Club Unicorn

I consider Amsterdam as the highlight of my summer of 1970 high school-to-college gap year fuck trip around Europe. My parents had given me enough money for the trip down along the Rhine River from Bavaria to Amsterdam and then across to England, but I wanted a car too, so I did what I could to cover travel expenses by selling my ass to men along the way.

It was no big deal. I'd been fucked before. I had enjoyed it. That spring, after turning eighteen, and before graduating from high school, my basketball coach took me camping over spring break; seduced me, which I'd been ripe for; and fucked me for nearly a week. I spent the week on my back on a camp bed, my legs spread and bent and my hips raised on pillows. He had a couple of buddies there and they fucked me too—a couple of times doubling me. No big deal. I'd known it was what I wanted to do. It was a high to be wanted by guys like that—especially older men.

I decided to use my gap year trip, where there'd be no one to supervise me, to see if I liked getting it on with men enough to make a habit out of it. I found I did. I also found I was good-looking enough to pick men up easily—at least at eighteen. Men apparently found me sexy and vulnerable looking—and, they often said, a firecracker in bed.

It had all been pretty straightforward until I reached Amsterdam. I'd meet men in cafés in the morning and earn money on my back in a hotel or their cars to get me down the road. There, I'd go into gay bars at night to have a room for the night with a man on top of me, humping me, before I got to sleep, and often humping me again in the morning to cover the cost of breakfast. It helped that I liked having a man's knees between my thighs and a cock inside me. It was a high to have men worshipping, wanting, my body—using me, sometimes abusing me, entering me, being inside me, trembling, shuddering, thrusting and dying the little death inside me, becoming one with me.

Sometimes I'd get a ride on a Rhine barge for part of the journey. Riverboat men were some of the most muscular, rough, and satisfying tops. There was more money to be had from men I met in cafés and bars, but I got more distance down the river, manhandling, and deeper thrusts up into my gut from the riverboat men. They seemed to understand better not just to poke me till they busted a nut, but to get it up deep in me and to work me in the core while I moaned for it, coaxing us to come together. Riverboat men tended to like the buddy system too, doing me in threesomes, and I enjoyed the extra company. It was all scored up to progress down the river, toward Amsterdam.

Amsterdam was a real eye opener for me. I hadn't contemplated that there was a place as hedonist and permissive as this. There was a whole openly tolerated sex trade section of town, where people played and sex was on display and order without any hassling from the authorities. I had planned to stay there three, maybe four days, and I wound up staying three weeks. There were whole streets of openly gay establishments, where I was welcomed with open arms and erect cocks, all willing to pay for a young, good-looking American being laid under them. I was fucked on an average of twice a day while in Amsterdam and had no trouble building up my cash supply.

After the first week, I settled into an arrangement at a gay cruising bar called Mannen Zone, or Men's Zone in English. I was assigned a small room upstairs for sitting at the end of the bar and visiting that room with men who either snuffled up to me or were sent to me by the bartender. I got the room to sleep in and the bar got half of what I made. There was a guaranteed fee I had to give them, but this was wild and open Amsterdam. I had no trouble giving them way more than their minimum fee.

It was noon on a Friday when Bram came into the bar with Joost in tow. It was, of course, only later, when they were fucking me and calling each other by name while discussing how best to manipulate me to get both of their cocks inside me that I learned their names. Bram was the older of the two and, judging from his clothes, the richer. He also obviously was in charge and this was his fantasy we were going to fulfill. He was a solid man, probably in his forties, well built and good-looking. A solid Dutch citizen, no doubt. Joost was younger, maybe late twenties, not so good looking and a bit nervous. He was taller and rangier than Bram, but he also had good musculature. He obviously was Bram's bought man, though. Bram did all of the talking and dealing. Joost was along for the ride.

I was the one the two of them rode together.

I saw them come into the bar. It was early, but men already were gathering. This was Amsterdam. They cruised often and early here. I could tell by the way that Bram scanned the room that he was shopping. I could tell from the way that Joost followed on behind him, looking at him more than at the men in the room, where Bram was visually separating tops from bottoms, that Joost wasn't the shopper. It was equally evident that the two were together, which immediately clicked "threesome" in my mind and, because this was Amsterdam, maybe even "DP"—double penetration. I hadn't done that since Cologne, in the cathedral, in an isolated sacristy, sandwiched between two priests, my knees hooked on the hips of one, who was thrusting from in front, the other behind me, and also inside me, his lips bruising mine. But that's another story.

