Seafaring

By Gregor Daniels

Ever since a childhood boating accident that almost took his life, Gary has been afraid of the water. His girlfriend, Heidi, couldn't be more the opposite. She loves to swim. But what's supposed to be a pleasant outing to a private cove only arouses those same nightmares: the freezing cold, the darkness, and nearly drowning.

However, when a mudslide sends their car off the road and into the Atlantic Ocean, Gary is forced to act in order to save his girlfriend's life. Only after he's carried her ashore does he realize that something is off: his legs have been replaced by a golden tail, there's hair in his eyes, and parts of him are jiggling that shouldn't be! With his new shape-shifting ability, Gary will discover that the sea is full of life, color, and adventure—with Heidi sharing in the pleasures.

Unfortunately, not everyone takes kindly to the sudden upsurge in Maine's mermaid population.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gregor Daniels
• Release date: Apr 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215016800

Gregor Daniels

Gregor Daniels is an erotica author that specializes in gender swap and erotic transformation fetishes. New stories are typically released weekly and feature a variety of themes. Have you ever had fantasies to be a girl? Then look no further ...Contact the author directly on Twitter to discuss stories, share your favorite ideas and fantasies, scenes, and characters, or to just talk about nothing in particular.

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Contents

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Copyright © 2019 Gregor Daniels

All rights reserved.

Only ADULTS beyond this point.

All characters are consenting adults at least eighteen years old.

This story includes: male-to-female mermaid transformation, female/mermaid romance, and underwater fun.

Prologue

I’ve never been a fan of the ocean.

My mother used to tell me that salt water ran in her veins, and that she was a better swimmer than any of those pretend fish on the Olympics team. I remember asking her why she wasn’t in Sydney trying to win one of those big gold coins; she told me that her natural talent shouldn’t be wasted for feats of spectacle in some worldwide competition, and people would ask too many questions about an unknown waitress from Maine. I never understood that.

Dad’s the same way—he swears he has gills under his thick, leathery neck. The locals used to call him the God of Cod. He had his own boat and operated solely ever since he was sixteen, but I guess something changed in him around the time he fell in love with my mother. They don’t talk about it much, even though there are some days when Dad still smells like he’s been out on the water with a net full of fish.

Me? I can’t even swim.

Dad took me out on the water when I was eight years old, just off the coast of Yellow Head. A squall blew in without warning, and the waves knocked me overboard. After that, it’s all kind of hazy. Mom and Dad say they both jumped in and saved me, but I also remember being underwater for several minutes, way longer than I should have been able to hold my breath.

Ever since, it’s been my number-one fear: the ocean. I still have nightmares about it. And every time I’ve tried to learn how to swim, I panic and see nothing but the darkness, that murky abyss. That place that nearly became my watery grave.

Human beings don’t have fins and scales. They shouldn’t be going into the water.

1

Gary, don’t be a scaredy-cat! It’s just water. How can someone from Maine be afraid of water?

Water’s dangerous, I told Heidi, my girlfriend, on our way down the rocky path that led to the cove. Ever since she had gotten her hair dyed red and curled, I couldn’t see her as anyone but Princess Merida from Brave. She even had three little brothers. No bows and arrows, though. More adults die from drowning each year than drug addictions.

She waited up for me and took my hand, and then petted it softly. "Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe if anything happens. Especially if some evil little sea turtle comes to nibble on your foot."

Actually, jellyfish are more—

"Gary, you and your stats are really ruining the vibe."

That summer afternoon was warm and sunny, and although my milk-white skin could use some baking in the rays, a suntan could be had without touching the water, which Heidi seemed wholly intent on. She had busted out her new yellow bikini for the occasion, and with me in my not-so-attention-grabbing swim trunks, we were on our way to splash around in Swan Cove. Although one would assume frequent swan sightings may have led to the name, there was actually great debate over its origin. My favorite was the story of a guy—possibly high school age, possibly college age, possibly drunk, possibly just plain stupid—taking a swan dive off the rocks some forty years ago and snapping his neck in the shallow end. Thus the nameless inlet of water became Swan Cove.

Every time I’d come here it was empty, and today was no different. It wasn’t a tourist attraction waiting for the big boom or anything; the cove was about the size of a gymnasium in all, with a thin strip of beach just wide enough to stretch out on, if you didn’t mind the high risk of rocks hidden in the sand stabbing you in the back. There was a ten-foot-high cliff face on the north perimeter (the infamous diving spot of debatable truth), trees on the south, and open ocean stretching out toward the eastern horizon.

It was beautiful.

Except, you know, the water.

When we reached the bottom of the