Restless he left his hotel room, seeking the solace of the sun-warmed sand, the murmur of the waves to drown the sounds of the sorrows in his mind.

He was far from home, had dearly bought these days on a South Sea island but wrung no pleasure from them. The silent walls of his rented room taunted him, the gift shops with their shells and trinkets annoyed him, the people of the island were strange and distant and cared nothing for him.

The sand was warm beneath his feet and bore no marks upon it, for the few tourists with him on this distant isle were today guests at a native feast, which he had spurned.

In his gloom, he glanced over the waves and considered, were he to wade into the waters, that none would find him, washed away into this wide open sea.

One step into the foam he took and the salty waters sucked at his toes. But no further did he go. For now he saw, upon the sand, tiny prints pressed deep and he wondered who.

Who shared this solitary spot with him?

He traced the track with his finger-tip, fresh it seemed, as yet untouched by the tide. He followed it forward in the sand.

The path of prints now wound into high, dry sand, now slipped back to the water's edge, now ascended a grass-bound dune.

Then he saw her. She sat upon a driftwood log, staring silently at the sea before her. She raised a hand to her golden hair and pushed it from her face.

His breath caught and his heart leaped and the blood surged in his veins. Never had he seen such as this, a woman so lovely as to make his body tremble upon the mere sight of her.

And she wore nothing -- not a thread of clothing to interrupt the flowing curves of her body.

This had to be a dream.

"Hello," she said, and smiled. "I am glad to meet you. I come from the sea."

She was playing mermaid. Must be some sorority stunt.

But then she leaped off the log and darted towards the water. His eyes followed, allured by the bouncing of her bare bottom, until that vanished below the waves. She swam around to face him, then suddenly, jumped from the water and kicked her legs. Before she splashed back down, he gasped to see those legs shift into a definite, scaly tail.

As if to drive her point home, she smacked that tail upon the surface of the water, splashing him with the salty drops.

Oh, this was definitely a dream. A weird, delicious dream. Fine, then. He would humor the dream master and treat this treat as reality, as if beautiful mermaids really did wash up on island beaches and beguile lonely tourists.

She swam to the water's edge, swung her tail again, and those long legs reappeared, kicking a wall of salty water at him. She stood up and walked out of the sea, stopping and then turning slowly, 180 degrees, giving him a sweet view of, well, everything there was to view on her.

"What do you think? I prefer my sea-tail to this silly round thing," she said with disdain, rubbing her hands over her shapely bottom.

How could he explain that her human anatomical design was much preferable to the fishy original? He just gaped.

Then she waved her hand and to his disappointment a bathing suit appeared over the bodily attributes that had been holding his attention hostage.

"I need you to pay attention and to do me a favor," she said, stepping close to him and touching his shoulder.

"I have watched your beaches for many a summer and I have seen the beautiful women among you and they are doing a thing with their mouths you call smoking. I understand that only with lungs can one do this. It seems like so much fun.

"I have lungs now, for a few hours at least, very strong lungs and I would like to do this thing, to smoke a cigarette as a land woman does. Will you help me?"

He found words.

"Is that why you came up here on land? To smoke a cigarette?"

What kind of peculiar dream was he having anyway?

She giggled. Then she stuck out her tongue like a little girl.

"No, blonde man. I have done other things today. I have run until my feet were tired. I have tasted human food. I even, how do you say it, I even peed once, upon the sand. But I cannot have cigarettes because I have no metal pieces to trade to the man in the store. Go bring me cigarettes to smoke. I will wait here for you."

He pondered the absurd question as he stepped through the sand towards the road where a convenience store stood: What brand of cigarettes would a mermaid smoke?

He picked out a pack of Capris and a pink lighter.

Dreams are rarely consistent and so he did not expect to see the mermaid there when he returned. But she was, just swallowing the last of a sand crab, shell and all. He pretended not to notice.

She twirled her hair and wiggled her toes and shivered with excitement. He stripped the cellophane from the box and pulled out one of the cigarettes as she watched expectantly.

"Open your lips a little, to hold the cigarette," he said. She complied, meekly, like a child. He leaned in close to her, fascinated by her sky blue eyes and her tender, fluttering lashes; and he felt the warm sweetness of her breath upon his face.

He flicked the lighter and she jumped back with a shriek. For a moment, her eyes flashed with an otherworldly anger and he had the terrifying sensation that he was about to die a horrible death. This was no child and certainly no mortal woman!

Then she put her hands to her face and giggled. "I forgot about the fire - I thought only about the smoking."

