davethegrinch.net

Dave says:

Randy Roy’s Redlight District Tours is not owned, managed or even employs anyone by the name of Randy Roy. I don’t think there even is a Randy Roy or a Roy who is remotely randy. The company is really just Kimberly, a twenty year veteran of Amsterdam and an American ex-pat who makes her living taking tourists to the redlight district as opposed to taking tourists in the redlight district. A measly €12.50 (even more measly if you’re not abroad and suffering from the economic polices of the US government) buys you all the sleaze you can squeeze and a free drink. Never one to shy away from the words “free” and “drink” especially when advertised in that order and with the implication of sex nipping at their heels, Sarah, Beth and I made a threesome and took a walk on the wild side.

[If you are a mother of one of the aforementioned people (except Kimberly or Roy), afraid of sex, offended by rudeness or lewdness, still think I’m a “nice boy” and wish to maintain that illusion or in anyway agree that the FCC should be arbiter of morality in the American media think twice before tickling your mouse and either don’t click the (more…) link or read any further.]

[If you are reading this, you clicked the link or tickled your mouse. Don’t say you weren’t warned!]

Sarah saw the largest, bright red strap-on dildo she has ever seen in her life. On hearing Sarah’s sharp intake of breath, Beth stopped too and took a good hard (excuse the pun) look. I quickly moved on not entirely sure whether in shame, jealousy or anatomical puzzlement. But, all that happened much later, if you’re still with us after the dildo shock treatment welcome the post of the double entendre and the riské cliché in which I will attempt to set an innuendo record - starting…. now.

We came at exactly the same time, not too early as usual, but as we turned the corner so did Kimberly. She held a sign, Sarah held her breath but then let out a soft sigh of pleasure as she realized it was only going to be the four of us (Kimberly was the addition to our threesome and see below as to the circumstances surrounding the other people booked on the tour). Four was much better than the orgy of tourists who selfishly all want to come at the same time too. We opened our legs quickly because Kimberly was tall and walked at quite a pace so we had to rush to keep up. She told us some boring stuff about a giant hole or a brown tunnel, I can’t quite remember, something about Amsterdam’s new metro line that’s being inserted down below. Apparently the pile-drivers keep on thrusting in and out, in and out but its not as moist as they thought so the project is taking forever to reach a satisfactory climax.

Soon we were deep, deep within the enveloping streets of the redlight district, passed the hotel where Quentin Tarantino wrote Pulp Fiction and staring straight at the gloryhole that is the Cockring (no innuendo required). We caressed the idea of the dark room but decided we needed to be more lubed and would wait until we had a drink or too (deep) inside us. A quiver of excitement rose from the girls as they opened themselves up to shop after shop of the most imaginative use of latex this side of the Amstel. They were positively vibrating with wonderment like Willy and his Wonker in Wonkerworld. It was then that Sarah gasped with a pleasure that could only have come from a night with two other girls and her husband as she spotted the giant red dildo. It was huge (no innuendo required). Kimberly had amused herself and was a block ahead of us. I was afraid the climax of the tour was near and decided to think of something else. Beth’s mouth was wide open and Sarah was having trouble catching her breath. I moved on to Kimberly, after all, no girl should work alone.

After penetrating the warm and wet circle of the inner courtyard in the red light district we noted with satisfaction the oldest church in Amsterdam is right in the middle of the African quarter. Here the African girls offer melons and other voluptuous fruity treats for a mere €35 when the going rate for the other girls is €50. It seems to me you get better value for money in the African quarter, there’s just more girl to go around. More cushin’ for the pushin’ as my African American pals would say. So, hot and heavy (I shouldn’t have worn a coat or brought our daysack) we moved on to the eastern European section. Here the girls charge €50 for a “suck and a fuck” (obviously no innuendo required) and just like a fine glass of wine, it’s all over in ten minutes. Sarah squealed with delight as Kimberly’s finger worked its magic in pointing out the rooms and the different colored lights as well as all the facts and figures of this most special of places. The girls rent the room, red light included, for a little under €200 for an eight hour shift. If the girl is hot (and a lot of them are, readily agreed all concerned in our little menage-a-quatre) then at 10 minutes a pop it wouldn’t take long to pay off the room. The girls operate legally, pay taxes and even have a trade union but let’s not forget this is not what most of these girls would choose to do for a living.

Sarah gripped me harder, I gasped, she almost tripped over - the streets were damp and slippery. Headfirst, heading down, I entered the narrowest of alleys in the redlight district. Here the curtains were mainly drawn indicating business was being performed. Beth was slowly moving her tongue - I think her lips were dry or perhaps she was thirsty. I offered Sarah’s cure for dryness in those parts but before she had time to accept the offer of lip-balm, Kimberly’s pace had quickened and her thrusting in and out of alleyways had become more intense as she showed us the best live sex clubs to visit. For around €40 you can indulge your idea of fantasy by watching a couple have sex right in front of you being careful, of course, to not disturb the fifty other business men sitting in your row also indulging in their business.

It was a marathon session (for me anyway) and at an hour and a half I was beginning to tire. Sarah, as usual, was nowhere near being done (she kept talking about it all the way home) and Beth was ready for a cigarette and a kebab (no innuendo implied). However, promises, promises and Kimberly turned out to be not only all mouth but all trousers too and we headed to a bar for our free drink. And a free drink was what we got - none of this free drink ticket, watered down crap but a genuine paid for by cash drink at a great little cafe.

So, if you’re ever in Amsterdam, feeling a little frustrated, in need of some attention, looking for a way to tie up that loose end, wondering how hard can it be (to have a tour of Amsterdam) then look to Randy Roy (not your Randy Roy) and give Kimberly a call. [Which someone did do, earlier that afternoon to arrange to be on our tour - right when she was having sex with her boyfriend - they never showed up, which is not only rude but a damn shame for them!]

P.S. The accompanying photo is the hotel where Chet Baker died, right on the edge of the redlight district. Not surprisingly they don’t like you taking photos of the girls so that’s the closest I dared get lest my camera have a date with a canal.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, July 4th, 2007 at 1:16 pm and is filed under Europe, Global Travels. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.