You arrive together in a place that looks like a forest of seaweed and sea-grass, greenery everywhere, waving in the currents. Clia holds your hand gently in hers, leading the way, weaving through the water between small groups of mermaids who chat and giggle and cling to each other suggestively.
The atmosphere is festive. It almost reminds you of a carnival. There are a fair number of mermaids here, most of them close to you and Clia in age. Looking around, you notice that males are few and far between: in fact, out of all the merpeople here, you only spot two other mermen, each paired with the mermaid mate of their choosing (or perhaps they were the ones who had been chosen, that seemed to be how things worked for the merfolk). Otherwise, the mermaids were swimming about in groups of two and three, either "hanging out" in their small cliques and being social or already falling down onto the sea-grass wrapped in each others' arms and getting frisky.
God damn, you think to yourself, but the sight of all these topless and nubile fish-ladies starting to make out all around you is not going to be good for your addictive personality. It's turning you on faster than any porn ever did.
But it doesn't turn off your rational mind, or your curiosity. "Why so few dudes?" you ask.
"We can spawn a LOT of eggs in one mating," says Clia. "Most of the babies won't survive to be born. In fact, we'll be really lucky if even one does. But do the math and think about it: if we mated twelve times in a year, how long before we'd have more kids than we could possibly feed and care for?"
"Good point," you say. "But still, don't most of the males at least want to, you know, get their rocks off when they get the chance?"
Clia shrugs. "We've got six or seven days at least. Some of them will get around to it later. And all the mermen down here in the sea are used to a different kind of mating than you. It's just not as urgent for them, you know?" (You nod, and Clia keeps explaining.) "Plus, well . . . my sister Thea told me what you were doing while I was gone, and I guess you kind of figured out that males can still feel sort of good in between mating times. Females, not so much. We can only do this now, so . . ." she gestured, pointing to all the groups of mermaids who were really starting to enjoy themselves.
You look around and see that the little groups have all split off to seek their privacy. The two other merman-mermaid pairings have already disappeared into the kelp, hidden from your sight. As you scan the area, you occasionally see a pair of mermaids holding each other in an erotic embrace, tails intertwined and lips locked; or a triplet, one mermaid with her head thrown back in pleasure, her mouth open in a gasp, and her tail ramrod-straight underneath her with her caudal-fin quivering as her two partners each suckle a breast.
Well they're definitely all having sex now, but you detect no sense of urgency from them, no mad frenzy to finish before a deadline. It's languid and sensual: the mermaids are taking their time, building to whatever end.
"Hey," says Clia, drawing your attention back to her. She's blushing now, and her nipples are crinkled around the areolae, just starting to get hard. She takes your hands again and says, "No need to be nervous. Let's just find a good place to nest, okay?"
You nod, and you let Clia lead you into the privacy of the seaweed.