The creepiest man I have ever met

I’ve always lived my life in such a way that I try to live a hundred different lives in one.

One such life was on Utila, a dive island in Honduras, where I did my Dive Master.  I spent a summer living on the island, spending my days working on dive boats, and my evenings drinking in (literal) dive bars.  The weather was incredible, the company exciting and adventurous, and the food delicious.  I spent the summer living off freshly baked cinnamon rolls from the bakery beside my house.


After a few weeks on the island, the newest Dive Instructor candidates arrived, and one of the guys, an American called Johnny, joined us for an early morning dive.  After the dive, we docked the boat and I headed home for a shower (and a cinnamon roll!).  As the guy was new to the island, I offered to direct him to the bar where the rest of our group was headed.  Stopping as we walked past my house I said ‘I’m just popping in to grab a shower, but keep going up this road, and the bar is on the left.’  Johnny replied ‘Can I join you in the shower?’  It was one of the first things he ever said to me, at 11am, with no flirtation or prompting.  I looked at him in complete confusion, shook my head and entered my house alone.

Scuba divers keep a log of their dives, and it’s a bit of a tradition that when you hit your 100th dive, you do it naked.  Me being me, I didn’t fancy being the only one in the nude, and so I somehow managed to convince all the staff at the dive centre where I was working that we should ALL do a naked dive.


We began planning the dive.  Not only would it be naked, but it would be at night, and deep – down to a wreck we all knew and loved in the bay.  The idea was that we would head out in the dusk fully clothed, remove our clothes when the sun went down, and enter the water in the semi-cover of nightfall.  When you scuba dive in the dark, you use a torch.  The unspoken rule of the naked night dive was that you didn’t purposely shine your torch at anyone else.  If someone happened to cross your beam and you saw a flash of something, it was all part of the experience, but there was a strict understanding that we weren’t there to perve.

The group split into two groups, women and men, as we entered the water.  The thrill of being naked apart from our BCDs (the inflatable jackets which attach to your oxygen tank) and masks was exhilarating, and as we scuba-dived down to the wreck in the darkness, it felt like something out of a Bond movie.


As expected, there were flashes of torch light, and glances of body parts, as we swam around the rusty old wreck.  But then I noticed something strange.  A bright torch light, shining directly at my vagina.  I looked down, confused.  But there was no mistaking it – someone was looking directly at me.  As I turned to see who it was, the torch light moved away, and on to another woman’s groin!

A torch in both hands, Johnny the creepy American hovered in the water, completely disinterested by the wreck, and just staring at naked vaginas!

When you do a deep dive, you’re required to do a 3 minute safety stop, 5 metres below the surface of the water.  As we still had our torches on, the women clustered together, some distance from the men.  Even in the silence of the water, it was clear we all knew something was up.  As we finally burst through the surface of the water and removed our regulators from our mouths, everyone said the same thing.  ‘What the hell was Johnny playing at?’

When the men joined us on the boat, they had more to add to the conversation.  Johnny had clearly a semi-erection while they had been waiting at the safety stop.  VOM!


Within minutes Johnny earned the nickname ‘Johnny Two Beams’.  His actions had been pre-meditated.  No one else had needed a second torch, and he had spent the entire dive, floating in no man’s land, shining his torches at naked women, and only moving them when the women noticed.  He had well and truly established himself as the island creep – turning something which was meant to be hedonistic, and fun, and adventurous, and a bit of a laugh, into something seedy and pervy.  No one was happy.  Most of the dive school shunned him after that night.

And then, a few months later, when I was back home, a world away from Utila, I got an email from a fellow diver.  Someone had found Johnny on a Pick Up Artist site.  He was one of the leading pick up artists in America!  Hundreds of men each month paid good money for tickets to listen to him lecture on how to pick up women.  He had a website, which included videos of him having threesomes, and men all over the world knew him by a special PUA name.

I genuinely have never met someone with so little game in my entire life!

You can’t make this sh*t up!


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