The Fish

It was a present from a friend.  It was an Oscar.  It was growing and also it was losing its color and becoming a rather bloated looking blowie.

But it was not a blowie, it was an Oscar.  That was attractive to me somehow, subliminally I think it symbolized Oscar the Grouch as in Sesame Street.  But anyway, this night it was especially hungry and was leeping out of the water in order to catch the scraps of meat I offered to him.

I thought I'd call him Ian.  I know it's weird to call a pet fish by a human name, but I'm in love with a guy called this so I guess it is reasonable that I should call a pet this, considering I must feed him and attend his every whim and basic needs on a daily basis.

Last night I feel asleep on the sofa watching TV when I dreamed of Ian becoming too big for the little aquarium and bursting out of his glass container and somehow being able to breathe in oxygen.  After a few minutes his fish torso turned silver with rivulets of human muscle tissue.  I looked up to see the face of Poseidon coming into view, at first masked by wide fish eyes with dart speed focus.  The god of the sea had risen from Ian the Oscar, and now before me was the body of a man that was worthy of my full attention, and a pitchfork that was long enough to win a girl's heart for eternity.

I made love to Poseidon all night long.  I remember when he asked me to get on top he was that slippery that I slid right onto the floor a couple of times, but I tell you, all that lubrication is just, well, I'll leave it for your very ACTIVE imaginations to figure out what we were up to and for how long.  Poseidon's water temperature went up so high he evaporated significantly during the whole process.   Thankfully he was more than happy with our little tete-a-tete and my morning there was no sign of the great God of the Sea or his wonderful pitchfork.

The odd thing was that Ian was no long in the tank.  Actually there was no tank.  Ever.  Really.  Sorry.