Red Lights, Big City: Penetrating Amsterdam’s Red Light District
Originally published in Hustler magazine, 1994
Dutch girls, Asian girls, African girls and Polish girls with a side of marijuana. The Red Light District in Amsterdam, Holland, offers a hedonistic menu of legal pleasures for every traveling man on the blow and go. The chase, however, is often better than the catch.
On-the-Road Report by Scott Schalin
******
A young girl stands in the window wearing an American flag bikini. Stars on her tits and red stripes over her pussy.
Metallica music blares from her small room. Master of puppets, I’m pulling your strings…
A crowd of window-shopping men stop. She is the most beautiful hooker working Amsterdam’s Red Light District on this night. Long, black hair frames a sweet face with deep, blue eyes. The outline of her large nipples burst through her star-spangled bra. If supermodel Paulina Porizkova were a whore…
She turns and pulls the thong strap out of her ass making a mesmerized crowd press closer to the glass.
…Twisting your mind and smashing your dreams…
An older man with thick glasses knocks on her door.
“Hello,” he sputters in a German accent.
“I’m Grace.” She smiles. “Come in.”
The working girl shuts the blinds and turns to her customer who sits sheepishly on the twin bed. “So,” Grace says pulling her patriotic panties aside to flash her tightly trimmed tuft. “What will it be?”
*******************
Club Head Vacation: A Walking Tour of the Red Light District
The Red Light District (RLD) in Amsterdam, Holland, may be the most liberal five blocks in the world. The heart of this tiny canal-laced country that borders the North Sea, Belgium to the west and Germany to the east contains a hedonist’s paradise of hookers, pubs, pot dens and live-sex shows.
Amsterdam is divided into two areas: the Old Side and New Side, east and west of the Amstel River, respectively. The Old Side was founded in the 14th Century and from its inception contained the heart of Holland’s prostitution trade. Today, the world’s oldest profession flourishes in the District as it did centuries ago; only the prices have changed.
The RLD is easy to find, nestled in the oldest neighborhoods of downtown Amsterdam, four blocks south-east of the Centraal Train Station and due north of the famous Krasnapolsky Hotel.
Take one of the ubiquitous Mercedes cabs to the Krasnapolsky and enter the district from the $250-a-night hotel to experience the subtle changes in the Victorian-styled neighborhood. Walking North on Damstraat (away from Dam Square and the hotel), trendy, outdoor cafes give way to bustling Persian delis which recede into a menagerie of XXX bookstores, peep shows and, of course, the tricks under glass.
Turn left on Oude Zijds Achterburg Wal to find the Hash Marijuana Hemp Museum and the first of many black street peddlers mumbling, “What you need? Coke, smoke, LSD, PCP, shrooms….”
Almost every sense-satisfying activity in Amsterdam is legal except for the use of hard drugs such as heroin or cocaine. Sit inside Stone’s “coffeeshop” and the barmaid quickly produces a marijuana menu. Thai bud runs $6; skunk weed about $4. Pre-rolled joints the size of felt-tipped pens cost just $3 and have the power to make the Fugees’ dud “Killing Me Softly” sound like the hottest song in the world. The pot also has a way of turning men’s minds to sex, making the 100 half-naked whores sitting in windows across the street a marvel of convenience.
******************
Canal Surfing: Window Shopping in the RLD
The RLD leisurely opens around 11:00 a.m. as adult-bookstore owners slide open retractable aluminum gates and shwarma peddlers stick pork bellies onto spits for slow roasting.
As the afternoon sun shimmers off the pea-green canals that separate the brick streets, hookers make their first appearance in the windows wearing thong bikinis or shoddy lingerie. Red, fluorescent tubes light ladies from below, giving these hearty workers a carnival glow.
Hookers in Amsterdam do not pay pimps, per se. Instead, the prostitutes pay “rent” to the so-called “landlords” of the one-room, sex pads which the girls work in two shifts. The Noon-to-7:00 p.m. tricks pay less than their prime-time counterparts as the daylight dames tend to be old or overweight or both. Usually both.
