"She Sleeps With The Fishes" -- Dolphin Erotica [Source: Mayan Calendar Girls Site, Linked Below]

The following story was published on the Mayan Calendar Girls website (link cited below).  I was deeply moved by the beauty of this story, grammatical and spelling errors notwithstanding.  The end is humiliating, but the moving description of a young woman loving and being loved by a group of dolphins is extremely erotic in my opinion.  For those who find themselves hung up on logistical foibles or writer's liberties in sharing a story, this one may not be for you.  I, for one, LOVED IT!

The following is the commentary found on the Mayan Calendar Girls website preceding the story:

"Kindly Erotica Or “Dolphin Porn”
It's only one chapter (though part of ongoing love
affair between Curtsy and her delphine objects of
desire) but it's gotten more press and over-reaction
than anything else in the book. Praised on Salon,
dissed on AbsoluteWrite...You decide. First the
published chapter, then the uncensored online
version that got, obviously, censored
By the way, for fans of human/dolphin love, our
friend Mac Brenner has an entire novel, “Wet
Goddess” See it at the Wet Goddess website.


***
SHE SLEEPS WITH THE FISHES
In two weeks she’d learned the ropes, picked up the drill, gotten to know the guys. Who
had shown her around extravagantly and indicated their inclinations to extend the
show and tell as far as she’d care to follow. Highly hetero, the dudes here at Dolphin
Discovery. Probably why she got the job in the first place? But Curtsy didn’t care.
Dolphin groupies can’t be picky over how they get to their inner tabernacle: access to
living cetaceans.
She also gotten to know the various dolphins in the park, differing from her
acquaintanceship with the male “guides” in that she actually gave a shit about the
bottlenosed, grinning gray torpedoes that frisked around inside the basin closed off
from the Bay by a double chain-link fence. A fence that Curtsy was now inversely
“climbing” down in the dark; grabbing the squares of wire and pulling herself towards
the dent in the bottom she’d seen her third day on the job and snuck in at night to
enlarge and enable.
She come out all the way out from the beach underwater; using her seven minute
breath-hold not for depth, but to cruise without surfacing or trailing bubbles, driven by
powerful full body flex/ripple pushing water off her Russian-built, carbon fiber Glide
Model 1 monofin.
She loved the monofin: not only the fastest way a human can travel in water, but
mimicking dolphins in look and function. She felt most like a marine mammal when
undulating deep, shivering through the water with the skulling of the rounded black
“tail fin”. She was saving up for a Lunocet; less cetacean-looking than than the Glide,
but faster, sleeker, more powerful with it’s outer space tex/flex. But for the moment, as
she approached her personal grail and obsession, she had slipped her feet out of the
twin footcups and secured the fin to outer fence. This situation was not one where she
wanted her feet bound together.
She had also peeled the sleek black rubber cap off and leaned back to shake out her
hair, a blonde eddy around her head as she scanned the catwalks and landings of the
delfinario. She’d tugged the strings on her black bikini and stuffed both piece into the
foot cups, then taken her careful, measured “packet breaths” and slid silently down the
wall.
She found the hole quickly, groping in the total black of underwater night; too narrow
for even the smallest female to slip out, but enough to squirm her slim torso through.
She patted down the sand beneath the bulge in the fence and checked for any shifting
or filling, feeling for traces of monofilament fishline, the true nightmare of a gunkholing
freediver like herself and the real point of her ominpresent quick-release, hook-bladed
knife. She kipped under and in, twisting and tucking her tight tummy to turn the
corner up from the silt towards her goal. And oxygen. She was actually trapped beneath
the fence for a few seconds, wriggling her butt in the oozy sand. Nothing to alarm a
tuned athlete with her kind of downtime. She surfaced slowly and cautiously, sipping
air as she scanned the walkways and buildings for night watchmen she was pretty sure
would be in Alfredo’s office watching the Toluca game. She looked up to make sure her
chalk mark was where she’d surreptiously placed it to mark her exit, on the catwalk on
the catwalk where tourists stood to gawk at marine mammals peforming in what they
no doubt thought of as a natural habitat.
She’d felt them even before she came under the inside fence, “felt” their sonic scans
with her skin. She’d felt an alpha male brush her as she paddled up towards the
surface. As soon as she moved away from the fence, they were all around her. Twenty three
healthy bottle-nosed dolphins. Already her friends. Over half of them males that she
knew by name, sight and touch. Already her lovers. But now she’d come to make that a
reality.
She felt more bodies sliding against hers, smooth muscles under skin as taut and slick
as a wet watermelon. She heard their short, fluty breathing, reached out to stroke them
their moving forms. The beauty of it, the power, the sensual overload. Her breathing
quickened, fluttered.
She felt stubby noses nudging the soles of her bare feet. The signal for her to spread her
legs and let them bear her up and “noseride” her across the pool. Not tonight: she’d
have to be quiet. One more love that dare not show its face in sunlight. But she kept her
legs spread anyway, keeping her face above water with helical movements of her hands.
She felt Bruto brush by in front of her and threw her arms around his torso, thrilling in
his sleek, wet glide through her embrace. This was the way to discover dolphins, by
God.
A flank slid under her left foot, slick and insinuating. Something about the way it flexed
told her it was Mayab, her favorite female. Then Caruso cruised between her legs, a
smooth force on her inner thighs. She clamped onto him and he waggled salaciously.
At the last moment of his transit her flipped on his side and the tip of his right fluke
brushed her pubic hairs. She caught her breath, felt a hot flush in the cool water. No
wet suit needed, she thought, I can get plenty wet with no suit.
Then she felt a blunt nose, the size of soup can, smooth as a wet dildo, bumping
against her mons. Tap, tap, tap. Sniff, sniff. Yes, Chito, you can come in. Her
pheromones must be sifting through the water by now, browsed by the entire clan. She
reached down to place her hands on Chito’s head and hunched against his nose. He
drove up in a powerful lunge, hoisting her upper body out of the water and tailwalking
her twenty feet before letting her slip back down into the water. She dove, heading all
the way to the bottom, handstanding in the sand, legs spread like a “Y”. And Cisco
surged down and slid between them, pushing her downward, his big thick body
thundering across her widening slit. She came to the surface with a gasp that was not
all about accessing air.
And Pinoccio moved up under her from behind, bearing her up on his back like a
bronco queen, sliding under her, rippling more than necessary. She leaned forward,
leaning on his back as it slid under her, then his dorsal fin slipped between her butt
cheeks, dragged along her trough, and bore up against her until the last second, when
it slipped out, kissing her clit with a little fillip. She was crying now, lost in sensation
and emotion, beloved union at long last.
Two of the males moved along side her hips, mimicking a move from the show. She laid
her hands on them, rising up on their support even as they slickered along and
vanished into the night water. Then Pinoccio was back, sliding under her again. She
spread her legs as wide as she could as he cruised under her saddle, curving upwards
as he slowly finned forward. She fell against him, feeling his pale belly skin slipstream
along her tight nipples. Then she felt the nudge and knew what it was. She shuddered
and moaned.
It didn’t really matter that much: she was getting off on riding their bodies, giving full
rein to what she’d always felt around dolphins. But full contact is nice. How many
women have actually had a dolphin dick inside them? How many know what they taste
like?
The nudging moved on, the final thrust parting the blond thatch on her belly. Not fully
extended, she was thinking. Pinoccio, you need to tell more lies. She rolled and dived,
grasping him to her, lying on top of his belly with her legs moving up and down along
his upper body. And grasped what she had sought. Short, thick, softly firm.
Salty to the taste, but not fishy. Chicken of the sea.
Pinoccio was obviously aroused. And so were other males, zipping in to smooth along
her flanks as she kissed and sucked and trembled. She he fell away, looping
downward, his alien member sliding out of her mouth. She floated face down, shaking.
Her heartbeat, normally as slow as any athlete’s, was racing, pumping heat and
pinkness all over her. Her eyes fluttered and she turned her head to breathe and moan.
Then he was back, a long traverse of her, his fin moving between legs, then throbbing
along her pussy. She coughed, stifled a yell, rolled onto her back as her first orgasm
shook her like small craft in a squall. She lay her head back, her hands stoking
dreamily below her. And Pinoccio surged up onto her, the way her blasted out of the
water onto the platform to splash and delight the damned tourists.
She took a deep inhale as he skidded along her, his flippers caressing her arms, his
belly slicking up along her breasts. His penis sliding into her. She almost blacked out as
he bore her down under the sea.
She had figured out early on that a dolphin in the throes of sex could easily bear a
woman right down to the bottom, even her own exceptional strength and flexibility as
nothing compared to his. Could drown her there, maybe thinking her death throes
were a faked orgasm. But she felt no risk: dolphins know about life and death in
humans and have been observed saving our lives, but never taking them. Unlike the
way we treat them.And in fact she did feel her shoulders touch the bottom as he
plunged into her. She just threw her arms around him, fondling the tender spots
behind his eyes. And had the biggest orgasm of her life: being powerfully fucked
combined with the culmination of a lifetime love, combined with the dangerous
rapture of apnea. She was dying, her life shaking itself apart from within, the lights
flickering down while colored dazzle wove and flashed across a black expanse of velvet
ending. Then he was gone and she floated, rather than swam, to the surface.She broke
the water face first, still rumbling with the orgasm, hot tears trailing off into cold water,
her heart stopped, then re-started in a new world, inner muscles tussling and
sunfishing, eyes closed to watch the play of light.

