kissed me on the head and asked me to help her make a decision about dinner.

After, I pondered everything, putting bits and pieces together, and thought that maybe my parents did know something about what I had been up to the past four summers. I was convinced by then that my mother did, if not my dad too. Why had they not said anything to me?

Maybe I had heard the word "died" when they had been arguing. If I was right, did that mean she had known what a terrible pregnancy I had gone through? That I had been so close to losing the baby? Was that why she had accepted my story about visiting a college campus so readily, almost seeming relieved? I had thought she was just happy to hear that I had friends to visit; it had never crossed my mind that she had been given an excuse to send me away from the house so that I could escape to the island and give birth.

I wanted to be angry with her for letting me fret and suffer, but confronting her on it and potentially giving away something she didn't actually know stopped me. Instead, I took her offer and made new plans, ones to move into the beach house. Maybe it was her way of trying to make it up to me, I don't know. I wasn't spiteful enough to refuse on principle; I would just learn to forgive her in my new home.

A month later, and I was carrying in boxes and bags of my stuff. Mom helped me move in and stayed a few days to help me get things turned back on, like my internet and heat. Then she was gone and I began my first year of officially living by myself. As thrilled as I was to be here, it hit me that I had no idea what I wanted to do other than just "live my life". I was suddenly confronted with the fact that I didn't really know what that meant.

Well that was why I was here right? To find myself? Other than to find a way to stay with my merfolk mate forever.

I waited for a few days, but I didn't see Cy at all. It was still warm enough to go swimming, but he never appeared when I did. I tried not to be concerned; up until now, we had only been together during the summer. He probably had no idea that I was even here.

Instead, I took it upon myself to explore the town. As a kid, I had been all over it with my parents, but had never really taken an interest in any of it. I knew where things were, but I didn't know the people who ran the buildings or lived in them. Now that I was on my own and not dependent on my parents for making most of my daily decisions, I realized just how far in my own head I had always been, even before I met Cy and became focused on having babies.

My social skills also surprised me. When I didn't want to cook, I went out to eat and was soon establishing a regular eating out routine. People started recognizing me around town, and made an effort to learn my name once they realized that I was no longer just another tourist. I found myself getting along easily with most people, and anyone who was not friendly was at least politely uninterested rather than actually hostile. I met my neighbors. I had forgotten that I had neighbors.

That didn't mean that I didn't spend a lot of time at home, waiting patiently on the beach. In a few weeks, it paid off; Cy appeared suddenly one day, looking confused but happy to see me. It was getting too cold to do much swimming by then, but I waded in to meet him, giving him a relieved kiss and wrapping my arms around him. We stayed like that for a few minutes, just enjoying the presence of each other.

Days passed and I could tell that he was expecting me to leave at any moment. I enjoyed proving him wrong, returning to find him on my beach at the end of the day, waiting to see if I would show up. We would spend the evening watching the sun go down. I taught him how to hold my hand and he kept me from shivering too much in the water.

Our sexual activity was almost nonexistent though. He didn't try to mate with me and even our kissing was chaste and more for affection. As the days got colder, we would usually end up using the hot tub to spend time together in the evenings, cuddling together in the bubbles. I didn't resent our lack of sexual play though; I honestly wasn't missing it. I guess we had a season, and that was summer. Once the weather got warmer, then we could be all over each other. Right now, I was just going to enjoy the snuggling.

When I wasn't with Cy or in the house, I was continuing to get to know the town and the island in general. There weren't many people my age about, but that was largely due to school, college or high school. I didn't feel ready to be around them anyway, finding more interesting company in the older adults.

The more time I spent with them, the more I was convinced that my mother knew just what I had been up to. A lot of people knew her, had grown up with her. Our family had lived here for generations, they told me. There would always be someone from our family living here, they insisted.

