Amster-Damn Hot!
When David and I touched down in Amsterdam, we were two things: jet-lagged and dangerously horny. And not like regular horny--like,
post-finals, haven't had sex in months, possibly-feral
horny. We were there for one reason: European girls. Accents. Fast hookups. Regretful mornings. The dream.
David was already swiping on Tinder before we even hit baggage claim.
"Dude," I said, yawning. "At least wait 'til customs stops staring at us like we're drug mules."
He grinned. "I'm preheating the oven, bro. By the time we check in, I wanna be balls-deep in someone named Saskia."
Respect.
Our hotel was sleek as hell--black walls, sexy lighting, the kind of place that made you feel rich even though your debit card was one bad decision away from overdraft. The receptionist was
insane
. Like model-level hot. Like, if Instagram had a Dutch goddess filter, it would be her. Perfect bone structure, piercing eyes, business-casual blouse that screamed
I'll ruin your life and look good doing it
.
Naturally, David turned into Mr. Flirt.
"So," he said, leaning on the counter like he owned the place. "Is Amsterdam always this warm, or is it just you radiating heat?"
She looked up from her monitor, dead-eyed. "Wow. You're the third guy to say that this week. Still terrible."
I choked on my spit. She didn't stop.
"You'll be in room 207. Two single beds, I assume."
David winked. "Unless you wanna join?"
"No, thank you," she said without missing a beat. "I don't date guys who look like they just discovered protein powder."
I had to walk away. I was wheezing.
In the elevator, David rubbed his jaw. "She totally wanted me."
"Bro. She wanted you to fall down a flight of stairs."
"She smiled."
"She sneered."
"Same thing. It's cultural."
Our room was decent. Two beds, tiny balcony, bathroom with a glass shower that screamed
Instagram thirst trap.
David collapsed on one bed, spread eagle like he just finished a marathon.
"Alright," he said. "Mission: Smash begins now. We shower, hit the clubs, find some foreign honeys, and pray we don't catch anything that needs penicillin."
I peeled off my shirt. "You shower first."
"Nah, let's go together. Like the old days."
"Jesus. Okay."
We'd been best friends since, like, fifth grade. Shared locker rooms. Skinny-dipped in lakes. There was zero shame left between us. Our friendship was basically built on fart jokes and balls-out wrestling matches. This was nothing.
Still, stripping off felt... I don't know.
Different
. Like we weren't two dumb kids anymore. I mean, I knew David was hot--like, girls threw themselves at him on the regular. But I'd never really
noticed
before how... jacked he'd gotten. His back had those muscle lines that looked drawn on. And his dick? Jesus. That thing had its own zip code.
Not that I was looking. Just... noting. Cataloging. In case he needed to know for, like, health insurance reasons or something.
He stepped into the shower, turned the water on full blast, and made a sound that was way too close to a porn-level moan.
"Goddamn," he groaned. "This water's giving me a nipple orgasm."
I stepped in after him, immediately regretting everything. The steam hit like a horny cloud. Water ran down his shoulders, over his chest, across abs that looked like they'd been chiseled by horny Roman gods.
"Dude," I said, trying not to look
down
, "maybe tone down the sex noises?"
"I'm just saying," he said, slicking his hair back, "if this shower had a mouth, I'd propose."
He handed me the soap and our hands brushed. Nothing big. Just skin on skin. But it was weird. Electric. Like static, except instead of shocking me, it sent this little jolt straight to my dick.
I laughed it off. Nervous. "You gonna start naming the shampoo bottles next?"
"I already did. That one's Veronica. She's been through a lot."
I rubbed the soap on my chest, trying not to think about the fact that my best friend was now naked, wet, and standing close enough to feel his body heat. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye and--
fuck.
His whole body was like a damn Marvel transformation scene. Water cascading down his thighs. His ass doing ungodly things. And his cock... okay, I looked. Briefly. For science.
"What?" he said, catching me. Shit.
"Nothing. Just... surprised you haven't entered porn yet."
He laughed, rinsing off. "They can't afford me."
We shifted at the same time and suddenly we were face to face, our chests almost touching. Just water between us. My brain went static. His eyes flicked to mine, just for a second.
"Yo," I said quickly, heart pounding. "We done here? I'm starting to feel... emotional."
He grinned. "Yeah. We're squeaky clean. Inside and out."
We toweled off in silence. I turned away fast, not wanting him to see the half-chub that had started uninvited. I was not turned on. Just... body confusion. It happens. Blood goes where it wants. My dick was a rebel. A traitor.
David walked around in his towel for way too long. He knew he looked good. Show-off. I threw on underwear, jeans, sprayed half a can of cologne, and tried to pull myself together.
He leaned into the mirror, fixing his hair. "You ready to ruin some lives tonight?"
I swallowed hard. "Hell yeah. Let's go give someone an accent fetish."
He grabbed his phone, grinning. "I matched with someone already. Name's Fleur. She sent a peach emoji. That's international for ass, right?"
"Either that or fruit salad. Just wear a condom either way."