Light which suddenly smashed into her eyes, on a wave of raucous noise and
squawking. She popped them open and nearly came out of the water in sheer shock. A
powerful flashlight was on her face, others playing over her naked body under inches
of water. Torches held by the night crew and a dozen of their work buddies, screaming
with delight at having caught that stuckup gringa bitch naked and fucking the fish!
Caught flagranti delicto and still dazed from the peak experience of her love/sex life,
Curtsy just gaped for a long moment. A moment richly enjoyed by her male fellow
employees, swigging their beers and joints. Only Alfredo wasn’t laughing. He was totally
pissed off, like supervisors get. Besides, Toluca had lost.
The futbol fans whooped it up over this unexpected double-header treat, howling with
laughter as Curtsy finally reacted. She kipped into a racer’s turn took two butterfly
strokes towards the chalk mark and went down. Sickness and shame flooding all over
the rapture she’d felt just seconds before, she drove down to find the notch, twisted out
through it and angled up towards the top of the outer fence with a strong breast stroke,
trungeon kick. She drove upwards with hands extended, and when the hit the top of
the fence she surged over it in a sort of modified Fosbury flop. Halogen lanterns
highlighted her golden puss as she went over; cheers, jeers and catcalls impelled her.
She ignored the suit and cap, just crammed her feet into the monofin and powered off,
deep enough to block the light and hateful sound. She was at the beach in three
minutes, fin already off as her feet found the chalky bottom, running bareassed to the
palm copse where she’d left shorts, shirt and shoes in the basket of her rented
motorscooter.
Alfredo’s voice echoed over the water, “You are so fired, Kurtz. Don’t even show your ass
here again, ever.”
Román yelled, “No, no, come back Güera. I’ll put on a fin and squeak while I bone you.
Just feed me some fish.”
Visit the Unique and Nourishing Mayan Calendar Girls Website

***


I am seriously wanting to rip my hair out because of all of the errors in this work, but it's just too beautiful a story not to share.

--DG