In this engaging erotic short story, an old satyr named Encelados is living alone and lonely on the burning shores of Australia, or the Kurengai shore of Van Diemens Land as he styles it. He’s hot and, even though immortal, feeling old. So he trims his fur and goes for a swim and then he meets … well, you can decide for yourself who he meets, although I think she may be a silkie:

Then she rolled away and was hidden, half-hidden, a pale northern creature, a gleam through the long grass.

He waded, and as he did so he felt a change. Unaccustomed, but welcome, that made him feel young again. The cool water ran along the flanks of his cock as it rose and tightened and his balls squirmed, pulling tight. And when he reached the bank, it stood before him, making its own wake, like the prow of a ship.

At the edge, the water came up to his ribs and the tip of his erection nestled in among the roots and the earth of the underbank, and he rested his forearms on the grass and looked at her, full length, for the first time. This was no nymph and no naiad, but something else, something other. She was not dark enough, nor fleshy enough for his Mediterranean world, but slim, strong and pale, with the cheekbones of the far north and eyes as blue as the pack ice. She was arranged artfully…

The story is The Burning Shore by E.T. Costello.

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