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Message-ID: <30755asstr$992167805@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Frank McCoy" <mccoyf@millcomm.com>
Reply-To: mccoyf@millcomm.com
Subject: {ASSM} :*NEW* "The Selkie" (MF, rom, slow, preg) (Hopper-Swap Challenge)
Date: Sun, 10 Jun 2001 06:10:05 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d


pl



                          The Selkie
                         An Erotic Story

     Ernesto woke from his nap tired and still sleepy. He lifted 
his head from the blanket and checked first that his boat was 
still safely resting in the sand.  The tide had come in and gone 
out again; leaving the small sailboat stranded rather high and 
dry, but quite safe.  He sighed; knowing he would regret being 
stranded here on this rather nice island for the next eleven 
hours until the tide came close enough again.  But laziness beat 
out industry.  Digging the boat down and hauling it several yards 
to the rippling water just didn't seem worth the effort.  He'd do 
it that night, moor the boat in deeper water this time, and leave 
the next morning.  In the meantime, it seemed like a good time 
for beachcombing, since fishing from the shore had little appeal.
     Around the other side of the island, after fighting through 
rather tough brush, Ernesto found a small cove, which almost made 
him curse that he hadn't found it earlier.  If so, it would have 
been a much nicer place to leave the boat, without worry of being 
stranded by the tides.  Well ... Next time, perhaps.
     In the meantime, he was annoyed at what he saw.  On the 
beach around the cove were scattered numerous black rocks, 
sticks, and chunks; spoiling the pristine white beauty of the 
sand.  If he was going to return, he might as well clean up 
whatever mess it was these last tourists had left.  He could do a 
better job while it was fresh, he figured.
     Slipping easily out of his pants, Ernesto tied a knot in 
each leg, to make a rough sack; then began gathering each black 
piece up.  None of the chunks was larger than two inches long; 
and blackened with age.  Perhaps it wasn't tourists.  Each piece 
was surprisingly light too; more like bone than rocks.  Perhaps 
they were bone.  It now was fairly apparent they had been 
distributed on the beach around the small cove by water, and not 
by somebody's careless hand.
     By the time he was finished, Ernesto was sweating.  So, 
skinning out of his one remaining garment, he slipped into the 
water to cool off before heading back to the boat and the small 
meal he had left under the seat.
     It was in this slightly uncomfortable rainment, that the 
young man found himself suddenly facing a young woman, as he 
climbed out of the water.
     "Uh ... Excuse me," he faltered.  "I didn't know there was 
anybody else around here."
     Ernesto was not a man who knew intimately the beauty of 
women; being still a virgin at 29 years old.  However, the naked 
woman in front of him would easily equal the best of those he had 
met in the small village he sold his extra catches at.
     The woman seemed neither embarrassed at her own nudity, nor 
put off by having an equally naked man stare at her.
     "I'm looking for something that got left here?" she 
explained.  "Could you help me?"
     While not a lady's man, Ernesto tried to be gallant.  "If 
Milady would tell me what she was looking for, perhaps I might be 
of some assistance," he prompted.



