Queerbait

Fisherman Peter caught the gay merman with queerbait.
Explicit gay content was illegal on land, even in pursuit of mermen flesh. Luckily, fishermen learned how to produce eye-catching bait without getting jailed. They printed out queerbaited images from films. Ones that included same-sex characters gazing at each other with fascination or coming close to brushing hands.
Gay mermen loved such images. Queerness was celebrated underwater, away from the laws of homophobic humans. Mermen swam toward the queerbait, pressing their palms against its romantic insinuations. Fitted in the image’s center was a tiny hook at the end of a fishing line, piercing the mermen. Fishermen reeled them in.
Caviar used to be the most extravagant marine delicacy until people discovered mermen. Their flesh was delicious, but the real riches were in how the food altered one’s psyche. It instilled euphoria. Scientists believed mermen’s emotions remained in their dead bodies, transferring to those who ate them. Some people didn’t understand what happiness or love felt like until they dug into a mermen’s thigh, or if they were feeling adventurous, their penis. Despite having fins for their lower halves, mermen still had phalluses.
Fisherman Peter gazed at the merman that he reeled onto his boat. He had defined pecs, broad shoulders, and bouncy, curly hair that somehow hadn’t deflated in the water. His fin was iridescent and thick. Peter suppressed an erotic rush that started in his stomach and then electrified his whole body. It dissipated when he swallowed deeply and looked away. Such feelings were forbidden. Mermen were still men, and Peter needed to focus on finding a wife.
He’d never had gay sex. The few times he indulged his desires were with queerbait. Peter found kinship through queerbait. He could look at an image or video and see gay longings insinuated but have justification to say I didn’t know this shit was gay! if caught.
He never dared look at porn, but he’d watch films that included friends almost too friendly, or characters using subtle wordplay that wasn’t quite homoerotic text, maybe not even subtext, but had an amorphous, inexplicable charge.
Peter picked up the squirming mermen. He tried to bite Peter, but it resolved into a nibble. His energy was sapped on land. Peter placed the merman on a table and grabbed his butcher knife from the adjacent counter.
Most mermen were gay, so queerbait almost always lured them. They had no contact with the surface–they didn’t know the queerbaited images luring them wasn’t uninhibited love.
Optimism and abandon ran strong underwater, and fishermen took advantage of it.
Part of Peter wanted to scream out to the mermen not to fall into his trap. Instead, he continued his family business.
For generations, his family ran one of the world’s most esteemed fishing businesses. Often, the work made Peter feel vile, as if it expelled a primal part of him, replacing it with falsehoods. But he continued without deviation. Maybe if he wore his work like a second skin, it’d eventually engulf his entire being, until the rest of his identity wouldn’t exist, wouldn’t pang.
He tried not to look the merman in the eyes, and instead looked everywhere else. But through some irresistible force, Peter’s gaze eventually landed on him. He was a gorgeous merman. Muscular, but with a cute bundle of fat around his stomach. The people eating him would surely enjoy it.
The merman’s gaze wandered to the side of the room. It landed on the queerbait that had lured him to Peter’s hook: a picture of two shirtless men at a swimming pool, ready to dive in, with little space between them.
The merman’s penis was semi-erect. He extended his arm toward Peter. A desire tugged Peter toward him. His fingertips touched the merman’s. The merman laughed, a big white smile illuminating his face. Peter tried to smile, too, but it was too difficult, like something had wired his mouth shut.
He put his hand on the merman’s shoulder for maybe seconds, maybe minutes–he got lost in the touch. He moved his hand away. A red imprint remained on the shoulder, like a stoplight.
A swirl of shame swept Peter. He grabbed his butcher knife and stabbed the merman in the throat. The merman gurgled as blood gushed from his wound. Peter grabbed the merman’s hands as he squirmed, locking him in place. The merman’s grasp helped still Peter, too. It was a brutal act, not a Queer moment. It couldn’t be. It just seemed that way.