Not all stingrays want to stab you in the heart. Some want to suck on your tits.

Too soon?

June 3, 1995 I convinced a smoking hot medical doctor babe to take the same last name as me. People were there. So was food and booze. I even danced. I even sucked at dancing.

Then me and the doctor babe said goodbye to all the people and got on an airplane. Then we got on big boat. Then the big boat took us places. One of those places was Grand Cayman where a stingray violated my bride.

If we’d been in a bar and I’d had a few, words would have been exchanged.

Our Grand Cayman daytrip involved getting on a smaller boat and heading out to some sandbar called Stingray City. I didn’t see a city. I did see a lot of stingrays though; somewhere in the neighborhood of eleven million of them. The other people on the boat saw them too, and those people started to freak out.

I’ve never heard so much screaming in my life. Not even when I saw a spandex-clad David Lee Roth pelvic thrust a bunch of stoned chicks in 1984.

Anyway, there were stingrays everywhere, and a bunch of people really didn’t want to get off the boat. They were all like, “Oh, I’m fine. I can see the stingrays from here. No, I don’t need a mask and snorkel. I’m going to stay on the boat.”

I was starting to see their point of view.

Then the doctor babe said, “This is awesome! Let’s get in the water.”

I look at my wedding ring, and started to have second thoughts.

I thought about explaining to her the origin of the name stingray, and that it involved the fact that they have harpoon-like implements of stinging attached to their tails.

But it was too late; she was already in the water.

I felt like that guy in that movie, where the woman does that thing, and he has to do it too or he’ll feel like a coward. You know the movie I’m talking about.

So, figuring it was time for me to grow a pair, I jumped in the water too. I could still hear all the screaming underwater. I’m amazed the stingrays could tolerate it. Then I realized what brought them there: squid.

No, we didn’t have to contend with actual live squid too, but the head stingray tourist guy – the guy who convinced people to give him money to take them out to a place where they could be surrounded by fish that would one day kill a man who thought wrestling crocodiles was fun – had a big-assed bucket-o-squid parts that he fed to the stingrays.

Brave tourists could grab handfuls of squid parts and feed them to the stingrays too. I was not one such brave tourist, but guess who was.

My wife liked grabbing handfuls of squid parts and having these creatures come along and vacuum-cleaner them out of her hands. I was having nothing to do with it. I had some crappy plastic disposable “waterproof” camera and relegated myself to photographic duties so I wouldn’t have to feed the stinging death fish.

So that’s what we did. My wife fed the stingrays. I took pictures. Everyone else screamed. Well, not everyone, but there were still a lot of people screaming about the fact that they were surrounding by stingrays. I don’t blame them.

Then my wife went to grab more squid parts, but it was getting to the bottom of the bucket which was a nasty soup of squid-part slime. So she got squid slime all over her hands, and somehow ended up wiping this squid slime on her newly married and bikini-clad chest. It turns out that stingrays like the squid slime just as much as the squid parts, because an overly amorous stingray made his move and latched himself onto her boobs. I think that fish spent more time on foreplay than I do.

I don’t really want to get into any more details, because my wife seemed to be enjoying it.

In case you’re wondering, I was able to put the entire incident behind me. The rest of the honeymoon was pretty good, and even though we did plenty more snorkeling I didn’t need to defend my wife’s honor against any other ichthyoid suitors.