I assessed their builds for the likelihood I could and would be willing to take them both. Bram looked like the taxing one. As it turned out Joost fulfilled that role. He wasn't significantly thick, but he was godawful long. And once having sunk into the core, Joost knew what to do with it. Bram was the average. I suppose Bram had enlisted Joost for the length of him and for how he could get a guy to writhe and moan deeply and his eyes to roll up into his head.

The two saddled up to the other end of the bar, Joost following Bram's lead. Bram spoke with the bartender, both of them looking down the bar at me. I gauged I could take both of the men if it came to that and smiled back a "sure, why not?" smile at Bram. Very soon after that the two men slid down the bar and Bram was sitting close to me, a hand on the edge of the barstool behind me as the start of a claim of possession, and Joost was sitting on the other side of Bram, looking at his back. A glass of beer that I wasn't going to pay for was sitting on the bar top in front of me.

Bram was smooth and efficient, very quickly and comfortably getting past where I was from, how old I was, and did I take cock for money, and moving forward to for how much, how long, where—and, as I already had suspected, would I take two cocks at once?

Yes, I was from America. Yes, I was eighteen, traveling through Europe on my own. Yes, I liked Amsterdam very much. It was nice that Bram was a businessman in Amsterdam and Joost was a university student here. It was nifty that Bram lived on a converted canal barge on a canal very close by here.

Yes, I wasn't just warming this stool; I prostituted myself for money.

Yes, I had access to a room upstairs.

Yes, I did threesomes.

"I like to watch before I become involved. But then I work my way in," he said, giving me a sharp look. "Do you know what I mean?" His hand no longer was on the edge of the bar stool behind me. It was on my ass. The other hand came down to my package. I made sure I didn't flinch.

"You're asking if I do DP?"

"Yes."

"I have done it. I'll do it for a price." His hand left my basket, took my hand, and placed it on his package. He didn't feel monstrous. He didn't volunteer to let me feel up Joost too, though. I did then begin to suspect that Joost was the one who was packing the most.

He named a very nice price.

"Yes," I replied.

"What I'd really would like is to buy you for the weekend," he said. "Show you my converted barge. Take you around. Maybe some clubbing. Fuck you a lot."

"Starting when?"

"Now. Upstairs."

"With what involved? What positions? How demanding? How kinky? With how many at one time?"

"Whatever I want. Whatever we get into as the action roles along." He then named a price that had me gulping and said he'd double it if I stayed with him and what he wanted from me until the end of the weekend. He led the three of us upstairs, Bram immediately behind me, a hand already between my thighs, fingering my balls through the wide leg hole of shorts, and Joost behind him. I think if we'd had to climb another story to get to the room, Bram would have raped me on the stairs.

Bram indeed wanted to watch at the beginning. We all were naked. Both of them had nice enough bodies. Mine sent Bram into a swoon and caused Joost's cock to go to immediate, magnificently long erection. Joost sat on the side of bed and lapped me, his cock a good nine inches up into my gut. He had a long, sinewy arm encasing my belly, and I rose and fell on the cock using the leverage of the balls of my feet pushing off on the floor.

Bram sat in a straight-backed chair facing us—the room was stripped-down functional—watching me ride Joost's cock with groans and moans because he was so long. Bram was beating his meat as he watched us. That didn't last long, though. He watched closely to where he saw that Joost had touched me to the core and I stopped writhing on his cock and fell backward into Joost's chest, lolled my head to the side, and my eyes rolled up into my head as ever fiber of my being concentrated on Joost's shaft playing me at the core.

Bram was watching us closely to catch when Joost had dumped his load far up into me. When, with a snort and a wheeze, the younger man had, Bram rose from the chair, approached, leaned down and grasped my ankles, and raised and spread my legs wide. He moved in between my thighs and said something to Joost in Dutch. "

Open het voor mij. Spreid hem open

." I could figure out enough Dutch to know that he'd told Joost to spread me open for his penetration.

