Long sea-borne men of yore yearned for the sight of women so much that their imaginations went nuts. The power of desire for anything feminine - together with the isolation - sent their minds on weird pathways, including morphing fish into females. Such is the power you have over us. No wonder that when explorers found themselves in places like Tahiti, with its ripely available beauties, they had to trick their crews into leaving.
The attraction of the half-fish, half woman is two-fold:
1. She cannot run away when caught.
2. She is, for the most part, bare-breasted (or close enough).
The sub-text is that the mermaid is both attainable and detainable, fitting right into the fantasy template - after all, what use is there dreaming of something uncatchable?
(We need to think like a horny sailor stuck on a stinky sailboat during a years-long voyage here to capture the zeitgeist.)
All-in-all, mermaids are women, perfected. They're available mid-ocean if one uses the right bait, they won't escape if lured shipboard and they're sexually out there. Regarding the matter of below-the-waist details, I shall refrain from making tasteless banter about whether they de-scale. Some waters are best left uncharted.
It occurs to me that land-only ladies share at least one mermaid attraction, the high-heeled shoe. Heels hinder you running away just as a lower-half flipper slows the mermaid down. We like a little chase, but want the odds stacked on our side.
Bottoms Up, Stilletos.
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