I Went Skinny Dipping in Cancun And Got Stung By a Stingray
- By: Amanda Coscarelli
This story has been submitted by a LOOP reader…
There’s a certain kind of confidence that only shows up after midnight in Cancun. It’s humid, your shirt is sticking to you, the bass from the beach club thumps straight through your ribcage, and suddenly every bad idea feels like a spiritual calling.
That’s how I ended up naked in the Caribbean Sea.
The beach club was one of those places that pretends it’s classy because there are candles in hurricane glasses and a DJ wearing linen. Bottle service spilled onto the sand. Girls danced barefoot with their heels dangling from their hands. I had been drinking mezcal all night—smoky, dangerous, deceptively smooth—and at some point someone said, “We should go swimming.”
Someone else said, “Like, actually swimming.”
I don’t remember who suggested we lose our clothes, but I remember agreeing immediately, like a man with nothing left to prove and nothing to lose but his dignity.
We stumbled past the velvet rope, past the confused security guard who decided not to see us, and into the dark water. The ocean was warm, silky, almost reassuring. The music from the club faded into a distant thud, replaced by laughter and the sound of waves slapping gently against shore.
For a brief, perfect moment, I felt invincible. Naked, drunk, floating on my back under a moon that felt personally invested in my happiness. This is it, I thought. This is the story I’ll tell forever.
Then I put my foot down.
I remember agreeing immediately, like a man with nothing left to prove and nothing to lose but his dignity.
It felt like stepping on a live wire. A sharp, electric pain shot up my leg and I screamed—an unmanly, high-pitched sound that cut straight through the night. I thrashed, swallowed saltwater, and immediately became aware that something was very wrong.
I dragged myself toward shore, hopping on one foot, holding the other like it had personally betrayed me. Blood bloomed in the water behind me, dark and unreal. Someone yelled, “Dude, what happened?” Another person laughed, assuming I was doing a bit.
“I got stung,” I said, my voice shaking. “I think I got stung by something.”
That’s when a very calm, very sober woman appeared out of nowhere and said, “It was a stingray.”
Apparently, stingrays like shallow water at night. Apparently, they do not appreciate drunk Americans stomping around naked near their homes.
I collapsed onto the sand, fully exposed, clutching my foot while beach club patrons stared like this was an immersive art installation. The pain intensified—hot, pulsing, almost intelligent. I had never experienced anything like it. It felt personal.
The woman—an angel in a bikini top—started barking orders. Someone brought towels. Someone else produced a plastic cup of tequila, which was immediately rejected. “Hot water,” she said. “As hot as he can stand.”
Minutes later, I was sitting in a beach club bathroom with my foot submerged in a bucket of scalding water, still naked except for a towel wrapped hastily around my waist. The DJ continued playing deep house like nothing had happened. Outside, people danced. Inside, I questioned every decision I had made since landing in Mexico.
I collapsed onto the sand, fully exposed, clutching my foot while beach club patrons stared like this was an immersive art installation.
The pain eventually dulled, replaced by humiliation. I had wanted a wild Cancun story—something sexy, reckless, cinematic. Instead, I had a medical emergency and a limp.
Security escorted me back to my hotel room in borrowed shorts. I fell asleep with my foot elevated on a pile of decorative pillows, the sound of the ocean mocking me through the balcony doors.
The next morning, I woke up hungover, swollen, and Googling “stingray sting recovery time.” My friends brought me breakfast and asked if it was “worth it.”
I thought about the moonlit water, the laughter, the brief moment where everything felt electric in a good way. I thought about the pain, the blood, the towel.
“Honestly?” I said. “Ask me again in a year.”
Cancun will do that to you. It’ll give you the night you think you want—and then it’ll remind you, very sharply, that the ocean doesn’t care how hot you feel or how loud the music is.
Sometimes the party bites back.