Joost leaned back, taking me with him, raised his thighs, which were holding mine spread, to roll my pelvis up, and then I was huffing and puffing, panting and groaning, as Bram worked his cock inside me above Joost's already buried one, sliding with a long "Ahhh" through the cum that had added lubrication to my channel.

"

Het is goed. Heel goed

," he murmured in approval, telling Joost that his entry was good; it had gone well. He was in.

"Humor me," he whispered in my ear. "Respond as if you're being raped."

With two cocks in me, that wasn't hard to do. I gave him a show and felt him get harder inside me, thrusting more vigorously. He even slapped my face and my flanks to add realism.

Joost held steady, spent, but now serving a new purpose of holding me solidly in position, as Bram fucked me in the shared passage. I came before Bram did, though, and, at his instruction, "

Me. laat hem nu aan mij

!—Me. Leave him to me now!" Joost pulled out of me and rolled out from under me and off the bed. I was lying on my back on the bed then, but Bram was still standing on the floor between my thighs and holding my legs raised and spread. He brought my legs together, hooking my ankles on his shoulders and squeezing my passage together for a tighter fit for his cocking. He fucked me to an ejaculation and, I will admit, to a second one from me. Doubles always turned me on. They were taxing, but exhilarating. And I was always both amazed and gratified that I could manage them.

When Bram was done with me, I noticed that Joost had dressed and left the room. I never saw him again and decided that he wasn't always bound to Bram's hip; he'd just been brought in for this occasion.

Bram and I showered together in a bathroom down the hall, with him putting me on my knees under the cascading water and giving him a blow job. I think he was testing me on whether I understood what the "whatever he wanted" for the weekend meant. I did. He was giving me enough to cover a business-class plane fare to London.

As we dressed, he said, "Pack up whatever you have here to be gone for the weekend. I want you to see my canal boat."

Especially the bedroom of your canal boat, I thought, but what I said was, "Nifty."

"We'll go clubbing tonight. Amsterdam really hops on a Friday night."

I had already discovered, though, that Amsterdam hopped on any night—and even in the afternoon. Even, I thought, looking at my watch, at 1:00 in the afternoon. They'd fucked me for forty-five minutes. It hadn't seemed that long at the time. I wasn't even that sore. This gap year trip was really toughening me up.

I had the presence of mind to get my fee up front. I deposited it with the barman as we left.

I'd used the right word for Bram's canal boat. It really was nifty. I was glad I hadn't left Amsterdam before seeing the inside of one of these—especially, in this case, Bram's bedroom cabin.

"Are you still with me?" Bram asked as we retired on his bed for the night.

"Try me," answered, my mind on that promise of a doubled fee.

"

Doe ik

—I will," he said. And then he did.

* * * *

He was big and black and a real bull—thick and long, and it was all inside me, pounding, pounding, pounding. I tried to raise my chest to his and he growled and slapped me across the face and, whimpering and receiving a surge in arousal, I fell back and arched my back over the beefy arm he was using to encircle my waist and hold my buttocks firmly in his crotch. Bram was sitting in an easy chair facing the bed in the canal boat and watching the African fuck the shit out of me. He was an ugly son of a gun, from Uganda, he'd said. Six and a half feet tall, and a paunch on him. But muscles on muscles too, the cock of a bull, and the vigor and determination of a bull too. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I was on my back, legs raised and spread, and his balls were slap, slap, slapping on the tender skin of my inner thighs as he held me close to his massive chest and pounded me hard.

Bram sat there, with a little smile on his face, watching me be manhandled and ravished at his expense.

I was smiling too, in a grimace, but smiling. The big black bull was doing me like no one had ever done me before. I was screaming and sobbing and cheering him on.

We'd gone cruising that Friday night, as Bram had said we would. It was quickly evident to me that Bram was shopping—that he was looking for someone who could be even more entertaining and taxing with me than Joost had been.

We found Jomba in a bar that catered to black immigrants—and to men who wanted to be fucked by black bulls. Jomba was the most bull for the buck in the bar and we had brought him back to the canal barge and, with a smile and a shiver of pleasure, Bram had turned me over to him.

Jomba wrestled and knocked me about until all the fight was out of me, then he laid me on Bram's bed and fucked the hell out of me.