                                1


     Looking the naked youth up and down, the vision of 
loveliness broke into a sudden smile.  "And perhaps *I* might be 
of some assistance to you as well," she almost giggled; looking 
pointedly at Ernesto's rising erection.
     "Uh ...," he stammered.  "That's not necessary."  Ernesto 
found his whole body turning red in front of the beautiful 
senorita.
     "Oh, but I insist," she replied; giving her body a wriggle 
and almost writhing in a seductive manner that a priest would 
find hard to resist.
     Ernesto was a fisherman, not a priest or saint.
     "I'm looking for some black ... uh ... stones," she 
explained.  "They should have washed up on the beach, right about 
here."
     "Uh ...."  Ernesto struggled to explain how he had gathered 
up ALL of the missing pieces the young woman was obviously 
looking for; and offered to give her the entire pile ... pants 
and all.
     Surprisingly, the young woman refused!  "We had a deal, I 
think," she reminded him.
     "Uh ... Deal?"  Ernesto's mind went blank, as the first time 
in his almost thirty years of life a beautiful woman came on to 
him like he was the handsomest and richest man in the province.  
Ernesto knew better though.  Not handsome, not rich, nor even 
particularly smart.  All the women his age had either moved off 
to the city, or had taken husbands from the few remaining men; 
leaving the poor fisherman to know what little he did of sex from 
his own callused right hand.  Ah well.  Better that, than a shrew 
of a wife like some men had.
     The next half hour was almost a blur to him, as Ernesto 
found out that "congress" with a woman beat out his wildest 
imaginations of how good it could be.  Slick wet heat surrounded 
his swollen penis, as the young lady milked and squirmed on top 
of him in a manner he hadn't even dreamed of.  Then, she took 
Ernesto's unresisting body, and showed him how to reciprocate, 
and do things to make HER feel good ... Ways that should have 
seemed nasty or perverted; but that somehow felt RIGHT to return 
the favor she had given him.
     It was only AFTER they were finished; Ernesto having somehow 
managed to deposit three healthy loads of virile seed inside the 
incredible young woman's body, that he remembered what men are 
supposed to remember when having sex.  Something to do with 
bambinos ... babies.  Oh shit.
     Looking at he leaking split between the woman's legs, 
Ernesto wanted almost to cry.  No, not for what he had done; but 
for not CARING enough to even think of precautions.  What way was 
this to treat a young woman who had been so nice to him?  Could 
he send her back to parents and family, without her virginity, 
and possibly his child in her womb?  That he had no condoms, not 
even back at home or in the boat, didn't excuse his actions.
     "Shh, It's OK," reassured the object of his new worries, 
once he made them clear.  "It's not my time of month."





                                2


     "Huh?"  Ernesto looked into the vertical slits of the 
woman's eyes, as for the first time he realized she wasn't 
completely human.  (Well, what kind of woman did he EXPECT to be 
wandering around naked, alone, on a deserted island?)
     Somehow catching his understanding, she answered, "While I'm 
not *completely* human; in this particular manner I am.  And all 
my life I've observed other animals, from otters and whales, to 
dogs on the beach.  Each comes into heat at a certain time; and 
can only conceive then.  Right now is far from my time.  So there 
is no worry for us."
     Ernesto vaguely remembered something about this from jokes 
with other men.  Jokes about "Catholic Girls" and "Rhythm 
Methods."  Ernesto also remembers the point of one of those jokes 
about the "technical term for those who rely on rhythm, is 
Mother."
     The woman smothers his fears with fresh sexual energy; 
pointing out that if there was any chance to catch, she already 
had.  So they couple madly one last time, as the sun sinks slowly 
closer to the horizon.
     Then, still dripping from their sexual exertions, the woman 
bends over cautiously and picks ONE tiny fragment from the 
pants/bag he had left on the beach.  Ernesto turns to follow her; 
but with scarcely a ripple she slips into the water and is gone.
     "I'll see you next month, for the next installment," he 
hears from several yards out to see; then nothing.
     It takes three times as long to get back to the boat in the 
fading twilight as it took to get there ... especially as Ernesto 
is taking incredible care not to lose any tiniest fragment of the 
blackened stones/bones he had earlier picked up so casually off 
the beach.  He had MEANT to return the entire amount.  It seemed 
almost like paying for sex to give the incredible (woman?) a tiny 
fragment of the several hundred pieces in the pants, for a bout 
of sex that a courtesan charging thousands would be hard put to 
match.  Only ... it was more like SHE was using the "payment" as 
a method to ensure his return.  And who was Ernesto to argue with 
a woman like that?
     Exactly one month later, four weeks, as it had been 
February, Ernesto found himself somehow back at the island; this 
time his boat parked in the beautiful cove, while he waited on 
the beach.  Day flowed into afternoon; which finally gave place 
to night.  Birds were the only company he had.
     Well, Ernesto had expected that.  Sighing, Ernesto was 
picking up the last of his supplies and packing them into the 
boat, when SHE appeared without scarcely a ripple in the water 
beside him.
     "Are you leaving so soon, My love?" she asked; eyes wide 
with disappointment.  "I came at the exact time I promised," she 
reminded him; pointing at the quartering moon.
     Ernesto gave sudden praise to whatever gods watched over 
fools like him!  Month to HER, was "month" in the original 
meaning of the word, or "moon".  If he had come back one month 
later, 31 days, like a "normal" month, the young woman would have 
been long gone, and wondered if he cared so little about her that 
he wouldn't return.  To his surprise, he burst out crying.



