Sea Nympho (Underwater Neighbours)

3. In Which His Inexperience Is Obvious

I can tell that Tony isn’t used to this s**t.

I can tell, because he looks around in amazement at things that are completely ordinary. Such as the trivision we saw earlier. And the red convertible that is driving down the road with its top down.

“Have you ever seen a car like that, mi amor?” he asks me, gesturing towards it with his chin.

“Yes,” I tell him. “It’s called a convertible.”

“Oh,” he mutters. I was so tired yesterday that I just fell asleep in my bed, rather than to go back to Astra. Tony stayed with me. “I must say, life above water seems... interesting.” 

Macbeth has always been my favourite Shakespeare, at least from the ones I’ve read. I would have bought the tickets no matter what, even if I had no plans of going to the play, but this is too good an opportunity to pass up. 

Apparently, Tony has never heard of Shakespeare. 

“Tell me, mi amor,” he says as we cross the road, “do you prefer life above water?” he asks me. 

“No, I like it just as much as life under water,” I tell him, “it’s just... there’s more to do up here, you know?” 

“Yeah,” he responds, “a lot more.” 

I went out and bought him some shoes this morning, along with some more clothes. The look of curiosity on his face as he put them on tells me that he’s never worn shoes before. He looks good in the outfit, though: a black, leather belt, with blue jeans and a grey t-shirt with a mandala design on the front. The shoes he’s wearing are black Adidas with white stripes, and he is also wearing black socks. I showed him how to spray antiperspirant on his feet before putting on his socks to prevent them from smelling badly later. I’m in a strapless black dress and sandals, and I don’t miss the looks of admiration that I’m getting from both women, and men. I’m used to it, though. 

We join the line outside of the auditorium, behind an old couple, who are probably in their fifties or sixties. The lady’s perfume is sweet, and because of my enhanced sense of smell, I know that she’s probably aroused. She has p***y juice in her panties. Fresh p***y juice. I look down at their hands; they’re holding each other’s hands, but the man is rubbing his middle finger into her palm. I have a flashback of Tony doing that to me at the presentation, and I immediately feel myself becoming wet as a result. 

You’re remembering the presentation, aren’t you, mi amor?” he asks in my head. No one can hear him but me now. 

“Yes,” I respond, before gulping. He grasps my hand, and begins doing the same thing. It’s torturous, standing there, waiting for the line to move, while he does this s**t to me, but finally, we are let in. 

Our tickets are numbered, and we are led to a place in the middle of the auditorium. We sit, and I can clearly see that he’s excited. A lot of this is new to him, and the human world seems to fascinate him. I will admit, it also fascinated me when I first decided to find out more about it. I remember, having to ask my mother to make a swimsuit for me out of kelp so that I could go into the town and get some clothes. I was 16. I sigh deeply, thinking of where my mother is now. 

In an underwater asylum. 

“Are you alright, mi amor?” he asks me. 

“Yes, I’m fine,” I lie. 

He doesn’t get an opportunity to say anything else, because just then, the play starts, grabbing his attention. 

The special effects in the play are out of this world. The smoke, the way that the witches disappear after talking to Macbeth, it’s all stunning. It’s almost like magic, but I know that it isn’t. One of the things that I like most about the human race, is that they are so resourceful, despite, for the most part, having no control over magic. All they have is their science. 

“This really is something else,” Tony says. “But what exactly made you decide to buy two tickets? You told me that it was for some, uh, charity?” 

“Yes,” I tell him. “Humans can get sick. You know what cancer is, right?” 

He nods his head. “Animals can get it, too. There was this one seal where I lived, that got it and died. Poor thing was in so much pain.” 

“Yes. Well, there are different types of cancer, and children tend to be prone to cancers of the blood, or leukemia. This charity is raising money to help treat it.” 

A frown forms on his face. “With our immortality, we often times forget the misfortunes of humans, don’t we?” 

“Yes, we do.” 

“But this Shakespeare guy, the one who wrote the play, is he still alive?” 

“No, he died over 400 years ago.”

“How long do humans live?” 

“On average, I think about 80 years, but some have lived well over 100 years.”

“That’s incredibly short,” he remarks.

“Yeah, well it’s affected by diet, genetics, lifestyle... things like that. And they can die from diseases or injuries at any time. Like other animals.” 

“So how old was Shakespeare when he died?” 

“52. But they didn’t have the technologies or advanced medicines back then that they have today.” 

I go to get him popcorn, to introduce him to some more human food. I love popcorn, especially the one with caramel on it, but that’s not the one that they sell at places like this. I get one large popcorn for the both of us, and when I get back, I see that he’s staring at the person in front of him. The person is on their phone, and he seems to be mesmerised by what he sees.

“Stop staring,” I tell him in my head. He turns to look at me, and sees me approaching him as I walk down the aisle. “It’s called a phone. But it’s rude to look at what someone else is doing on their phone.”

“Oh. I’m sorry,” he tells me as I sit beside him.

“It’s okay. You didn’t know. Try this,” I tell him, handing him the popcorn. 

“Food?”

“Yes.”

Hesitantly, he picks up one, and puts it in his mouth, before chewing. “Mm,” he says, out loud this time. “This... this is amazing, mi amor.”

“I’m glad you like it,” I tell him out loud.

The play resumes. Tony is the perfect person to watch a play with. He doesn’t interrupt or ask questions. He just watches in silence, and when I look at him, I see that he’s completely wrapped up in this performance. I’ve been to plays before, but never any with this level of production or quality. When I was eighteen, I actually tried to get some of my friends to do an underwater play with me, but it didn’t work out because no one else shared my enthusiasm.

When the play ends, the actors get a standing ovation.

“Why are they standing? And what are they doing with their hands?” I stand and clap, too, and he mirrors my actions. 

“They’re clapping their hands. That means that they like it. And when you stand and clap after a performance, it’s called a standing ovation. It means that you really, really liked it and you think it was brilliant.”

Soon, the applause dies down, and people start leaving. We follow suit, and head straight back to my house.

“Do you want to go back tonight?” I ask him as I unlock my door.

“No,” he tells me. “I want to explore the surface more.”

“Won’t your friends worry about you?”

“Nope. They know I’m up here. I told them I was going to explore the human world.” I am glad that I have found at least one other person who likes the surface world, who isn’t human. Who comes from underwater, like I do. 

“Well, okay,” I tell him, but inside, I’m filled with glee. I want to be the one to introduce him to everything up here. To this human world that I love just as much as my underwater home. And I get to f**k him at the same time. 

This is going to be so much fun.