Magical Realism Mermaid Story - "Aruba Descending"

For mature readers. Explicit sexual content. Contains profanity and dark themes. (18+)

Between Two Worlds - Chapter one

I’ve heard that your world is a mirror of your thoughts. My world reflects many colors, many themes. I am from the ocean. I am gray, blue, teal, turquoise, clear, green. My state is turbulent and unpredictable, filled with garbage and toxic elements, but also smooth and cleansing.

I am a mermaid. 

I am also a high-priced prostitute and most of my patrons are human men. Are you shocked? Don’t be.

My name is Aruba, and I’m here in my luxurious sea cave near Bermuda. Since most of my clients are ready to fork over a lot of cash to have a romp in the sack with a mermaid, I have done well for myself.

Priceless artwork, gold, silver, and antiques from all corners of the world decorate my sea cave. I have a collection of expensive and rare gemstones and jewelry. I want for nothing. I have the best of everything. Everything that money can buy. I’ve made a lot. 

Am I happy? I can’t answer that. I don’t know if I’ve ever been happy. What I am is a survivor—someone who uses her wits to make it in this convoluted world above and below the surface.

It wasn’t always this way. Oh, you’ve heard it before. I came from nothing. Had a disastrous childhood. Worked my ass off to get where I am today. Everybody’s sob story, right? Well, mine’s a little different—different from yours, that is.

I was born somewhere in the Caribbean to a mother who abandoned me. I never knew her. I was sitting on a reef off Aruba when an American couple who lived there found me. They were boating one day and spotted me, and apparently thought I would make a nice pet for their three unruly brats. 

The Holbrook’s. Chester “Chet”, Valerie “Val”, daughter Tory, sons Micah and Mitchell. Stepdad Chet was some sort of bigwig inspector of Caribbean oil refineries. They lived in a large oceanfront house with enormous windows overlooking the sea, with their own beach and pool. They had a cabin cruiser, a Mercedes-Benz, and a Porsche. Chet made a lot of money, most of it under the table. It’s no surprise to me that they have since shut down most of the refineries. Gee, I wonder why.

Val wanted another daughter and couldn’t have one, so I was the next best thing. Chet didn’t want to take me in, but Val overruled on home issues. Chet was never there anyway. He was always flying off to some oil refinery, while enjoying the perks of being a bigwig, including other women’s beds. 

I ‌lived outdoors between the beach and the pool. The house had large sliders off the pool patio so I could slither in, but I never quite felt at home there. They had a special little pool house built for me, so that’s where I slept. Since mermaid adoption is unheard of, I was their best-kept secret. We always had a game plan. If they had visitors, I spent my time at the Spanish Lagoon, an inner bay with protected wetlands, close to their home on the western coast of Aruba. 

I loved it there. It seemed like my private world of mangroves, under which I could easily hide if hikers came along the trail.

Val tried. She held me and cuddled me when I was small, but wasn’t sure what to do when I grew up. None of them were. Val tried to teach me things: how to read, write. She sang to me, swam with me. I know she had a soft spot for me. Chet couldn’t care less, that is until I got older. He would watch me as I swam, encouraging me to remove the tank top Val wanted me to wear, saying that mermaids didn’t wear clothes. Pervert. Back then, I didn’t know any better. 

Tory basically ignored me, choosing to hang with her group of friends. That was okay with me. Sisterhood was not our strong point. Micah and Mitch played with me in the pool, and we often snorkeled together in the sea. They would put on their masks, snorkels, and flippers and follow me around. We had fun.

Micah became more distant in his teens, but Mitch and I had a close bond. We did everything together. He would don his snorkel gear and hold my fins as I brought us into the canal of the Spanish Lagoon. We would find a quiet spot and sit and talk about life, listen to the symphony of birdsong, watch the lizards, and laugh together. 

When we swam, I often removed my top because it felt too cumbersome. I had always done that with Mitch. I started noticing a different reaction in him when we got older. When he asked if he could touch my breasts, I let him. He would get a hard on, and neither of us knew what to do. He usually walked off and left me there alone, saying he had to pee. 

One day, on one of our trips to the lagoon, we figured it out. It didn’t last long, but I think we were both shocked at the feelings that two bodies could generate together. And I never looked back. And neither did he. But we both moved forward in different directions.

So what happened? Well, it’s a long story. And since I’ve heard that everybody has a story in them, here goes mine...

Testing The Waters - Chapter Two

Even though I’ve lived my life on the edge, I consider myself practical. Having sex and being paid for it is practical. Enjoying it while you’re working, even better. Having sex and falling for the person you’re doing it with—disaster. At least for me.

I fell for Mitch, and I fell hard. He was my friend, my brother, my lover. The one person in life that I’ve ever truly cared about. We were explorers discovering the sea, the world around us, our bodies—a multitude of sensations, both physical and emotional. I longed for him, even telling him I loved him. He just laughed and said, “Let’s fuck again.” And we did, again and again and again.

