What Wikipedia Doesn't Know About Seahorses.

Here is some Wikipedia knowledge:

The male seahorse is equipped with a brood pouch on the ventral, or front-facing, side of the tail. When mating, the female seahorse deposits up to 1,500 eggs in the male's pouch.

Here’s what Wikipedia doesn’t know:

Pretty early in the history of the ocean, the first lady seahorse sleeked out of the holes in the coral reef, and saw him.  He was curling a sea twig with his tail.  She was impressed by the bulge that proceeded the descending first string of the tail that seemed to throb with every curl.  In and out.  In and out. It entranced her and she felt drawn to him.  As she inched over to him, she felt as if the ocean had been placed on a stove on high heat.  And she didn’t even know what a stove was, which really freaked her out, but she knew heat.  But she never knew heat like this.  Just inches away from him and he didn’t notice her.  He was lost in his curl.

“Hundred and one...breath…hundred two…breath…hundred three…breath”

He was already over a hundred.  Just how far could he keep this up?  Who knew?  There seemed to be no end in sight.  She floated closer to him, revealing her left side to him, the side, she thought, showed her best curves.  There is nothing more attractive in the seahorse world than a perfect S.  Artists have attempted to portray it, but no one could do justice to the real shape of the S.  And she had the best S in the reef.  And she knew it. 

“hundred twenty-one…breath…hundred twenty-two…breath…”

She refused to be overshadowed by sea twig.  She didn’t need this.  And she turned to walk away, but something kept her.  Something inside her needed him to notice her.  Was it destiny?  Desire?  Or the fact that there she was, this perfect S seahorse woman who is putting out her best side to this lunk, and he doesn’t even break from his curling trance to at least cop a look.  Was he gay?  She had to find out and repair her ego. 

She quickly picked up a rock and whipped it at his head.

“Hey!  What the…”  He was ready to fight, until his eyes were able to regain their focus and he saw that it was a chick who threw it at him.  He doesn’t fight chicks.  And what a chick!  She had about the fourth or fifth best S in the reef.  And the other three or four he had only seen in movies, so she was actually the best he had seen in person.  His heart raced when he saw her looking at him the way she that was looking at him.  It was like that one time when he saw a barracuda look at his friend Willie before it devoured him.  It was like that, but he was sure that she didn’t want to eat him.  Or did she?  No, he thought, her mouth is too small to devour him.  So he was safe.  Physically.  From getting eaten.  So, he could relax.  Play this cool.  He knew what to do.  All of his training and breeding had prepared him for this moment.

“Hey!” she says.

He whipped the sea twig down so hard that is stuck into the reef.  Slicked down his head fin with his tail, and positioned it down and slightly to the left and grinned at her.

“Hay is for horses.”

She returned his grin with one slightly more confident than his.  Not too confident that it over powered him, but just enough to let him know that she could match him: look for look, pose for pose, confidence for confidence.

“What’s a horse?”  She didn’t really ask.  She didn’t really care to know the answer.  She just wanted to play the game. 

And he knew it. 

He slightly lowered his head a little further and inched closer to her, just hovering the comfort zone, but not crossing it. 

“What’s hay?”

The temperature of the reef seemed to boil.  She thought that’s what water must do on this stove thingy she thought about earlier.  But then she pushed that thought out of her head.  Hot seahorse guys like this one don’t like seahorse girls who think about a world full of crazy things like stoves and stuff.  She concentrated on being cool.  As ice.  Actually, more like an iceberg. 

“I don’t know what hay is, but I have a sudden urge to roll around in it.”

“Rolling in the hay?”  He was trying to keep up.  She was obvious one of those smart-thinking types.  “Sounds kinky.  What is it?”

She slid her tail slowly up the ridges of his chest.  Taking in every bump.  Every cranny. 

“Care to find out?” 

And with that, like a dominatrix, she whipped her tail around his neck and pulled him in a coral cave just around the corner. 

Definitely not gay, she thought.