The townsfolk told me stories, not just about her but about the town itself. How old it was. The legends surrounding it. Wild folk tales about settlers and the British. There were a couple about mermaids, but every island town had a story about sailors being seduced by mermaids. Didn't they?

No one ever said anything directly to me, but I was slowly getting the picture. My mom knew about my relationship with the merfolk because she'd grown up knowing that they lived nearby. I wondered how many other families had boys or even girls who had been taken by merfolk like Cy. I never asked but the idea that I was surrounded by people potentially willing to accept me was comforting. I just wished that my mother had let me in on the secret. I wish that I had trusted her enough to give her a reason to.

Although I did eventually learn to forgive my mom, I never got a chance to tell her. I saw her infrequently over the winter and the spring; she'd come to visit for a few weekends but I chickened out from actually talking to her about my future on the island. We skyped often. I talked to my dad too, although he was too busy with work to come and visit. They seemed happy, even though it was obvious that they missed me. That is how I remember them now.

In May, I got a call from one of my dad's friends that my parents had passed away in a car accident the night before. A drunk driver had caused a massive pileup on the highway that he was swerving all over and ended up killing five people, two of which were my mom and dad. I was devastated, and returned to the city for the first time since last fall to settle my parent's estate.

I left in such a hurry that I never got a chance to prepare Cy for my departure. It was the second (and last) time I left the island while pregnant; we'd mated again only two days ago, and as I drove away, I realized that he would probably be beside himself with worry. It was too late to turn back though; I could only hope that he'd forgive me when I got back home.

Our family lawyer, the friend who had given me the news in the first place, helped me get everything settled. He had opened up his law practice with my father right out of college and we both decided it would be best if I gave him full control of the company. I was never planning on going into law (even before I met Cy), so my father never expected me to take his place.

My mother's estate revealed to me that she had been keeping more secrets from me than I ever guessed. She was the successful author of a couple of popular children's books, which I did know, and I could probably live a comfortable, modest life off the royalties from her sales alone. What I didn't know was that she owned half the real estate and commercial land in Shell's Cove, her family acting as a silent landlord for generations.

I was floored. Neither of my parent's had ever hinted about any of this to me. None of the townsfolk had either. It meant that even if the loss of my father's company's income made me significantly poorer than I was used to, my future on the island was now secure. As long as I was careful with budgeting, I wouldn't even have to work.

The news made me feel secure, but it didn't change the fact that I missed my parents. Their final gift to me had literally cost them their lives. To this day, I wasn't sure if it was worth it. I'd give anything to spend just one more day with them.

Within a week, I was back in my home on the island. I had my parents buried in Shell's Cove with the rest of our family. I was surprised at how many of my dad's relatives were actually from the island too; all the islanders talked about my mom's family, but never his. It didn't matter though—I was the only one left now.

Cy was understandably frustrated and worried when I got back. He remembered the last time I had left while pregnant and was upset that I hadn't let him know that I was leaving. I accepted his anger without reacting except to press myself to him. His body was a strong pillar against mine and I needed something to lean on. He held me, confused, but I didn't know how to make him understand.

I stayed sad for the rest of the pregnancy, not enough to stress myself out, but it was the first time that I wasn't absolutely ecstatic to be with child. He could tell that I was not myself, but didn't know how to make me happy. There wasn't anything he could do; my parents were dead and they weren't coming back. I needed time.

My sadness lifted a little once the baby was born. Both the pregnancy and the birth had been completely normal, aside from my mood and the fact that it had been the earliest time of year that I had ever gotten pregnant. The water had been almost too cold to give birth in but the baby and I made it through.

By August I was pregnant again, and my life from then on after settled into a routine.

My summers were taken up with hiding from the tourists and carrying my mate's babies. I gave birth twice a year, at the beginning and end of the summers. My colder seasons were spent doing more human things, spending time with my neighbors and friends. I learned to fish and picked up other hobbies over the years to keep myself busy.

