ASS-terdam

On my first visit to Amsterdam, I missed my flight home. It remains the only time I’ve ever missed an airplane. Amnesia Haze was involved, and true to its name, amnesia was amnesia’d.

On my second visit, I helped cause a German couple to get divorced. Afterwards, my daughter broke up with me as her father. (You may remember the tale: http://explicitexploits.com/how-fast-they-grow/ )

On my third and most recent visit there, I watched two guys have fast & furious buttsex just six feet away from me inside a church, and guess what?

That wasn’t even the craziest thing I saw!

Wait.

Maybe it was…?

Yeah, OK, it probably was.

But a whoooole bunch of other crazy shit happened, and I’m going to list some of them here:

-My Turkish acquaintance fell into a swamp

-Visited Fabrique des Lumières = the GREATEST museum EVER. You walk into this big-ass industrial room and more than 100 projectors start shooting videos on all the walls, the ceiling, the ground… videos of jungles, remote tribes, Dutch girls in silly hats giggling. It’s all super fucking trippy!!

-Went to a week-long electronic music festival called Amsterdam Dance Event, where I saw the greatest house DJ in the world, my best friend, the one the only:

Mr. Claptone!

(Mr. added for emphasis)

This marks my 7th time seeing the legend, and the 2nd in 2022. He opened his DJ set with a remix of Thriller, apropos given that it was one week before Halloween. I had a lovely time at the Claptone.

(Even before the amphetamines!)

-On actual-Halloween weekend, I dressed up, in costume—because that’s you DO on Halloween—and my costume was so freakin cool I got spat on by six teenagers. (Spread the love!)

Oh, and don’t even ask what my costume was supposed to be. It was a wholly original design cooked up by fashion visionary Giovanni Darby. It did involve a small-sized ladies’ jacket found in a Rotterdam thrift shop with a glassy reflective pattern reminiscent of a disco ball.

The red lipstick-drawn hearts on my cheeks only added to the allure.

-I met with my daughter—sorry, EX-daughter!—for the first time in years.

She’s married now, and ol’ Darby wasn’t invited to the wedding, so this marked the first time I met her Dutch husband. And, if I’m being totally frank here: I approve! He’s a pretty cool dude. (He’s the one that gave me amphetamines)

-My 3-month streak of not fucking, not jerkin it, not jizzing—came to a explosive end.

But… we’ll get to that.

-In my 2 weeks spent in the Nasty Netherlands (my personal nickname, it’s actually a delightful place), I spent much of the time checking in the coffeeshops for a very special brand of “coffee” called Jack Herer. It is amaaaazing stuff. It won the Amsterdam Cannabis Cup’s top prize 6 years in a row! Also: it makes you smarter. Well, it makes ME smarter. (Me do maths!)

It is very much a Dutch staple and yet, despite this, I couldn’t find it anywhere.

…until the very end of my trip. There was an obscure little coffeeshop at the end of my street.

I wandered in the place with a Taiwanese girl who—get this—had never tried weed—ever! And, as I do with a large proportion of Asian-descent peoples, I got her high her very first time.

Does that make me a good influence? A bad influence? The best influence?

…all of the above??

-Magic truffles. Yes, they are essentially an offshoot of shrooms, but that’s what they call them in Holland… where they are sold over the counter. I located a truffle shop, procured the most potent ones they had, ate a bunch, and went out exploring.

I was touring a house music museum when the truffles began to take effect, where all of the sudden the whole damn floor started vibrating.

(This was actually part of the museum exhibit, but I was no less blown away.)

I left the museum, went outside, and started walking alongside those ubiquitous canals that Amsterdam is known for, whereupon I came across a magical, fairy tale-like scene:

With the sun setting, boats passing by, and people on a bench taking it all in, I thought: Wow, this looks straight out of a movie!

And then I noticed the movie camera, and went, OMG, it IS straight out of a movie!!

-After the Claptone event let out circa 7 am, I had nowhere to go and crash. My ex-daughter was out of town, and all of the hostels in Amsterdam were booked due to Amsterdam Dance Event.

And thus I had to take a train aaaall the way to Rotterdam, an hour+ away, to stay at the house of one of my past fling’s from Thailand. Wait, it wasn’t her house—it was her Dutch BF’s house. And I had to act like a big gay boy so he wouldn’t suspect me and her used to clash gennies. Yowza!

-As previously mentioned, I saw some guys—no, several guys—banging and doing sex stuff on the inside of a church.

Upon returning home from the clubs one night, I bumped into a pair of Portuguese gals out front of the hostel. I had met them earlier in the night, with the Turkish guy, before he fell in the swamp. Now that he was gone, he had been replaced by an Englishman, a boytoy for the chubby Portuguese girl. The not-chubby one was kinda cute. I’ll call her “Miranda.”

I found these 3 outside smoking cigs, acting like the night was over. I went, YO! THERE’S A CLUB AT THE END OF THE BLOCK! STILL OPEN!

So we all go there, walk in, order some beers. It’s a gay bar, which is fine. It’s called Church, which is also fine, although not at all fitting. Things were not so debaucherous—not at first.

About 20 mins in, Miranda goes, Ohmahgosh, look at the TV screens, what is that?? And plastered on all of the screens above the bar, there’s videos of big delicious cock getting deep-throated. Trust me—this was some of deepest throating I’d ever seen.

And, well? That was the catalyst for everything that followed:

Two guys to start butt-fucking right next to us

The indoor sex swing to start getting swang on

Three guys to start petting and engaging in a big sex-triangle

Various guys limbering around in their tighty-whities while casually caressing their cocks

Me to begin banging my Portuguese princess in the stairwell of the hostel

Now, now… that last item on the list came about as a result of good, no—impeccable timing.

The chubby Portuguesa had left Church with her British boytoy to go and presumably bang somewhere. I utilized their absence by propositioning Miranda for a good healthy bang as well. She claimed there was nowhere to bang… nowhere respectable, that is. She was a lawyer. Apparently, those guys have “standards.”

Somewhat begrudgingly, I accompanied her back to her room in the hostel, just a floor below mine. Where her other roommates slept and killed our chances of sleeping together.

“Well, good night,” I offered. “Safe travels back to Portugal.”

“Good night,” she said, lending her lips one last time.

Just then, from somewhere around the corner, a door could be heard opening; someone coming this way, towards us, at 4 AM. And who should appear but the chubby chick and the Brit. She eyes Miranda and me standing in the hallway and goes, “There’s no security cameras in the fire escape.”

And that’s what led to—what Miranda called—the “craziest thing I’ve ever done.”

A good ol’ shag on the stairwell.

The whole time the shag was happening, Miranda kept making these noises, a cross between a SSH! and a SHIT! Like she was trying to shush me, but was curtly cursing instead. I couldn’t help it, being loud. Eating her snatch sloppily and soundfully.

And I couldn’t help grunting gruffly as I tried to suppress a 90 day reservoir of semen from blasting a hole through the back of her throat.

When I stuck it in between her legs, I was fighting for my life. Literally—the life of my seed, which was begging to see daylight. It was a true test of wits, and endurance, and probably some other shit.

Just a few minutes into the banging, she says to me, “We have to finish quickly!” And then I just let it go. Like, ka-BOOM!

Amsterdam ended with a bang. With a nuclear explosion.

And maybe it was the high volume of semen that pushed it off, but the condom managed to detach at some point during the bang and flutter freely inside her. She removed it and held it up, like a science experiment that had exploded prematurely.

“Am I gonna get pregnant?” she asked. I assured her that she wouldn’t.

…and nine months later, Kevin was born!