Back in January 2003, I was in The Netherlands, staying in Rotterdam. One day I headed up to Amsterdam to spend the day and enjoy the sites. In the evening I went to a club/bar with rent boys and a “live sex show”–I went to see the sex show.
After seeing the show, I wrote an email to my friends. It generated quite a bit of feedback, and, thankfully, I haven’t lost the email. It’s now here for your entertainment.
I might note that the club/bar in question is now closed.
There’s no going back.
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Sent: Friday, 17 January, 2003 23:36 (EST)
Subject: Amsterdam’s Live Sex Show
Most of you reading this are amongst my gay friends, but if you’re one of the straight females—enjoy; and if you’re a straight male and get icked out hearing about naked men, stop reading NOW.
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Anyway, most people when they hear I’ve been to Amsterdam, they immediately ask me about two things: Drugs and Sex. Since I won’t do the former (except when walking through the clouds of smoke that emanate from the many “coffee shops” around the Netherlands), I decided I would explore the later to be able to say “Yes, I’ve done something sexual in Amsterdam.”
That said, I have wandered through the Red Light district in Amsterdam, which is an experience–and one at the time I found disturbing because I couldn’t stand the objectification women–they sit in these doors with windows wearing g-strings and bras and men walk around staring at them and evaluating the size of the breasts and whether or not they’d like to have sex with that woman.
I didn’t understand.
(Well, I didn’t understand wanting to have sex with a woman, it just seems so, well, unnatural.)
Anyhow, I always couched my opinions on the subject by admitting that I had not yet seen boys for sale, so I couldn’t gage my reactions to women for sale until I saw men for sale. This trip cured that and I have to admit, I’m not sure I am really certain how I feel yet–because it was an eye opening experience that had a very surrealistic quality about it from start to finish.
What I did: Using the “Out in Amsterdam” book I researched things to do in Amsterdam. I’ve been there enough times that I have already wiped out 8 of the top ten attractions. My Amsterdam Day was about (a) shopping, (b) dinner with a friend, and (c) sex. The “Out in Amsterdam” book was of mediocre quality–I found a couple really cool things because of it, but it also had maps and addresses that misled me while searching for a couple shops/markets. It did, however, direct me accurately to the “Bar Why Not / Blue Boy Club” and its web site, so I was able to review the information about the Why Not bar and not rely entirely upon the book.
Between the book and the web site, I made my plans for Saturday: I would take a train from Rotterdam (where I was staying) to Amsterdam in the morning, get to Amsterdam at noon, buy my ticket to the live sex show at noon, then go shopping, dine, and return to the bar at 10pm for the live sex show.
My plan got slightly off kilter when I stayed out until 3am Friday night — thus setting me back substantially. I got up at 10 (after breakfast, naturally), took a shower, and was, essentially, operating very slowly.
I got to Amsterdam at something like 12:30 or 1 — and immediately went to the Blue Boy Club to purchase a ticket for the live sex show at 10pm. It was immediately interesting–the bartender sold me my ticket, and this cute guy materialized around the corner of the bar and asked me where I was from.
“Indiana,” I replied.
“I’m from Brazil,” he said.
“That’s nice, I’m going shopping,” I replied.
“Why don’t you stay awhile and have a drink?”
I smiled, and departed out to the street and on to my shopping adventures: Drappermarkt (Black turtle neck), Cyberdog (awesome black/clubbing like tee-shirt), Sissy boy (tee-shirt)–and around places in general. I had a really great day, although I didn’t find everything I wanted to find–ultimately leaving me 30 minutes to kill before I met my lovely, wonderful, friendly, charming, and sweet dinner date. It’s funny how I missed the tourist part of Amsterdam until I had time to kill–it’s just not that interesting to me–too crowded, too much trashy trash for sale. But I did it anyway.
At 5:30 I met my friend for dinner, and we had a lovely time… we went to Dutch eetcafe where I had Chicken (Kip) with peppers (paprika), onions (???) and mushrooms (champaignons??). It was a tasty meal–I showed her what I bought, chatted–all the things that make an evening perfect.
I returned to the train station and used a locker to store my backpack and everything else except my wallet and coat–immediately setting out from the train station to the Bar Why Not / Blue Boy Club — I got there in five minutes — at 9:30.
I figured that I needed a half hour to figure out what was going on and to relax–and relax and figure out what was going on is the key notion here. It was–at least for me–amusing.
I sat down at the end of the bar–there was one stool to my left, and then the rest of bar was straight in front of me–I noticed that directly behind me when I sat down there was a television playing hard core gay porn–I suppose I could have sat differently in the hopes of watching porn, but I really just wanted to sit down and get my bearings. I asked the bartender for my complimentary drink (complimentary with the €30 live sex show ticket) — an amaretto and coke — got it and was drinking it– actually before I got it
It was a voice out of nowhere! One of the cute young rent boys had sat himself down next to me and wanted my attention. His approach didn’t work — because he slinked off less than a minute later. I then looked around the bar and one of the guys noticed my looking around and immediately stubbed out his cigarette and came over to me.
Tall. Muscular. Aggressive. Hunk. Oh, so my type, save for the smoking–my guaranteed turn off. But I chatted with him.
“Where are you from,” he asked.