*****

Part Two:

"Maybe this isn't a good idea. Smoking's a bad habit anyway. It's not good for you," he said.

"Silly blonde man. I will not be smoking long and your women who come to this beach are always smoking and are so beautiful. I will try again," she said.

She retrieved the cigarette from the sand where it had dropped and replaced it in her lips, carefully clamping them tightly around it, to hold it there.

"Light me up, baby!"

Ick. What cornball movie had she dredged that line up from? Did they show movies underwater? Maybe in dreams they did.

He flicked the lighter again and she tightened her lips even more and inhaled. And inhaled. And inhaled.

Then suddenly she exploded in a fit of coughing, full in his face.

"It ... stings," she gasped.

"Maybe you shouldn't inhale the first time. Just taste the smoke, get comfortable with it," he said.

She took another drag, this time puffing out her cheeks to fill her mouth with the creamy swirling smoke. Then she exhaled, quite casually, in his face. It apparently did not occur to this other-worlder that he or anyone might object to having leftover smoke spit in their face.

"The taste is different," she said, licking her tongue fetchingly around her lips.

"I can imagine," he said. "Not quite like the fish you grew up on, eh?"

"I want to inhale again," she said. "Only with inhaling can I make the pretty smoke like other women do."

"Might make you sick," he warned.

"I don't care. I like to feel the smoke inside my lungs," she said.

She put the cigarette to her lips again and sucked in -- but quickly spewed the smoke back out.

"I am feeling funny," she said. "I am dizzy but also I feel pleasure, like when a man and a woman touch, how happy they feel together."

"That's called Nic-o-tine," he said. "Nice little surprise tucked away in every cigarette. It's hitting you right about now."

"I want this neck-otin again. Is this why woman smoke?" she asked, inhaling deeply on the cigarette. "It tickles in my throat."

"Yeah, and to be cool. And to look sexy. And manage their weight," he said.

"Do I look cool?" She struck an exaggerated pose, like some Grease wannabee. He laughed -- she was like an overgrown child in so many ways.

Before he could stop her, she rushed forward and jabbed him with the cigarette, burning the edge of his arm.

"Damn it," he yelled and swung out his fist reflexively, only to see his arm flopping helplessly like a fish, as she stepped back and stared at him with her blue eyes burning again.

"You don't make fun of me," she said. "I could hurt you very much."

"You already have," he said, rubbing his singed forearm. This dream was becoming too real. Time to wake up, to get out of here.

"Don't go!" she cried, shifting from mermaid-demoness back to child again in that disconcerting way of hers. He turned around: what the hell.

She was standing there, holding the cigarette awkwardly in her hands. "Please teach me to smoke like I am cool," she said.

"A cool lady doesn't burn people with her cigarette," he said.

"You made fun," she said, shrugging her shoulders, clearing showing no interest in any apology.

Whatever.

***

Part III

"You just have to relax," he said. "Inhale slowly. Pull it in deeply but calmly, like sipping water, naturally. Then shape the smoke when you exhale. Be confident. That's all. Didn't you ever watch 'Breakfast at Tiffany's?'"

Dumb question.

She cocked her head, puzzled, then shrugged her shoulders again. She raised the cigarette to her lips in a long, graceful arc and inhaled deeply. She was not coughing anymore. Apparently magic lungs got used to cigarette smoke faster than those of mere mortal women.

She looked him in the eye and opened her lips in an "o" and breathed out a long, steady stream of smoke that spilled like a summer breeze over his face, pungent and sweet.

"Like that," he croaked, feeling dizzy himself from the smoke, stronger than the diluted wisps he occasionally encountered in his world. "Very good. But you're about to burn yourself with that cigarette."

Her cigarette had burned down almost to the filter. With a yip, she dropped it on the sand. A wave of her hand, and her bare feet were suddenly clad in sparkly sandals. Concentrating carefully, she lifted one pretty foot and stepped on the cigarette, twisting it firmly out.

"Very good," he repeated, his voice husky with yearning. Sea-demoness she might be, but this human form was tearing him up, especially those sexy little feet and magically manicured toenails frosted with glossy polish.

She watched bemused as he knelt before her. With a nudge of her hand, she pressed his trembling face to her feet and he kissed her toes, inhaling the salt and sand fragrance and the bitter reminder of the cigarette, whose crushed butt peeked out from just under the narrow edge of her sandals.

"Do land men kiss beautiful women like this?" she asked.

"We kiss them all over," he gasped.

"I have something more that I want to do on land today then," she said. "Take me to your room to smoke another cigarette."