'On a scale of jello to cookies, how stoned do I look?' he asks. I start to laugh, it's not even funny. His straight face, in this underwater themed cafe, I've got the giggles. I'm really trying hard to stop. I take a shaky breath, suppressing the laughter. A sip of Heineken gives me something to focus on. My other friend says, 'I think you mean baked,' while lifting up menus on the table with a fork.
'What have you lost?' he says to her.
'My fork.' she answers.
He starts helping her look, and I swear I am trying to tell her, 'you are holding it', but I'm gone. I can't breathe, I am laughing so hard. They both stop their searching to give me a 'what's so funny look', and oh my god, tears are now running down my face.
'I have to get out of here,' I manage to wheeze, as I push past her in the booth, I leave them both to their fork hunt.
The grey cobblestones look black in the glow of the lamp light, as I emerge, the cold of the autumn evening giving me the sobering I need. I weave through the crowds, mostly tourists in this part of town. The Amstel River shivers a neon trail through the old town. It's late but the businesses are still open. Mostly selling sex or weed, sometimes brightly painted wooden clogs or bunches of tulips.
My heels echo off the uneven pavement, as the sidewalk turns and runs around a corner, I follow it down a narrow laneway. I come upon a row of low set historic buildings drenched in a red glow. I stand and observe within the dozen or so windows laid out in front of me, a single silhouette in each, dressed only in underwear. I consider the invitation of a woman, around my age, perched on a stool, she crooks a finger, offering herself to me. My lips hint a reluctant smile, my head a soft shake, she moves her attention to a group of young men, noisy as they round the corner. When their drunken focus turns to me, I decide to continue my wanderings. I wrap my leather jacket around my body, folding my arms under my breasts to brave against the cold.
The smell of pot hangs in the air, mixed with the scent of late night street food. Pushing my way against the tide of tourists milling towards the window girls, a vendor shoves off the ticket booth he is leaning against and steps into my path. Handing me a flyer he says, 'You should come inside.'
The banner on the bill in my hand advertises 'live sex show' underneath which the alluring eyes of a naked woman peer up at me. The vendor catches the slight flare of my nose, as I run my eyes over the image.
'Usually there is a line. Tonight I can take you straight in.'
I look up at him, he grins, dropping his voice he leans closer, 'Trust me, you will enjoy it.'
A shiver runs down my spine, he drops his hand to my lower back, guiding me to the ticket seller.
Following him up the stairs, through the dark foyer, he says,
'I can take your coat, it's quite warm inside.' As I peel off my jacket, an amplified moan drifts from behind the double doors of the theatre, while the eyes of the usher roam down and back up my body. A smile teases his lips as his gaze lingers on my cleavage, and the soft bounce of my breasts as I remove the jacket. He passes it to the clock room attendant, and hands me a ticket. His eyes roam again, over my black tank top, lingering on the strip of skin above my skirt. My breath quickens, from the sounds of sex filling my ears, and from the strangers eyes roaming my curves.
'Follow me, it's nearly full, I will find you a seat.'
He holds open the theatre door for me and I step inside. On the stage a naked woman rides a man, slowly fucking him, he rises to meet her. The bed they lay upon is spinning, I watch as it turns, her face torn in an ecstasy I feel deep in my cunt.
The usher shines his touch to a seat in the third to last row. I tuck my way past the laps of three Asian men in suits, swatting at their wandering fingers. As I near my seat, the next occupant stands to let me pass. His light blue eyes glow bright in the darkness. He smiles down at me, sending a tingle all the way to my black boots, making the toes inside curl. His body is hard against mine as I slide past.
His friend stands, 'You can sit between us,' he says as he moves down one seat. I drop into my chair, the red velvet soft like marshmallow. The curtain on the stage draws back on the next act to reveal a dominatrix. Dressed in a black PVC catsuit, she stalks up and back across the stage. A shirtless man kneels at her feet, his head bowed as she berates him, stinging his skin with a riding crop. He cries out at each bite of the leather, part pain, part pleasure. I press my thighs together, relaxed from the beer and the weed, my senses heightened in the darkness of the theatre, the warmth builds between my legs.