                                3


     "Shh," she comforted him.  "I would have waited.  I have no 
choice," she told him.  She didn't explain more; as she had more 
important things to do.  Things like removing his remaining 
clothes, and reminding him of just WHY he had found his previous 
sojourn on the island pleasant enough to make it worth his while 
to return the fair distance to such a lonely spot.  Feeling his 
body sink into her liquid heat, he is reminded once again of the 
duties he had so-neglected the previous time.  But once again, 
the young woman (or selkie, as she turns out to be) refuses to 
put something so impersonal between their bodies as the rubber 
bags he has THIS time remembered to bring.  "Besides, it's not my 
time of month," she reminds him again; pointing out that it was 
one reason for keeping the trysts down to only once a month.
     Again, after coupling madly and vigorously several times, 
Ernesto TRIES to press the entire contents of the sealed bowl 
upon the young woman before she departs.
     "Do you value my coming so little then, that you would give 
me no reason for returning?" she asks; selecting a small stone, 
seeming at random from the bowl he now carefully hoards each tiny 
piece in.
     Ernesto is barely able to blush and stammer an apology, 
before she gives him one last achingly-sweet and delicious 
kiss ... and is gone with barely a ripple in the water.
     The next month, watching the moon this time and 29 days 
later, Ernesto has barely dropped anchor before his selkie has 
joined him on the boat and they are coupling in frantic need of 
no sex for almost a month.
     And so it continues; until slightly over a year has passed; 
with each month a tiny stone slipping like a counter from the 
bowl of life and into the selkie's hand.  When asked how *she* 
manages to make it an entire month without male company, she 
replies mysteriously that selkies don't see time in the same 
manner that humans do.  And that is all she ever explains.
     On the thirteenth month, 15 days to a year after the first 
time, the selkie doesn't appear; though Ernesto waits for almost 
a week until his food and water have long run out.
     The next month, Ernesto is there again ... only three days 
early ... but his lover once again does not show.
     By the third month, Ernesto had built a small cabin or lean-
to on the edge of the beach near the cove.  His father being dead 
since about a year before he met the girl, it is no loss to the 
young man to leave the small house where he had been raised as a 
motherless child that was picked-on by schoolmates.  Still, his 
father HAD obviously loved him and whoever his mother was a great 
deal; seeing to it that the boy had survived and even prospered 
as a fisherman like he was.
     Three months passed, and then six.  Ernesto forgot to watch 
the cove on particular days ... it wasn't necessary.  He lived 
there now; and if the girl never came back, then he still had 
little reason to move from the small island.  He brought in food 
and extra fresh water every week or two, and exchanged fish for 
his small needs at his old village.  Nobody even remarked on the 
fact that his old home was now empty.