None of the townsfolk ever came out and said that they knew I was the mate of one of the merfolk and I never said anything either. No one ever brought up the fact that I basically disappeared in the summer. At one point, I thought maybe they assumed that I vacationed somewhere else in the summer, but one or two of the older wives would show up at my door while I was pregnant, offering me some sort of casserole or other dish, claiming that they couldn't see a grown man like myself cooking anything good. There was no way that all of them missed the fact that my body looked different from how they saw me other times a year, but nothing was ever brought up. I was part of the island secret and everyone was intent on keeping it.

Years passed and one summer, Cy and I conceived twins again. This time, it was obvious because he actually passed two eggs to me instead of his usual single. We were both surprised, but I was prepared. I had been through a twin pregnancy before.

This pregnancy was different though. A week into it and I was the same size as the night we had mated. My belly hadn't grown any smaller or larger, but I was still afraid that I had lost the babies. I knew multiple pregnancies were more risky than singles, but my body was different and so were my offspring. I had given birth to so many children already—to lose two now…

The only thing that kept my hopes up was that Cy did not seem concerned. He would only stroke my belly lovingly, even though it was obvious that I had not grown at all. My mate knew something that I didn't, but he couldn't tell me. The only thing he would communicate was that there were two.

Weeks passed and my body finally began to swell out like it should. I indeed was pregnant, but I was growing so slowly. It was almost like being pregnant in the normal human way, but I didn't understand how that was possible.

When the babies began to move in my womb, I got my answer. As they got stronger and stronger, just like every pregnancy, I could tell the difference in their movements and habits. Neither of my unborn babies had tails, but had little feet that kicked and dribbled on my insides. Maybe that was why they were growing so slowly, because they were more human and less fish that my other children so far.

In the end, I was pregnant for about five months, both longer and shorter than I was expecting. Because they were human, I gave birth to them in the house. They were smaller than any of my other children, so they were easier to birth, but I didn't want to have them in the ocean. They came in the middle of the night, making their entrance quick and relatively easy.

One time, I had asked some of the older townsfolk about my grandparents. They told me stories about my mother's father, how great a sailor he was, how much he loved the ocean. I asked them about my grandmother but all they would say was that they had never met her.

That night, looking at my newborn human children, I knew the truth. I was like my grandfather, married to the merfolk. My mother had been like my newborn daughter, conceived from the union between him and his mate. Even with their bodies pink and wrinkly as newborns are, I could tell that my new son was also like me and would one day have a merfolk mate of his own.

It's years later now and I'm standing in my favorite spot, just behind the backdoor of my home, looking out over the sea. Behind me, my daughter is playing with her dolls, happy to be away from her energetic brother. Outside, Cy stands with his back to me in the ocean, silently standing guard over the two children playing nearby.

My son is splashing around with his playmate, a little mer-child with ginger hair and a mischievous smile. He is not one of mine and Cy's, a stranger's child and unrelated. When I thought my son was old enough, I had introduced him to his father, intent on not making the mistake my mother had made so many years ago in keeping me in the dark about my heritage. A few weeks later, Cy had brought this new child to our beach, urging them to play, and now they are fast friends. My son calls him "Ember" because his hair looks like a campfire.

Although I have been mostly alone in the raising of my two human children, I can see that my mate was wise enough to understand my design. This boy, this Ember, is intended for our son, to have babies with and continue our family's ancient tradition. They will grow up together and accept each other more easily than I had accepted Cy. That is my hope, at least.

I feel little arms around what is left of my waist, and look down to see my little daughter staring back at me. She looks so much like her grandmother, but her coloring is more like her father's; black hair and a darker complexion than my own. She smiles shyly and buries her face against the side of my swollen abdomen. My latest baby wriggles against her cheek, too weak for her to feel.

Laughing and groaning at the same time, I haul her up onto my hip and then carry her into the kitchen to make us both something to eat. Behind me, my mate minds her twin brother, keeping him safe. All of us are content and happy.