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You can never come back from that

by S. E. Linn 6 months ago in travel · updated 6 months ago
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S.E.Linn

December 2011

So, funny story…

Recently separated, I’d been on the online dating site Plenty of Fish for about two days when I met Roy. (Okay, his name wasn’t really Roy, but obviously, I don’t want to get sued.)

Well, technically I hadn’t met him in the flesh yet, but we both had pictureless profiles and, back then, I didn’t realize how much time you can suck out of your life chatting with faceless, nameless people. It turns out to be a lot. But we happened to hit it off in the chatbox and to my surprise, he seemed really charming, flattering, and could make me laugh and actually spell. And I took it as a good omen that after about a week of constant texting, he hadn’t sent me a picture of his junk.

A total gentleman.

When we met in person things got even better. Roy was my height, lean, and a snappy dresser. He was cute, had a big laugh, great smile, and spared no expense. He opened my truck door and, if I was cold, he asked if I needed his jacket. After years of getting no attention from my husband, the attentive Roy seemed like the White Knight of every woman’s dreams. He took me out for drinks and dinners. He loved to dance and socialize. He had a good union job with a Petroleum company and owned a truck.

I fell like a sky piano. What could possibly go wrong?

About nine weeks into the relationship and head over heels in lust, we decided to go on a trip to Mexico. Unlike me, Roy had never been outside of Canada, so this vacation was a pretty big deal for him. We picked Manzanillo, more specifically Barra de Navidad.

For just a dollar water taxi ride, this little resort town boasts dozens of seafood and authentic Mexican restaurants, from upscale waterfront restaurants to family-run, hole-in-the-wall taco places. It was the perfect

couple’s retreat. Plenty of water sports, big game fishing, and sunset walks on the beach. We stayed at the Grand Isla Navidad Resort, which is this massive maze of Spanish colonial walkways and staircases leading to multiple pools and spectacular gardens.

In a word it was epic!

No stranger to Mexico myself, I was quite physically accustomed to the various gastrointestinal illnesses that can befall tourists, so I was able to enjoy the street vendor cuisine and ice in my Pina Coladas without fear of Montezuma’s revenge. After trip thirteen, I’m sure I could have probably drunk from a tepid bathroom water bucket and survived. Roy, on the other hand, could very likely not.

When you are dating someone new, it’s not always easy to tell if they are receptive to unsolicited advice or need to find things out on their own. I normally observe what is happening around me and try to blend into my surroundings. So, after a day of sun, snorkeling, and waiters serving us drinks with umbrellas I happened to see a middle-aged, slightly plump, Mexican man casually walking down the beach towards us balancing a big tray of raw oysters in one hand and swinging a bottle of white tequila in the other.

“Do you like raw oysters?” I asked, looking over at Roy.

“I’ve never actually tried one, “Roy said, looking a bit unsure.

“Oooh, let’s get some then,” I said, jumping up and reaching for my wallet. “Senior! Senior! Por favor ven aqui!”

The man nodded and headed our way.

“Cuanto?” I asked.

“20 dollares,” the man said.

So, I bought the whole tray of oysters – about thirty in total – along with the tequila and proceeded to pour us tequila shots. If you’ve never had a raw oyster in tequila with a blast of hot sauce, then I highly recommend doing so. Total crowd-pleaser!

Roy was watching me suck the slippery oyster flesh out of the salty shells and swallow with a groan of pleasure. I was about six in when he carefully selected his first raw oyster off the tray. Examining it, he turned it around in his hand, sniffing it. He looked up at me with indecision, slowly brought the shell to his lips, and sucked. I could see the cold, slimy oyster going from one side of his cheek and over to the other, but not going down.

Ever helpful I said, “Here,” passing him a shot of tequila, “sling this back and swallow.”

Finally, after a few thumps on the back. he managed to get it down without choking.

“First one’s always the hardest,” I said encouragingly. “Here’s another one.”

Well, after about twenty-five oysters and half a bottle of tequila, I stood up, felt my toes sink deep into the hot sand, and started heading towards the water.

“You comin’ in?” I asked. “You know, raw oysters are supposed to be an aphrodisiac. Have you ever had sex in the ocean?”