“Me, I am from Spain.”
I never quite figured it out, but I think that he had either been working at the Blue Boy Club either for a week or for six months. He wasn’t strong in English, but he was good at rubbing up against me and massaging my upper inner thigh.
“Would you like to see the menu?”
Menu?! I was intrigued, so I naturally said yes, and he brought over a menu. Yes, a menu — like one you would get in a restaurant–complete with the fake leather cover and the word “menu” in fancy type on the cover of it. Inside was a page listing the prices of the boys. I don’t recall the exact prices beyond the fact that one hour cost €150 by plastic or €135 in cash.
Rebuffed, the Spaniard left me alone–I ordered a second drink — €7! Mucho expensive!
The club was (temperature wise) very warm. Probably the warmest spot in all of the Netherlands–I would estimate 80ish degrees. It was probably so the boys would be half naked–and the customers (me!) would feel the urge to strip.
Now the exact sequence of events escapes me, and the next two paragraphs might have been one young man instead of two, but I remember it as two different men.
Another young man approached me — he was eager to show off his talents–he had a bottled drink with him and a straw– he put the bottle down whilst chatting me up, and took a sip through the straw — with his hands behind his back–except it was more than a sip, it was — erotic — up until the point where the straw slipped from his lips and he had to use his hands to get the straw back.
The last young man approached me and chatted me up — He was from Columbia. Cute. Not my type, but cute. He was rubbing my hands up my legs — rubbing up against me — and being very pleasant. At this point the whole situation seemed completely absurd to me — and I gave a big smile.
“You’re smiling, I see,” he said.
At this point I was beside myself — I have a million questions that I wanted to ask and still want answers to like:
- How long have you been doing this?
- How long will you do this?
- What do you want to do after this?
- How many men a day can you do?
Those questions would have ruined the atmosphere and I’m not sure they would have willingly answered the questions.
A couple minutes before 10, I gathered my coat and my drink and made my way back to the door to the theater where the live sex show was scheduled to start. In front of the door there was a bored rent boy who was playing a video game and an eager client. Alas, the client had to wait because he was running the lights and sound for the live sex show.
The bored rent boy opened the door and I went in and took a seat on the left side in the third row from the front. The eager guy sat one row in front of me and on the right.
“Why don’t you sit back here with me,” the rent boy drawled to the guy. “I have to run the lights and sound and that’s in back.
The guy moved and a third member of the audience came into the room. There was a quiet music background and the bored rent boy was talking to the eager client who had to wait — fortunately the music was quiet because I was fortunate enough to hear this fragment of a sentence: “yes, I was in this show last night, and the guy who fucked me was big, I hurt after the show.”
Sadly I missed the rest of the conversation because the bored rent boy turned up the music.
The actual show started about 10-15 minutes late–and the first segment featured a black guy in a jock strap dancing on stage–he had metal chains as his prop and was dancing around them, wiggling his ass, and, in general, being erotic.
The second segment, another young man in underwear joined him on stage and was a quasi-romantic scenario — rubbing, kissing, caressing.
The third segment featured simulated sex set to a strobe light. Simulated head. Simulated anal sex. Simulated sex.
At this point, I think I won because the audience was small — it turned into a lap dance — and, I will admit it was hard (no pun intended) for me to judge, but I think I got the most attention of the three audience members. The black guy was aggressive, rubbing up against me–taking my hand and putting it on his member. Naturally I held it, stroked it, and the other guy was grabbing me and holding me — I was really enjoying this (keep in mind, there are straight women and men reading this, but I think all of you can read through my euphemisms). Then they moved over to the third audience member — but briefly, and then to the guy in the back of the room for a short period of time.
I don’t remember exactly all the details, but I know I jerked off both of the guys during the show… both nicely endowed. They reciprocated by rubbing up against me, grabbing me through my pants, licking my neck. They both smelled really, really, really good. It was during these points that I sort of stopped being the observer and got into it — it was fun, interesting, and lots of fun.
It was with a great deal of disappointment that they moved back on to the stage for the next segment: the block job segment. The black guy gave head for five minutes. The most amusing thing during this segment, was that I looked back and the formerly bored rent boy was busy giving the future client a blow job in the back of the small theater.
After this was over, it was time for the obligatory anal sex scene. Bang, bang… it was actually pretty damned boring.
The curtain was closed — and it was over. Neither of the two actors actually came during the show.
I was ready to go at this point — I wasn’t really willing to spend the money on sex. I wasn’t that horny.
They, however, were not ready to let me go. For some reason I appeared to be a really good prospect for sex–because as soon as the show was over a guy sat down next to me and wanted me to stay. The other man was being ignored–only I received the special attention. (That said the guy who really wanted the bored rent boy had already left the theater and paid his fee to spend some intimate time–I sort of followed them down the hall and watched them go into a bedroom.)
I however, as I said, left — I caught the 22:59 train to Rotterdam — I got to Rotterdam at midnight and my hotel room at 12:30.
I’m still sorting out my emotions about my experience — I’m not clear what my personal moral implications are — because they boys were very good at what they did — I could have teetered and purchased the services of one of the young men — even though they were not exactly my type.
Will I go back?
Give me a spare €135 in cash when I am in Amsterdam, and I think I might do it.