At 1:00 p.m., a Mexican woman with a belly the size of a sombrero brushes ashes from her soiled, stretched-out lingerie. A window over finds an aging, white trollop wiping cherry-red blush into leathery cheeks. Two doors down, an Asian tramp with a Sumo wrestler’s fatty tits seems to wink at men who pass until onlookers discover her left eye is permanently sealed shut.
For the blowjob-bargain hunter, the afternoon hours are a ball-busting, blue-light special. Twenty-five guilders (about $15 U.S.) buys oral sex. (Depending on current money-exchange rates, one guilder equals $1.75 American.) Fifty guilders ($30) earns the coveted blow-and-go (oral warm-up followed by missionary sex).
All prices are negotiable during the day, but by 7:00 p.m. when the dross hits the bricks and the younger, sexier girls appear, expect to pay at least 100 guilders ($58) for pussy penetration.
The fucking procedure is simple: knock on the window of the girl of choice. She’ll open the door. Ask the price. Most hookers speak enough English to succinctly settle business. If agreeable, walk inside, and the game begins.
All quoted prices outside the door are for one-position sex only. Extra services can be purchased once the blinds are closed. Add 25 guilders for each sexual position beyond missionary. Tack on 100 guilders for anal sex. There’s no kissing and never sex without a condom.
Beware the non-naked hustle. Many Dam hookers won’t remove their bras for the originally quoted fee. To avoid embarrassment or disappointment always ask the trick during the opening negotiations if full nudity is part of the package. If not, add 25 guilders to feel those tits.
At night, the District transforms into a Mardi Gras of uninhibited behavior. Young men sit before a Victorian tenement smoking something skunky; two gents discuss the state of European politics while pissing unabashedly into a canal, stopping only when a group of locals float buy, cold Heinekens in one hand, joints in the other; couples line up outside the popular Casa Rosso theater to catch the next live-sex show; and all the while curious men shuffle along the dark alleyways to witness the changing of the gams. By 7:00 p.m., the prized pussy opens for business throughout the RLD. Men who have waited all day for the picks of the litter now have until 2:00 a.m. to make their 100-guilder love connections.
While windows that face the canals remain more for show than blow, the real female gems are hidden in alleys marked by demographics.
A sian Alley
Two blocks west of Damstraat boulevard finds a row of windows containing silk-skinned Japanese girls. One Asian cookie after another stands in side-by-side windows winking and hooking tourists inside to sample her fortune nookie.
Thai Alley
On a street called Denk Aan Onze Buren, a “Thai Massage” sign hangs 15 feet from the Christian Youth Hostel Center. Ten steps later, four windows of homely Thai whores preen with garish make-up and long eyelashes. Boners beware, many locales insist the Thai girls are actually “re-built” men.
Fire Alley
“Fire Alley” is the nickname given to Stoofsteeg where the white girls work. To call this oasis an alley belies its width; Stoofsteeg is actually a slim corridor which forces men sideways to navigate its distance. Approximately 10 yards west of the Bulldog (the oldest pothouse in the RLD), this walkway contains nearly 30 windows of fresh-faced, Eastern European girls. Some girls have black hair and deep, dark eyes; others display the classic Nordic features of white-blonde hair, blue eyes and heavy, natural breasts.
As men pass, the girls shout through the glass. “Want a date?” “Can I suck your cock?” “Wanna fuck my pussy?” Thoughts race through the john’s mind: Is she the one? Do I have enough guilders? What about that blonde that looked like Alicia Silverstone? Should I buy another joint first? I’ve never had a black chick! Or Asian! Shit, it’s almost 2:00! Perhaps the biggest difficulty of buying a Dam hooker is deciding exactly which one .
African Row
The ornate bell tower of the 15th Century, Old Church (called Oude Kerk) looms in the starry darkness, the brass hands of its massive face glimmering in the moonlight. In the southern shadow of the Church, black girls sit in their glass-enclosed pews. “Sapphire,” a skin-and-bones trick in a yellow thong tests her aggressive sales pitch on a group of Parisian men. “I give you fucky-fucky and sucky-suck. You come now. I make you come.”
How so many African girls have suddenly sprung up in Amsterdam provides insight into the business of pleasure.
**************
By Hook or by Crook: The Changing Face of the RLD
Rap-rap-rap . The knock on “Sugar’s” window is more forceful than a john’s. In fact, this 19-year-old, Dutch girl standing topless in her tiny room, is not ready for business.