I can’t say I didn’t love it. I did. A lot. More than a lot. But one day, Mitch brought home a beautiful girl, Melanie, with long black hair, big brown eyes, and a bitchin’ body. I was instantly jealous. She was gorgeous, sexy, and Mitch’s hands were all over her as they romped on the beach, while I lay low in the shallows.

I confronted him later that night after she had left. He said she was just a friend. I was upset that he was so taken with her. He laughed and told me I was the only one for him. I wanted to believe him. But I didn’t.

A few more girls came and went. And I got more and more jealous and bitter. I couldn’t fight it anymore. I had no control over my feelings. I hated him for not wanting me, for not loving me. I hated myself for not being human enough.

So I left. I left Mitch and the Holbrooks and fell in with a gang of shady mermaids and mermen. They were as edgy as I was, and a lot less moral. I liked that.

We got into a lot of trouble–drugs, cocaine. But that was my choice. My choice to live on the edge. It’s how I wanted to live. And I did. I loved it.

I loved drugs. I loved having lots of sex with lots of mermen. Fuck humans. Who needs them? I was free and wild.

And then the night came when I didn’t love it anymore. The night I was with Rob, another merman, and we were doing coke together. And I overdosed. It wasn’t fun anymore. It wasn’t exciting. It was scary. I saw my life flash before me.

I wanted to live. It was on that night that I realized I’d made some bad choices. I left Rob, left the gang, and headed back to life. Back to the human world. I just didn’t know how to do it. I had no plan.

And that’s when I realized I preferred sex with human men over mermen. Weird, right? I mean, they’re basically the same down there. But there was something more to it. Something more enjoyable. I guess it was the fact that I was raised by humans. Or that I had fallen in love with Mitch. Maybe I was looking for that again.

So I tested the waters. I went to St. Croix in the U.S. Virgin Islands. It was a place I was familiar with. The Holbrooks vacationed there, and I would join them by finding my own route through the sea.

Mitch and Micah would don their snorkel gear, and I’d lead them around the beautiful coral reefs off Buck Island. I knew it was a popular spot for scuba divers, and I figured I’d start there.

I waited until I saw a man diving alone. I’d swim up to him, remove my top, and tease him as I circled around him. Granted, some men were scared shitless and swam away as fast as they could. I figured I was safe, though. If they told anyone, who would believe them?

But some of them played right along with me. Maybe they thought I was human. It never occurred to them I was breathing without scuba tanks, but I digress. When I knew I had them, we would have sex right there underwater. It was a thrill. You never saw so many bubbles.

I think I needed it. I drowned my emotions in sex. And I had a lot of sex.

But something was missing. I needed more. I wanted more. I wanted to be more. That part of me that was human wanted to make it in this world, wanted to be a success. And what feels like success to most people? Money. Lots of it.

And I had a skill. A skill that people would pay for. I became a prostitute. I knew I could make a lot of money that way.

I started out with the men that I had already seduced. They were used to getting it for free, so I figured they wouldn’t mind paying a little. And they didn’t. They told their friends. And their friends told their friends. And I was making some good money.

I saved my money and started my own business. I started having sex with men above the surface—on boats, beaches, anywhere where I could make a deal. I wanted to buy things. I wanted a home. I wanted a way to feel like I had made it.

I traveled to places that I knew would be dripping with wealth. I started with Capri, an island off the Amalfi coast in Italy. And there I met Nico. Gorgeous, blonde, blue-eyed Nico. And all I had to do was fuck the daylights out of him to get the things I wanted. Not that I minded, though he was kind of rough. But he had connections. Lots of them. He brought me clients. I gave him cash, and he went off and bought the things I wanted.

My home was a hidden paradise: a sea cave with sparkling stalactites and oasis-like pools. Soft light glowed through the entrance, adding to the sensual ambience. I filled it with paintings, sculpture, ceramics—the best of everything. I had Nico buy expensive jewelry for me. I wore it while I worked. My clients seemed to like it. I never worried about theft. They were richer than I was. They wanted to fuck me, not rob me.

The limestone walls of the cave curved down in places to create a floor, and it was there that I arranged a bed. Nico found some beautiful silk and velvet coverings, and lots of matching pillows with gold braiding and tassels. I had a bar for entertaining my clients. Music played from speakers in the ceiling. It was plush. It was expensive. It was me. My clients were impressed. I can’t say the same about them.

Nico brought them in on his boat, and then he’d wait discreetly outside the entrance until I called. Unless they were repeat customers, I usually had to show them how it worked. It’s really no different from a human female who has sex with her legs closed. Front, back, sideways—they can approach me from any direction, and I can approach them from any direction. I perform oral sex the same way as a human, but if they wanted to reciprocate, I was more than happy to show them where. The devil is in the details, as they say.

Speaking of Nico, you might think that he was my pimp. Technically, he had the same job, but he had no control or ownership over me. It was more like I owned him. Without my money, he was nothing but a small-time hood. He was fucked without me. He was fucked with me. Often. No complaints from Nico.

By the way, not everyone came to my sea cave. You’d be surprised at the places some of my clients wanted to have sex.

But that’s another story.

"Aruba Descending" © 2026 Aerwyna