                                4


     Pulling into the cove one evening, boat now full of fish, he 
was almost shocked out of his reverie by an almost crying voice 
saying, "I was afraid you had decided I wouldn't come back.  I'm 
SO sorry, but I never meant for this to happen!"
     Ernesto's shock and delight at the woman's return, is 
suddenly interrupted by her passing him a warm and squiggly 
bundle.  "It's already twilight," she weeps.  "I have to go."
     Before he can respond, she pleads, "You WILL be here next 
month?"
     His reassurances are met by a faint splash, somewhere out in 
the gathering darkness.
     It's then that Ernesto becomes fully aware of the squirming 
bundle in his arms ... a baby.
     Not just any baby; but a squirming and HUNGRY little boy, 
who soon lets his father know that he wants Mommy, he wants 
Mommy's breasts to drink from, and he is NOT going to take 
excuses for an answer.  Babies, while not able to speak, CAN get 
your attention.
     Confused (and yet somehow delighted) Ernesto somehow manages 
to quiet the squalling youngster by cuddling and sips of 
water ... which he knows will not suffice for long.
     So, the next morning finds Ernesto packing ... and painfully 
TRYING to ignore the yells of his new son, so he can get the 
child what it needs.
     It's a desperate man that the police find at their desks 
that afternoon.  At first, they suspect the wildman has kidnapped 
some tourist's baby.  But after feeding, diapering, and getting 
help for the poor child, they eventually come to the conclusion 
that the baby is just what Ernesto claims him to be ... a child 
left by her mother in his care ... because it's his also.  The 
looks, while not handsome, match all too well that of the poor 
fisherman.
     So, while it takes several weeks for the wheels to grind, in 
less than a month Ernesto finds himself the recognized father of 
the young boy ... and paying a young wet-nurse to look after the 
child.  His earlier stingy life now pays off, as otherwise he 
would be hard-put to care for the baby.
     Twenty-eight days later, both Ernesto and the baby take off 
for a "vacation day" or two.
     And ... THIS time, the young woman is there, the moment the 
tide is fully low.  A smile like a young star shines from her 
face, the moment she sees Ernesto with the baby.  Surprisingly, 
the baby seems to barely recognize his mother at all.  After this 
first time, the young child is left home on visits to the island.
     "I'm sorry," she apologizes, the moment they both stop 
kissing and nuzzling.  "I never meant for this to happen."
     "It's my fault too," He tries to reassure her.  "I should 
have known."  Ernesto explains to the selkie what he, in just the 
last month, has learned about women and babies:  That the time 
between periods, instead of being SAFE, is the period when she's 
most likely to conceive ... Unlike animals who "come into heat" 
and get messy.  He SHOULD have known ... They taught that in 
school.  But like so many things about mainland schools, if not 
involved in making a living from fishing, then he had pretty much 
ignored it.


                                5


     Their lovemaking THIS time, is slow and loving, instead of 
frantic and hurried.  "You know," he warns her, "We COULD be 
making the same mistake right now."
     "I know," she shudders in reply around him; her body crying 
and milking his prick almost desperately for his seed.  "I know."
     It's six years later that the selkie doesn't reappear for 
the second time.  However, Ernesto no longer has worries that she 
will not return ... the bowl is still over two-thirds full.
     This time Ernesto is waiting early in the day, all prepared 
with diapers, formula, a warming tray, and other such items, when 
the selkie appears without more than a ripple beside his feet 
dangling in the water.
     "Meet our daughter," she announces; pointing proudly to a 
squirming, splashing, wriggling, and boisterous girl-child that 
appears suddenly, wetting the two of them.  The child appears 
more like a friendly otter than a baby; seeming far more at home 
on the water ... as if feet were meant to swim with, rather than 
walk on.  And it obviously needs no diapers, bottles, or other 
such human paraphernalia.  With an almost obscene wriggle, it 
blows a kiss at the two lovers, then vanishes into the water.
     "She'll be back when it's time to go," promises the selkie.  
"In the meantime ...."
     In the meantime, the two lovers have some SERIOUS making up 
of lost time to do.  Each time he slides inside her, the girl's 
insides seem tighter and sexier than before ... as if she was 
growing younger and prettier as he grew older.  A sad thing I 
guess that happens when immortal and mortal meet; but inevitable.
     Luckily, (or not so lucky?) that scene is not repeated in 
the years to come.  Ernesto's son Juan grows up into an 
outstanding fisherman ... if not a Don-Juan among the girls, like 
his father had hoped the name might inspire him too.
     Each visit there by the cove is harder to make for the older 
fisherman ... but he never explains to his son where he goes each 
month ... and the boy never asks.  Somehow it's understood that 
Ernesto has a lover ... perhaps even the boy's mother ... and 
that it's just not the place for a boy to be observing, when two 
adults make love.
     The months trickle down into years.  The pieces left in the 
bowl grow smaller, until there's finally only one blackened bone 
left.  Ernesto packs up one last time, tells his son Juan not to 
expect him back, and leaves the big boat behind; taking a small 
rickety dinghy for this last trip.
     It takes him over a day to row.  But Ernesto had planned on 
this; leaving two days early.  He sleeps fitfully at night in the 
small boat; thankful that the weather is calm for now.  There's a 
big storm brewing, and he supposes that his neighbors will assume 
he will get caught in it.  But that will be when he's past 
caring.
     When he arrives in the morning, SHE is waiting for him.  By 
now the tides have shifted several times around the clock over 
the years; making her arrival times sometimes start even at 
midnight.  But always she leaves at sunset; even if only arriving 
an hour earlier.  Three times they had almost twenty-four hours 
together, when she arrived at or almost at sunset itself.  The 
rules are understood; but never explained.