He threw his arm around my shoulder, like always. Warm. Familiar. But tonight, something about it felt... different. Not bad. Just charged.
We stepped out into the Amsterdam night, two overconfident American idiots on a mission to get laid.
And underneath all that swagger, I had this weird feeling in my chest. Or stomach. Or maybe lower. Like something had shifted. Like I was walking into something I didn't quite understand yet.
Whatever it was, I wasn't ready for it.
But I was definitely gonna find out.
Amsterdam nightlife?
Insane.
Every bar looked like a sex dungeon and a laser tag arena had a baby. Half the girls looked like they belonged on magazine covers. The other half looked like they'd ruin your life in the best way possible.
We stepped into this club--strobe lights, wall-to-wall bodies, bass so deep it rearranged my guts. David looked around like he'd just entered heaven.
"I'm gonna die here," he whispered, eyes wide. "And I'm okay with that."
We hit the bar immediately. Shots first. Vodka? Tequila? Who the hell knows. It burned like bad decisions and made our chests feel invincible. That was our warm-up.
Strike One.
David spotted a redhead dancing solo and beelined over like a horny homing missile. I followed, sipping my drink like a sidekick.
He leaned in with full swagger. "Hey. Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk by again?"
She blinked once. "You should walk into traffic."
I cackled so hard I nearly dropped my drink.
Strike Two.
I tried my luck with a brunette at the bar. She had thigh-high boots, smoky eyes, and the kind of cleavage that made me forget how vowels worked.
I leaned in smooth. "What's a girl like you doing in a club like--"
"No."
"I didn't even--"
"No."
She turned back to her drink like I was a YouTube ad. Cold-blooded.
Strike Three.
David got curved by a Swedish model who said she "doesn't date guys with American flags on their socks." (Fair.)
We kept drinking. It felt like the cure. Or maybe the problem. Either way, we were fully committed. Shots. Beers. Mystery cocktails. I think I ate a lime off someone's shoulder at one point. David tried to order "absinthe" and accidentally bought a twelve-euro soda.
And just when we were about to throw in the towel and go home to cry into our pillows--
They appeared.
Two girls. Late twenties. One with a nose ring and evil eyes. The other with blue hair and a grin that said
I've seen things.
Hot in a "you'll regret this tomorrow but love it tonight" kind of way.
Blue Hair leaned in, locking eyes with me. "You boys look like you're ready to party."
David and I exchanged a look. We were sweaty. We were swaying. One of us probably reeked of Red Bull and disappointment.
I gave the stupidest grin of my life. "We were
born
ready."
Nose Ring giggled and pulled something from her bra--two pills. Shiny like candy, evil like sin.
"Then here," she said, slipping one into each of our hands. "For the ride."
David raised an eyebrow, squinting like it might bite. "What's it do?"
She smirked. "Makes the night... longer."
Now, a
smart
person would have asked questions. Googled stuff. Consulted a pharmacist. But we were drunk, horny, and in a country where weed's legal and everyone bikes everywhere like it's Narnia. We popped the pills like Tic Tacs. Our standards had left the building hours ago.
We toasted with another shot, clinked our glasses, and suddenly we were invincible gods again. Lights got hotter. Girls got blurrier. Everything pulsed with some weird rhythm--especially in my pants.
They cheered. We drank more. The lights got brighter. The music got sexier. Everything felt
loose
--our bodies, our thoughts, our last three brain cells.
At some point, the girls helped us into a cab. I was laughing at absolutely nothing. David was trying to kiss his own reflection in the window.
Blue Hair giggled. "We'll get in after you, promise."
"Yeah, don't take too long," I slurred. "We're both--like--so ready to make out with someone. Like, aggressively."
Nose Ring leaned into the cab window, her perfume hitting like a goddamn drug itself. "What hotel are you guys staying at again?"
David told her. I think. Maybe he sang it. Maybe he slurred it while licking the seatbelt. Either way, she winked.
"Perfect. We'll be right behind you."
Spoiler: they weren't.
The cab drove off and I barely noticed we were moving. My head felt like a balloon on a string. Everything was funny. My hands felt like they had extra fingers. My dick was
alive
, like it had its own heartbeat.
We pulled up at the hotel. The same receptionist was still at the desk, judging the hell out of us as we stumbled through the lobby.
David waved. "Heyyy, miss... sexy... Netherlands."
She didn't even blink. "Security's on speed dial."
A busboy appeared outta nowhere. Skinny guy. Ponytail. Name tag said "Lars." He looked like he hated his life and everyone in it.
"Room 207?" he asked.
I nodded. Or tried to. I might've headbutted him a little by accident.
He grabbed our shoulders and guided us toward the elevator like we were injured puppies.
"Lars," I whispered. "Bro. We're so horny right now."
David leaned into him. "Like--
so
horny. Dangerously. You don't even know."
Lars stared ahead like he was disassociating. "I am just here to help."
The ride up was a blur of giggles, muttering, and me trying to figure out how pants worked. At the room, Lars opened the door, shoved us in gently, and noped the hell outta there like his soul depended on it.
Door clicked shut behind us.
