Amster-Damn

Last weekend I was in Amsterdam. It’s such a great city; I love it. I love the canals, the shops, the bikes. I love that weed is legal. And I love that I got to eat some incredible plant-based junk food. I am still not sure how I feel about the current state of affairs where the sex industry is concerned, though...

Vegan Junk Food, Amsterdam Style

However I spent a large proportion of the 3 days I was there feeling kind of lonely even though I went with friends — 8 of them. These friends are colleagues and, while I like and trust them very much, I am not able to be “myself” with them. Instead, I chose to spend a fair bit of time alone and spent a lot of that time texting some of the men in my life; living vicariously through them.

It’s not that I didn’t want to spend time with just my friends. At least I don't think it was. It’s more that Amsterdam is a city of vices. A city dripping with sex and I wanted to be able to explore it in all its sordidly splendid glory. I wanted to go to a sex show; to spend hours soaking up the atmosphere of the red light district. Part of me wanted to pay to spend some time with one of the girls, possibly to pay for sex (which is a fantasy of mine — something I’ll talk about at another point), but also just to be able to talk to her. I wanted to find the filthy — the glory holes and the peep shows.

The thing is, I didn’t want to do these things with my colleagues. And I didn’t want to do them alone. I was too nervous... It didn’t feel unsafe, but it didn’t feel exactly safe either. So instead, I found myself texting G and Dom and D and N — all of whom are back in London — and wishing I was in Amsterdam with one of them.

After all, the reality is that exploring sex as a lone woman can feel intimidating: a list of worst-case scenarios is never too far below the surface. I didn’t want to get myself into a situation that I couldn’t get myself out of. I didn’t want to be charged extortionate amounts of money that I don’t have and I didn’t want to be raped. As much as it irks me, what I wanted was the protection of a man.

But, after visiting the Vegan Junk Food Bar, I wound my way back from the west of the City towards the Red Light District, texting dirty with Dom and planning on visiting the Museum of Prostitution. On the way, I discovered a beautiful little lingerie shop called “Love Stories,” stopped to marvel at the lights and the sky as the sun slowly set and eventually decided to have a couple of beers in the Beer Temple. It was here I gave myself a pep talk and decided that I was going to do at least one of the things I wanted to do — even if it meant doing it alone.

So, being careful to make sure someone knew where I was, I went to watch the sex show at the Moulin Rouge. The two bouncers on the door laughed as I asked, fuelled by Dutch courage, if I could go in; I’m guessing single females are not their usual clientele. But they were good-natured and assured me they were “flirting,” not ridiculing. I’m not sure which I would have preferred! Inside, it was dimly lit and garishly decorated with neon lights and the stage at the centre. There were theatre-style rows of seats to the left, a bar to the right and the front-row seats around the stage. I sat there.

I don’t know what I was expecting… Something playful definitely, but also something hot, sensual — real sex, I guess. Needless to say that isn’t what I got. It was a show, for sure. Some strip tease, men from the audience being written on in marker pens clasped between the women’s pussy lips — the things I’d heard about. Perhaps naïvely, what I wasn’t prepared for was the mechanical nature of it: the way the women gyrated their hips like they were on auto-pilot. And I spent a lot of time watching the audience, their responses and reactions. The men’s faces were generically titillated, the women looked generally more uncomfortable but in a less-than-obvious way — most trying very hard to hide it — especially those whose partners went on stage.

Personally, I was more turned on by the message conversations I was having… In fact, as I was taking it all in, and messaging G, Dom and N, what I was fantasising about — amongst other things — was being on stage. I know that I am accessing this fantasy from a place of privilege, a place where my choice to do so would be a choice and not dictated by finances, but the thought of being watched by strangers really turns me on. And I am learning not to shut down my fantasies.

The reality was very different from what was running through my head. The sex was awkward and disturbingly in time to the beat of the music. The guy also had real trouble getting hard — something I am sure is a perennial problem when sex is your job. All in all this made for a wholly underwhelming experience but one I am glad I experienced regardless.

Later than night, one of my colleagues and I — drunk enough to explore together by this point — stumbled into a Peep Show which charged €2 per minute to watch a woman undressing on what looked like a thick, circular revolving gym mat. We quickly ran out of €2 coins so quit while we were behind.

And that was the end of my foray into the world of sex in Amsterdam. Now I would like to go back, with someone I can be very naughty with…