Once there was a dugong called Doug who had a thing for me. He held me in his flippers and would not let me go. I gazed deep into his whiskers and worried that foreplay and his huge munching molars would not mix.

Looking back on it all, it was just one of those mistakes you make when you're traveling. It was not to be. We were just so different. He's in a dead-end job (resident tame-ish cute wild mammal) and I'm career-oriented. He was French and I only spoke Australian. Oh, and my relatives killed his relatives.

See, Doug lives at Port Resolution in Vanuatu and his wife had been killed a while back by the local fishermen. Dugongs mate for life so the fishermen had created a embittered widower that sulked in the bay where he'd last seen his wife.

To pass the time, he terrorized tourists. Does it all the time. Once he lead a French woman out to sea, then hug her tight while leaping into the air. She staggered back to shore, covered in bruises.

Not that the locals tell you that. Oh no- the local tourist guide says This boisterous dugong is a sea cow resident in the Bay and will (when not busy elsewhere) come and interact with swimmers. Interact? Oh yes, we interacted all right and scared me half to death.

Four of us got into the water when he showed up and for a while it was a surreal dream. The five of use would swim underwater in formation, lead by Doug. The water was clear and warm and the whole thing seemed one of those peak experiences that you keep close to your heart forever.

All the while, Dougy was leading us out to sea without us really noticing. Once we were far enough from shore, things changed. Doug parked himself between me and the shore and I couldn't get round him! I tried and he did this sliding rendezvous thing. We hit and bounced- me being pushed out to sea again.

I was right up against his face and I got a great view of these beady little eyes and his huge whiskers. I slide north and he slide south across me and I remembered that dugongs forage on sea grass so he'd have a GREAT set of molars. Aaarh! Me gonads!

Things got kinda blurry then. One of the other guys in the water (other side of Doug, not blocked from the shore) says I raised my head out of the water and did a very English thing. In precise tones I called to him, obviously straining to keep calm while obviously nearly polluting the water. "I think I am in need of assistance", I said, somewhat pompously.

Fortunately, Doug got bored with is new toy (me) and slunk off to find someone with a weaker heart to terrorize. I swam back to shore, shocked and shaking.

Back on land, I declared that "I've just had oral sex with a dugong". And the locals sniggered: one more story about dumb-ass tourists to be added to the secret Doug score card. It's clearly the local sport: dugong football where the tourists are the ball.

When I am in a mood to laugh at one of the most horrifying (but brief) experiences of my adult life, I can say that I understand why he fell for me. Check out my profile (pictured here) at the time of this trip. Clearly I looked like a dugong! Doug was just saying hello to a new flippered friend? Rite?

Yeah, right.