Glistening
I recoiled with such force that I momentarily left my soul a yard in front of me, and despite my soul having a very attractive although unusually hairy back, particularly up and down the length of the spine, I was glad to have it returned to my blackened innards.
“Be gone, foul wench of the sea!” I wailed, my voice stumbling and swooping gallantly over every vowel and massaging each consonant with its silken verbal fingers. She stood a Volvo’s length away from me but still managed to cup my testes in her cold palm. Her smile was ugly yet endearing. Her teeth dared me to withdraw my scrotum from her delicate grasp. But I dared not.

It was some hours later that I finally realised I had a phobia of mermaids. She remained on the floor, smiling up at me, her scales resting on the dampened concrete, her hand and my scrotum now in a state of thermal equilibrium. She put a brave face on but I could see she was drying out. It wouldn’t be long before she would need to return to the sea. Could I last that long? Could I contain my fear and all the trimmings? It was to be a great test.

I found that if I shuffled to one side she would pursue me and maintain her gentle scrotal support. It was the start of a journey I would never forget. I shuffled, inch by inch, all the way from Manchester’s Urbis building to Blackpool’s North Pier. The seasons came and went and came again, but finally we reached our destination. She smelled the sea and her grip relaxed. Still, we shuffled to the end of the pier. She glanced out to the briny horizon and gazed back at me lovingly. There was no doubt we had formed a bond. I stepped back, taking my scrotum with me. It fell from her fingers and slapped against my thigh. My testes were my own once more. Rediscovering my masculinity and overcoming my mer-fear, I hoofed her full pelt in the throat. She fell, flailing in a blur of hair, breasts and scales glistening and reflecting back a rainbow of beauty in the light of the setting sun, before plunging into the ocean.

She never resurfaced.

I stood there and shed a tear. I was swiftly joined by Gary Coleman who had enjoyed considerable fortune on the Hook A Duck nearby. He grasped his well-earned Crazy Frog proudly and peered down into the murky depths.
“Good work, motherfucker,” he chirped.
“Cheers, cock!” I howled back.
We kissed on that pier for what seemed like a decade, but was only in fact three days. My phobia was cured.
(stusut79, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 11:54, 3 replies)

Ahahahaha!
Best post so far!
*clicks*

No need to fear mermaids though, Ariel is hot. Sure, she may be ginger and she may not have all her ladybits, but you know you would.
( Bert Monkeysex is waiting for the mods to delete him, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 12:10, closed)

pffff!
kissing gary coleman? that sounds like a whole new phobia to me!
i rather like the little mermaid, possibly because i bear a striking resemblance to ursula the sea witch. without the tentacles, of course.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 12:30, closed)

Horrah!
I do _so_ like a happy ending.

Also Cheese.
( DukeEuphoria Comes highly reccomended, Mon 14 Apr 2008, 11:41, closed)