                                6


     This last time, they have a whole day in the hot sun.  It 
would seem that an old man would most likely be unable to 
perform; but like always she manages to get more than one 
erection from him ... and like always she seems to greatly enjoy 
each thin squirt of seed offered up into her tightly squeezing 
young body.
     As she picks up her final "payment", her eyes are curiously 
intense.  Not filled with tears; but expectation.  "Will you come 
with me this time?" she asks.
     "Of course," he responds.  "You know that.  I would have 
gone with you the first time."
     "But you would have died then," she answers back.  "You 
cannot breathe water."
     "I knew."
     "So did I."
     The two lovers work together to push the frail dinghy out 
into the gathering waves, and watch it slowly swing to in the 
rising wind and move farther out to sea.  It's work for the old 
man ... and almost as much work for his adolescent companion, who 
now looks barely old enough to even think about sex; with barely 
budding breasts and an almost smooth vagina instead of the heavy 
bush you expect on a woman old enough to have two children.
     "You know," she said, as they slowly walked deeper together 
into the waves on the beach, "Those black things on the beach ... 
were your bones."
     "I knew."
     Silence follows, as the two walk deeper into the water until 
a wave washes over both of them.  Then there's no sign that 
anybody has ever visited the island.
                        ----------------
     The old selkie sighs, and looks at the crumbled and 
blackened fragments of bones that are all that remain of the one 
she loved for so many years.  Weeping, she takes them to the cove 
of an island she has fond memories of, and releases them to the 
mercies of the rising tide.






















                                7


     First of all, these are all STORIES, not advice on how to 
     have sex, or with whom.  They are all FANTASIES not reality.

     The original poster of this story, Frank McCoy, (Not 
     necessarily the author; as some stories in "The Erotic 
     Story" series posted by him, are NOT written by him ... 
     though most are.) can be reached by responding to this post 
     in the newsgroups, by posting a message to either of the 
     newsgroups alt.fan.frank.mccoy, or alt.sex.stories.d. or by 
     email to: "Frank McCoy" <mccoyf@millcomm.com>

     All stories posted by Frank with the Sub-Title, "An Erotic 
     Story" (including this one) are in the Public Domain; and 
     free for any use by anybody.  Retaining the title and sub-
     title, if the story remains unchanged, is requested; but not 
     required.  Stories posted by him, that are *NOT* so sub-
     titled, have copyrights retained by the original authors.

     Excessive restrictive use by pay-sites as "private" and for-
     fee stories of the "An Erotic Story" series, will be met by 
     exercising the author's own rights under Public Domain, and 
     posting copies to newsgroups, along with pointers to other 
     free and competing websites.

     Use of the stories by pay-sites to use as samples however, 
     is actively encouraged as a way to disseminate them freely 
     even further.  Please don't flood the groups with multiple 
     copies of the same story week after week.

     For more stories posted by Frank (some copyrighted, but most 
     not) try:
     http://www.young-stuff.com/frank/
     Or:
     http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Frank_McCoy/index.htm

     These are both WEB pages; in spite of the FTP label on the 
     asstr site ... though it CAN be accessed by FTP as well.  
     Just point your web-browser at either and get the same data.

     Or, try Incestgrrl's site.
     http://www.come.to/incestgrrl
     (It's not quite as up-to-date; because Frank doesn't 
     maintain her site like the two mirrors.)  However, it's 
     free ... and there's lots of other stories there besides 
     his.

     Check out ASSTR also
     http://www.asstr-mirror.org

     Frank also recommends three pay-sites that have helped him 
     on occasion by hosting his stories, or in other manners:
     Young-Stuff    http://www.young-stuff.com
     Daddy's Girls  http://www.daddysgirls.org
     Mr. Double     http://www.mrdouble.com



                                8


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