Sugar’s “landlord” enters. The working girl covers her bare tits, but the man pushes her hands away. “I want to see what they’re paying for,” he spits. Sugar’s big breasts bounce into the open air. He grins and lights a smoke.
“I want 1,000 guilders more a month,” the visitor announces. He tweaks her exposed nipples and splits, saying in Dutch, “If you don’t like it, leave.”
“That was the final straw,” says Sugar who vacated her window in 1994 and today can be seen fucking live on the Internet at European Hardcore ( www.eurohardcore.com ). “In the late ‘80s, mostly white girls worked the District,” the former prostitute reflects. “Dutch girls, German girls, Polish girls. To us, it was an exciting way to make money. I was putting myself through art school. Then all these black girls suddenly showed up, and many of us were pushed out.”
By 1992, the Dutch mafia discovered that selling dope could be even more profitable than selling skin, according to one RLD veteran who insists on anonymity to “protect my ass.” “Heroin and crack came in by the boatload,” this 50-something Amsterdam-native reveals. “Soon, the mob leaders realized that the importation principle could also be applied to women.”
Black women from African countries such as Ghana, began popping up in windows as did the many slinky Asian chicks and sturdy Russian broads. Soon, the strong-willed local girls were forced out. “It has become a slave-trade situation,” the RLD veteran maintains. “The African girls are starved to the point of submission where they do whatever their pimp says. After a few months working in Amsterdam, the girls are shipped to Antwerp [Belgium] or Copenhagen [Denmark], and a new batch of girls arrive in Holland.”
Today, there remains one place to find genuine eastern European girls working their way through college on their backs: the Gentlemen’s Sex Clubs.
*******
The Cream of the Pop: The Private Gentlemen’s Clubs
As she sips champagne from a crystal flute, the blond’s halter top slides off her satiny shoulder. Her left breast emerges, exposing a light-pink nipple to the glow of a roaring fire.
“Excuse me.” She giggles and tucks her tit away.
The husky, Dutch businessman drains the last of his single-malt scotch. “Let’s adjourn upstairs,” he suggests.
The young lady adjusts her strap and stands. She kisses the man’s cheek and feels the bulge in his tweed slacks. She whispers in his ear. “I want you.”
Upper-crust sex parlors like the popular JB Club and Society Anonyme are listed alongside out-call ads in local newspapers such as De Telegraaf . Looking for the pick of the prostitution litter? A stone’s throw from the house where Anne Frank hid from Nazis during World War II and wrote her famous diary, stands the Yab Yum club, one of Amsterdam’s last bastions of high-class, civilized prostitution.
Yab Yum is an old Indian translation meaning, “to unite in pleasure.” In truth, the phrase could also mean, “to empty the wallet.” Entrance to this well-appointed townhouse costs $75. Inside the club from 8:00 p.m. until 6:00 a.m., a man can schmooze with as many 40 different high-class hookers, predominantly Dutch girls who attend the University of Amsterdam by day.
Visitors sip cocktails until a young lady sits. A $125-bottle of champagne acts as a sexual down-payment. Conversation ensues and, in fact, “is one of the most welcome parts of the process,” explains Richard C., a multi-millionaire who treats business clients to evenings at Yab Yum. “The girls are very bright, very classy. They are as comfortable speaking of Sartre as they are sucking a man’s dick.”
When the gent is ready, the couple moves to a private bedroom upstairs with elegant furnishings, a fully stocked bar and a Jacuzzi tub. Climbing those stairs will cost an additional $250. The couple bathe. (All soap and shampoos in Yab Yum are purposely odorless to prevent detection by the visitor’s wife.)
After an invigorating soak, the woman lies naked on satin sheets and kicks her long, young legs into the air. She spreads her pussy with both hands and gives her clients “the most incredible, sensual and fulfilling fuck of your life,” according to Richard C.
One hour later, the man dresses and leaves, at least $400 lighter in the wallet and two or three loads lighter in the ‘nads.
**********
Broad’s Way & Musty TV – Live-Sex Shows and Adult-Video Shops
Ravel’s “Bolero” pours out of massive speakers on either side of the stage. A red curtain opens and a man emerges outfitted like The Terminator, complete with reflective sunglasses and laser gun.
