- Title: A Mermaid in Love
- Subtitle: Transgender Love Story
- Author: Yu Sakurazawa
- Category: MTF
Austin/Ava Fisher is the 18 year old protagonist of the story. She is blonde, with Celtic white skin and light blue eyes. Ava hails from a low-income family, but has blossomed as a swimmer sponsored by a sports merchandise company. She has felt that she is a girl trapped in a male body since she was 10 years old. Ava has recurrent dreams of a boy whom she believes to be her soul mate. Except for her career, a loving grandmother and her deceased mother’s antique diamond pendant, she owns nothing.
A Mermaid in Love
by Yu Sakurazawa
Chapter 1 – Ava, the Mermaid
I swam. My body was turned to one side, arms and legs asymmetrically in motion. My hand acted as oars, allowing my gradually changed body to propel itself forward. With my hard lean body turned into womanly curves, I experienced great tiredness in the left side of the body. I flipped over to my right side, allowing one shapely arm, curvaceous waist and bulging hip to rest. I had been doing the scissor stroke for a good 10 years now, ever since I was eight years old. But even this relatively relaxing stroke taxed my transformed body.
It had been two years since I had begun taking female hormones; I was nearly a fully developed woman by now. My breasts had blossomed into a decent size 32 (A). About 20 months after having started HRT, the fat distribution in my body had started changing. My waist had become smaller, my hips more curvaceous and my derriere decidedly more rounded. These changes satiated a longstanding yearning in me, but made continuing to compete as a male swimmer difficult. My career ahead looked decidedly bleak, but I had no choice. I had been forced to become a woman, or else give up on life itself. It had been a do or die situation.
I stared swimming when I was eight years old. My parents had been dead for many years and I lived with my lovely paternal grandma I fondly called “nana”. Since she was arthritis-ridden to continue working at the mill, and I was too young, we had enrolled ourselves for a social welfare scheme and lived on dole. Our house was a two-storied council flat, with two small bedrooms, a dining hall, a kitchen and a bathroom. Though we didn’t have three course meals, nana and I had enough to eat and didn’t ever have to go to a food bank. Nana also allowed me to join swimming classes, which was offered free for orphaned children. I also had a state school education.
It turned out that I was a water baby, a born swimmer. I attended swimming classes regularly, stayed behind for hours practicing strokes that were much advanced for my age and experience. Such was my zeal for swimming that I even forgot to have food on time. My hunger for my passion was so intense that I was soon an ace at freestyle, butterfly, breaststroke, backstroke and individual medley. I joined competitions and won many of them. When I participated in and won a competition in an older age category, two local newspapers covered me. I, eight and a half year old Austin Fisher became a child prodigy, a phenomenally talented young boy who could beat competitors double his age. In other words, I had taken the aquatic world by storm.
A year after I had joined swimming, my fame had spread in the local area. A well-wisher uploaded video clips of my strokes on social media, and I started getting fan mail from people claiming that they had been greatly inspired by me. Several people started following me on social media. They wanted to know everything about me, which included: the background I hailed from, my workout schedule, achievements and so on. Since I was too young to have a Facebook account, Nana posted updates on my behalf, detailing the modest background that I hailed from, the grueling training schedules I put myself through and the laurels I had achieved. She also regretfully mentioned that because of our financial constraints, she couldn’t afford to buy me top quality swimming wear. Nana also mentioned that while she could give me three basic meals a day, she couldn’t afford to give me the kind of nutritious diet swimmers required to build their bodies and stamina.
During this period, Impetus, a company specializing in sports merchandise offered to sponsor me. It paid for my sports equipment, a diet which met the demands of an upcoming athlete’s body and my trips abroad and to other parts of the UK. Over a period of 9 years, I had represented East London in several competitions and Great Britain in a few. In the subsequent years, I did fairly well, but my accomplishments weren’t good enough to satisfy Impetus, myself or nana completely.
The reason began at age 10, when I started going through a personally harrowing period. It all began in school one day when an inexplicable power beyond my control yanked me to the girls’ bathroom. At first, the girls were startled to see me, but soon loosened up and began chatting with me. We started conversing about general topics such as the weather, studies and syllabus before moving on to uncompromisingly girly-talk such as clothes, fashion, makeup and boys. I enjoyed the girls’ company more than I had ever liked being with the boys. I was fascinated by a peek into the female world. The short skirts, the mascara, the fascinators and the lip gloss! They all seemed so bewitching, so captivating and fascinating than anything else I had come across so far! Before I knew it, the yearning to dress, smell and sound like a girl became so intense that I lost control. I fell to my knees and begged a tall, gossipy girl called Yvonne to exchange her uniform with mine.
“Have you gone crazy, Austin?” asked Yvonne recoiling in disgust and horror “of course, I am not going to do that!”
“Please, Yvonne” I pleaded, my voice almost a wail “Oblige me this once, just for five minutes. We still have fifteen minutes to go before the science class starts”.
“Get away from me, you faggot!” yelled Yvonne “you’ve lost your mind!”.
I knew I was making a royal fool of myself, but I couldn’t control myself. I fell to the ground–a beseeching, sniveling, slobbering mess. The girls shirked in shock. They marched out of the bathroom, leaving me stripped of all dregs of dignity.
Yvonne was a blabbermouth. The other girls came a close second. Soon, the story of how I had disgraced myself had spread like wildfire throughout school. Boys, who were jealous of my stardom, took this opportunity to shake my self-confidence. They ragged, riled and bullied me at every given opportunity. They called me a pansy, a queer and a faggot. They made life so miserable for me that I stopped attending school. I, however, continued swimming and tried to perform to the best of my ability.
I performed decently enough in the competitions, but wasn’t as “prodigious” as before. Since that awkward episode at the girls’ restroom, my mental health had taken a turn for the worse. I began obsessing and over-thinking as to why I had behaved in the manner I had. I was also distressed by my increasing fascination for girls’ clothes, accessories and magazines. In my free time, I began reading Mills & Boons, a mushy romantic novel series, on the sly. I bought myself a lacy nightgown and went to bed wearing it. (Of course, I made sure I latched my bedroom door tightly shut so that nana wouldn’t know). I did odd jobs so that I had enough money to buy sexy lingerie to wear under my regular male clothes. Also, I had begun detesting my penis. I felt that it didn’t belong to me. This was also the time I had begun dreaming of him….
As dissatisfied as it was with my performance, Impetus continued to sponsor me. I wasn’t as brilliant as before, but my track record was better than most swimmers in London. During early adolescence, I made no friends as I was busy training at the pool or doing odd jobs. Unbeknownst to my conscious self, I was probably saving for a complete female wardrobe and Hormone Replacement Therapy (HRT). However, I was also apprehensive of the adverse impact gender change could have on my swimming career.
At 16, I had gone beyond the point of caring and started undergoing HRT. Now, two years after the treatment, I had metamorphosed from “Austin the Merman” to “Ava the Mermaid”. Though I hadn’t confirmed my gender change to the press or made a formal announcement of the new name I had given myself, speculations were abound. Where would life take me now that the whole world had started noticing the changes in my body? Only time could tell.
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