When he was done, Bram moved into position, and I lay there, exhausted, vulnerable, reamed fully open, collapsed like a rag doll, and both moaning and humming, as Bram grabbed my hips, raised my pelvis to him, slid inside, and fucked me for at least twenty minutes until he, too had come. It was a good fuck, although he didn't reach and work in my core as either Joost or Jomba had.

I'd had the fear as we were returning from the blacks club to the canal boat that Bram wanted another double, using Jomba. I could tell the African was hung like a bull, and I was close to hyperventilating when we got to the barge and the Ugandan immediate started pawing me and pushing me toward the bed and pulling at my clothes.

But even Bram appeared to have his limits of cruelty. He primarily wanted to watch me being beaten down by a black man twice my size with the cock the size of a baseball bat. And he got his wish—and, despite how much he was paying me, his money's worth.

* * * *

Then there was the most memorable aspect of my stay in Amsterdam—the Club Unicorn, spelled the same in Dutch and English, although pronounced a bit differently in the two languages. It wasn't notable for how the name was pronounced, though, but for what extraordinary sex acts were performed there.

I was curious about the name and asked when we were on our way there on Saturday Night.

"I know what a unicorn is," I said, "but what's the connotation of a unicorn and a gay men's cruising club? Are you going to watch me be fucked by a unicorn's horn?" I laughed.

"Yes, I am," he answered without cracking a smile. I stopped laughing.

"A unicorn is a mythical creature, perfect in every way," he continued. "We use the term in gay circles here to describe a man who is perfect in every way—looks, musculature, equipment, and disposition. You'd be described here as a young unicorn."

"And you're taking me to this club because you think of me as a unicorn?"

"I'm taking you there because I think of a unicorn as a perfect horse. I love the image of a horse mounting a mare and breeding her. I want to watch you being mounted and breeded by a perfect man—a unicorn." He shrugged and grinned at me. "Amsterdam is a kinky town. We take our pleasures in grand and unusual ways. You should be here in October when we merge the German October Fest with the American Halloween. It's standing room only in Club Unicorn during American Halloween. I like to watch. I want to watch a mystical horse mount and fuck you. We have a club here for that fetish."

I shuddered.

"I bought you for the weekend to use however I wanted to do so, remember?"

Yes, I remembered. I didn't make an objection.

"The men at this club are unicorns in gay parlance. They will be beautiful. They are unicorns in more than that, though. You will love being mounted and breeded by them. I will enjoy watching a unicorn fuck you."

And they were, in every observable way, beautiful, although I couldn't tell how good looking their faces were. They all were wearing masks. Bulky masks. Their heads had been transformed into horses' muzzles, their lips at the front, but the mask rising back behind their heads and bulging down in back to them to give the image of a horse's head. They had silky manes too—of differing colors, matched with their natural coloring. And they had hooved hands and feet and a harness at their midsection that had codpieces attached to it in front when the unicorns weren't in action. Each had a tail flouncing off the tailbone and flowing toward the floor. The codpieces showed pronounced bulges that confirmed the "best of the best" description of the unicorn men. All of them had plump, bulbous butts, most of which were exposed outside the coverage of the material of their costumes.

Of course they all had horns coming out of their foreheads. Not sharp-pointed, twisty ones like you'd see on a real unicorn—if there was such a thing as a real unicorn—but more in the form of a stylized cock. The surfaces were twisty, though, and the length was daunting. They shimmered under the lights overhead, obviously greased up and ready to go.

I shivered as I was being led into the bowels of the club through small groups of male patrons mingling with resident unicorns. A wide hallway that Bram called the track beckoned us toward the back of the club. Alcoves opened off to the side as we walked the track. Whatever went on in the alcoves was meant to be seen by those strolling around the track. Unicorns whinnied as they trotted past us toward the front, reception room.

We passed an alcove where a naked patron was sitting on the end of a chaise longue, a unicorn hovering over him, leaning deep, nuzzling the man's cheek with his muzzle. The man was giving the unicorn's cock head, and the beast's tail was switching wildly As I was being led beyond this alcove, the unicorn was going down on his knees and spreading the patron's legs. The unicorn was lowering his head, putting his horn into position between the man's thighs. We were past the alcove when I heard the man cry out an impassioned "

Ja! Oh, fuck Ja

!—Yes! Oh, fuck yes!" as, presumably, the unicorn entered him with the horn.