Content notes: oral sex, ​​shapeshifting, detailed descriptions of lobster anatomy

We both stood there, each waiting for the other to speak first. I thought, “It has to be her. There’s no way I’m gonna say the right thing right now. Just stay quiet and wait for her to say something.” We’d been there for hours talking. Every time I see her I can’t shut up, but this…I had no words for. Another minute passed in silence, both of us staring at opposite corners of my bathroom door frame, and I remembered something she’d said when we first met in psychology class:

“I’m a ‘big bodies of water’ kind of person, you know? And my parents can vouch for me. There was a time when I was younger where, whenever I’d ‘go missing’ for a few hours, I wasn’t really missing. I was hanging with sea critters on the beach.”

Kind of person…

Her body was hard and solid, but the first thing that struck me about her were here hands: large, athletic and sturdy, like the kind you might see on an ancient Roman statue. She was tall with long legs and she was on the swim team. Before she’d even said a word, I didn’t much care what kind of person she was. She was hot. Getting to know her, finding out she was the best kind of person…I felt lucky to sit next to her for an hour a week. We both realized that the other showed up early and stayed late, and not once did either of us pay the professor any mind. I asked for her Snapchat.

I watched her eyes struggle not to meet mine. She shifted her feet. I hadn’t felt this particular kind of nervous since our first date. That day, I couldn’t remember what kind of flowers she said she liked, so I photoshopped a pic of all the flowers I could think of and printed a poster at the art building. It was raining, and when I got to the date, I didn’t realize my bag had a hole in it and the top of the print got wet. The blue from the hydrangeas had started to bleed onto the other flowers, but she loved it anyway. She called it “beautiful” and “abstract.”

She’s a fucking lobster. I am fucking a lobster. I am in love with a lobster. I am gay with a fucking lobster. So how did we arrive at this moment?

Earlier today, I asked her to come over for a “study date,” which for us means:

1. snacks
2. I stare at her butt while she plays on my VR headset
3. we catch up on YouTube drama
4. smash bros (we have sex sometimes)

1, 2 and 3 went as planned. 4 rolled around, and in the beginning, it, too, was going precisely as usual. She was on top of me, hand firmly around my neck, inching her mouth down from my lips to my chest, careful not to leave anything sensitive un-sucked on the way to her ultimate destination. As she reached my vulva, her grip on my throat loosened and her hand began to follow the path that her mouth had left behind. It’s at this point when I usually think about thanking whoever taught her how to do this so well and then I remember it was ME. She started slowly, her tongue building a rhythm, rubbing against me from the tip of my clit to the opening of my vagina.

“Bitch,” escaped my lips in an exhale.
“Sorry,” she said laughing as she raised her head.
“No, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean —” I was cut off by her leaning up to kiss me.
“Shut up,” she said before going back to work.

She laid her tongue and then her mouth around my clit, and, gosh, how do I describe this? She’d be too embarrassed to tell you herself, but put her up against any high-end vacuum on the market and you’ll end up watching your favorite vacuum cleaner get outclassed. More like va-cum. ANYWAY. With both of her hands holding my legs down, she sucked my clit until my hips began to buck. She followed that same path she started with back up to my mouth and let me get a taste. You know, top stuff.

So I grabbed her ass. Hard. I wanted to leave a mark. And when I released my grip…the part of her ass I was holding fell to the ground. A deep, dark green shell remained in the spot where her ass had been. Without a word, she picked up her ass and ran to the bathroom. I don’t know if it was leftover adrenaline or the fact that her tongue was inside of me mere moments ago or the trajectory of our relationship thus far, but even more than the shock, I felt like I should comfort my girlfriend. It was probably five minutes later that I heard some clanging coming from behind my bathroom door. I put on her shirt and walked over.

I knocked twice, my ear glued to the door.

She slowly pulled the door open and revealed herself, a six foot long lobster, standing on four sets of legs; two big-meaty-claws down by her sides.
And so we both stood there. A human in a T-shirt and a human-sized lobster, formerly inside an intact human suit, which now lay slightly torn inside my bathtub.

Every time my mind started to string together the thought, How did I not see this earlier? I thought, How could I have possibly known my girlfriend is a whole lobster? Lots of kids like to play in the ocean. Plenty of people prefer not to go to Red Lobster on a night out — it can get super busy, and not everyone has the patience to wait 40+ minutes for a table. The blue blood was weird, but I was born with a vestigial tail. Some people are RARE, and what does “normal” even look like?

She broke the silence.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I didn’t know how to say it…and I just like you so much…this was my only D-1 offer for swimming. That’s why I came to this school, but the deal was…”

“…Are you okay?” I blurted out. “I mean, I didn’t hurt you, or…ruin your…human suit? I didn’t mean too…I’ll…pay for it?”

This was the first time I’d seen a lobster’s face up close, so it’s possible I was projecting, but she seemed to soften at my interruption. Her long antennae lowered, and her (big and also meaty) claws unclenched.

“Don’t worry about that. I’ve got plenty of extras.”

“Good,” I said with a slight smile. “You’re…you’re…”

“Crustacean, yeah.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

By then the sun was setting. The light coming in through the window had made her cephalothorax glisten. She was as beautiful as ever. I went back to the bed and sat down, going over moments from our relationship where I should have paid more attention. Her hands are large and her grip is the strongest I’ve ever seen in my life, but I thought my obsession with her hands was because I’m gay? That being said, she’d always refer to her hands as her “pincers,” but even that seemed like a term of endearment. Plenty of tall people swim, lots of gay people don’t eat seafood and even more tall and/ or gay people have wardrobe malfunctions that interrupt nights out. Why wouldn’t I assume she meant clothing when she’d say wardrobe? Who thinks of a skin suit? Sure, she’s from Maine, but so are millions of others. It was all so silly.

“I’m in love with a lobster,” I thought out loud.

She crawled out of the bathroom and deftly climbed back onto the bed with me, making sure not to rip my bedding with her big, meaty claws. With her left, she reached up and turned my face toward hers.

“I love you, too.”

Her eyes were different, but her ability to see right through me was unchanged. I placed my left hand on her rostrum and stroked her cheliped with my right. I wanted to kiss her so badly, but I wasn’t entirely sure where her mouth was.

“Babe, how do I kiss you now?”

“Hahahaha,” she gruntled. “Let me worry about that.”

She leaned closer, draping her antennae on my shoulders and head. Her claws slid from my face down to my waist. Her long, muscular legs had been replaced with pereiopods and beautiful feathery pleopods that I can’t imagine hindered her successful run for co-captain of the swim team; they moved sensually in tandem as she crawled back on top of me. All her legs wrapped around me as she pulled me close to the underside of her carapace. I looked up at her — my lover, my lobster — and she leaned down and embraced my lips with her mandible.

I learned a lot about lobster anatomy today, but my favorite new fact? Lobsters have several mouths. My girlfriend knows how to use all of them.**

**This piece of fiction was written by a virgin.

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