A Day at the Beach (short fiction)

Helen and Troy’s Epic Road Quest


It wasn’t always easy dating the most perfect man in the world, but Helen had gotten used to it. It helped that Troy wasn’t quite as perfect as he appeared. Dating a person always showed their flaws. He left towels on the floor, for instance. He was an okay dancer. He didn’t eat broccoli, and when he was a kid, he’d throw a tantrum even at the mere thought of it. They were small things, but they added up. Troy might have been amazing, but Helen had been with him long enough to know he was human.

Troy’s sister, however, was a different story.

Imogen emerged from the ocean, and all eyes turned to her. She was beautiful, sleek put powerful, somewhere between a gymnast and a ballet dancer. Her long, black hair shimmered in the sunlight, and she strode across the beach with the confidence of a goddess.

Helen tried not to stare, but it was hard not to.

She’d never been fond of the beach. The sand always worked its way between her hooves, wound up in her fur. She didn’t have a conventional beach body. She couldn’t pull off a two piece like Imogen. She wasn’t the woman many looked at, which she’d long ago accepted, but was made more obvious when Imogen came over, set beside Helen on the towel, and rendered Helen, for all practical purposes, invisible.

“Aren’t you going for a swim?” asked Imogen, slipping on a pair of sunglasses.

“Maybe later,” said Helen, though she didn’t swim. Not this early in the day. She’d spend hours smelling like a wet dog. She wasn’t quite as self-conscious about that as she used to be, but she didn’t see a reason to pester people with that.

A beach ball bounced over to them. There were a hell of a lot of beach balls and Frisbees and friendly little dogs finding their way to their section of the beach, usually attached to handsome young men who would request “a little help” and invite Imogen (and Helen by necessity) for a friendly game of volleyball or to have some beers or just hang.

“A little help,” said a young man with ridiculous abs.

Helen tossed the ball at him and he didn’t hide his disappointment.

“Sorry about that,” said Imogen. “I know it gets annoying.”

“I can imagine,” replied Helen.

And she could. In a way, it wasn’t much different than her own problems. Most people never got past the horns and fur. Imogen’s horn and furs were a beautiful face and a fantastic ass. The nature of the attention was different, but it all came down to the same superficial reflex.

“Do you ever wish you were a little less . . . attractive?” asked Helen.

“No, not really,” replied Imogen. “There are hassles, but also, perks. I have never bought a drink at a bar. Ever. And if I want a guy, I can usually get him. I get treated better overall, which is maybe terrible to admit, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say I took advantage of it now and then. Do you ever wish you were a little less . . . minotaur?”


Helen adjusted her one piece. She had bigger boobs than Imogen at least, but that was because she had bigger everything.

“I’m sorry. That was rude,” said Imogen.

“No. It wasn’t. We don’t have to pretend like this isn’t something about me everyone notices. How could they not? And I’d be lying if I wouldn’t be tempted to look more like you.”

A football bounced over.

“Okay, maybe a little less like you.”

“I wouldn’t mind looking a little like you now and then,” said Imogen. “Especially the superstrength. I bet that’s pretty awesome.”

Helen picked up the ball and crushed it. She tossed the husk at some surfer dude, and she didn’t feel bad about it.

“Yes, the superstrength is pretty cool,” she said.

Troy appeared, handed her a cherry snowcone and sat next to her.

“So what are you two talking about?”

“Oh just girl stuff,” said Imogen.

Helen put her arm around Troy and allowed her tail to flop around contentedly.

“Yeah,” she said with a smile. “Girl stuff.”

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One Comment

  1. Brian Roffino
    Posted May 12, 2015 at 1:26 pm | Permalink

    Thank you for taking the time to write these short little gems.

    They’re quick little windows into your creative universes where readers can get lost for a bit. We have an idea about the life of the plain friend of a goddess, but life as a minotaur friend? Hadn’t thought of that.

    Some people turn to Joel Osteen to pick up their moods.
    I use a little 5 minute A. Lee story.

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