He looked around and shook his head. I don't think he'd ever seen the ocean. Doubtful, but not totally against the idea he said, “But, there're people over there.”

“So?” I laughed, “They are way over there. It’s Mexico. Nobody cares.”

I reached behind my back and pulled seductively on my bikini top string until it untied. Doing a quick scan of the beach I could see another couple floating in the distance and a group of young, Mexican children laughing and feeding crusts of bread to a large school of pencil fish. I lay back in the water, top half naked and Roy suddenly didn’t seem to care anymore about the public situation.

Focused intently on my bobbing breasts, he was preoccupied and trying to get his surf shorts off and keep from falling over in the rolling waves.

Well, just as Roy was gearing up to do the unmentionable...Suddenly – in a streak of flashing light- a torpedo-quick Pencil fish shot from the shallows and TWACK. Hit with surprising velocity and bit Roy right on the end of his dick.

I guess, looking back, the fish must have thought Roy’s wiener was a hot dog.

He grunted with surprise and then with a look of sheer terror, Roy turned three shades of green and white – then puked.

“Oh my God, are you okay?” I said with concern. I didn’t know exactly what had happened yet, but whatever it was – it was obviously not good.

“What’s wrong?”

“I just got bit on the dick!” he wheezed. “Oh my God. Oh my God.”

“Whoa! Okay, don’t panic!” I said, shocked. “Is it still…there?”

“I don’t fucking know, Shawna!”

“Well, you’d better go check. We need that!” I said, highly alarmed. Well, as alarmed as a chick wasted on tequila could manage to be.

He turned and lurched out of the shallows, clutching his privates, and went off to our room to access the damage.

About thirty minutes later Roy came back and, glancing around, pulled out Mr. Happy to show me the damage. And, right on the end of the head of his penis was the distinct double imprint of a little fish bite.

“Are you gonna be okay?” I said, obviously sympathetic.

Then I heard a sound that everyone who has ever been to Mexico can instantly recognize. A hollow thud deep down in the guts. That sound means you had better find a toilet FAST. Or, a cowboy hat.

Roy’s eyes met mine.

“Shawna,” he said, his complexion still a greeny-whitish color, “I don’t feel so good.”

Well, that was the moment the new relationship with Roy crossed over a few relationship boundaries. You quickly find out how tough a man is by how he deals with a bit of violent diarrhea. Within minutes, Roy was curled into the fetal position at the bottom of the shower screaming, “Call my MOM! For God’s sake, Shawna. CALL MY MOM!”

I tried to be supportive. I mean, I went door-to-door through almost the entire hotel asking senior citizens for Pepto Bismol or any medication, but after a day of that shit, (literally) Roy was on his own. I figured he’d feel uncomfortable with me in close quarters listening to him poop through a needle’s eye. So, the least I could do was go down to the pool and play water volleyball.

And, that’s pretty much where he found me four days later, too. In that pool with the hotel staff playing volleyball -- drink in hand.

When Roy finally did emerge back out into the light, he was weak and shaky. He looked like an old man gingerly making his way towards us. I waved from the water.

“Hey! You're alive!” I called out.

He saw me and slowly started descending the pool stairs. He was halfway across and nearly to me when we heard it again. DA DUNK. Our eyes locked. The look on his face said it all. He was going to shit in the pool.

“Nooooooooooooo!” I yelled in slow motion, “Don’t do it! You can never come back from that!”

By now, people had taken notice and realized what was about to go down. A panicked swimming stampede ensued. People were screaming and trying to get to higher ground.

It was worse than screaming SHARK at the beach.

Roy had 180’d and was frantically trying to get to shore. He was using his arms to propel him into a full run, but in four feet of water, no one is moving quickly. Desperate and having zero options left, he did the only thing a man can do in that particular situation.

He used his finger to plug his butt.

I wish I was kidding. I am not.

I have got to give credit when credit is due. And, he managed not to squirt in the resort pool. But, in the beginning stages of a relationship – that is really funny…

But, equally really not hot.

Lessons Learned:

1. All travel partners are not equal.

2. When new to Mexico, avoid unrefrigerated raw oysters in the hot sun.

travel

About the author

S. E. Linn

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