He pans the audience in this way-off Broadway theater until a damsel in distress enters from stage left. A helmet conceals her face, but her bare boobs burst through a metal breastplate. The Terminator grabs her, holds her and fires his red laser at an unseen criminal.
Dry ice filters onto the stage, obscuring the actors. When the smoke clears, the female victim is on her knees with red lips wrapped tightly around The Terminator’s stiff cock.
The music builds. The woman flops onto her back, and our hero dives into her pink folds, licking the pussy with an eye to his audience. He pushes the girl’s left leg far back over her head to make her glistening gash visible for those in the balcony.
Schwarzenegger’s stand-in slaps her thigh, and the woman spins into a doggie position. His cock slides in and out of her sluice until the actor slaps his leading lady’s ass. The actresses turns and falls dramatically to her belly. She spreads her legs wide and moans loudly as her co-star again shoves his stick inside her pussy, pumping in time with the music until he pulls out, winces and…the curtains close.
The Casa Rosso sex clubs in Amsterdam, combine Las Vegas flash with New York-style live sex shows of 30 years ago. Couples pantomime scripted scenes — the jailer and the warden’s wife; the bum and the high-society slut – that culminate with mutual oral sex and three-position fucking without cum shots. (“My men would never make it through a four-hour shift,” one club operator explains of the anti-climaxes.)
With three locations in a two-block radius, Casa Rosso is the McDonald’s of live-sex shows. For $35-$50 (depending on how many vignettes are on the program) theater-goers enjoy close-up looks at hard-bodied Euro babes getting boned by big-dicked dorks.
Katarina is a live-sex performer at Casa Rosso’s primary location, Achterburgwal 106 108. A Polish girl who studied gymnastics, Katarina hopes to earn enough money fucking onstage to become a professional dancer. “It’s theater, not sleazy,” the 20-year-old stresses between shows. “I like to entertain.” And entertain she does, packing her pussy six times a night with a stiff dick and once with a lit cigar.
There are many alternatives to the glitz of Casa Rosso. The Sex Palace offers “live peeps” of scrawny, white couples fucking on a tiny stage. Club Amour touts “real life” (sic) sex on its shoddy marquee.
The creme-de-la-crud of live entertainment can be had at the Bannenbar.
A 40-year-old Russian trollop with chipped teeth, bony hips and empty potato-sack tits, sits atop a Formica bar and peels a banana with her twat. She taps a “lucky” man on the shoulder and feeds him the exposed fruit while the unpeeled portion hangs like a large, loose cigarette from her pussy lips.
A different bar frau cradles an empty glass between her big, drooping breasts. This gargantuan girl, a Viking helmet away from being an opera singer, fills the half-pint mug with luke-warm Amstel Light for thirsty customers.
Those who prefer less contact with the talent can discreetly whack in any of the 50 adult bookstores with adjoining “video cabins.”
No censorship laws govern the content of Dutch pornography. Literally, anything goes. Hard-core magazines glut the bookstore shelves with titles such as Anal Teens , High School Teens , Teens From Holland and Dirty Teens . Although most of the nude models spitting cum in these hard-core picture books are 18 years old, “teen themes make the biggest sellers,” admits one of the editors of Seventeen , Holland’s premiere sex magazine.
True lovers of young stuff seek out the nudist mags from Greece or Corsica, showing 10-year-olds frolicking naked in the clear-blue surf. There’s no sexual contact in these truly underage publications, only voyeuristic pedophilia.
Beyond the bondage section sits several titles for the copraphiliac. Pissy Lovers shows pictorials of men urinating their just-spent semen off young girls’ faces. The cover of Sex Bizarre is only slightly more controversial than the HUSTLER meat-grinder cover as a big-breasted, blond sits on a cock and catches a stream of pee with her mouth.
Nothing prepares the novice porn mongrel for the bestiality publications. Animal Action , Horse World and New! Animal Orgy show the lengths men and women go to kill Darwin’s theory of evolution.
In the video cabins, titles such as these come to life on 80 channels of bawdy and bizarre pornography. The phone-booth-sized cabins stink of musty Pine-Sol, but do contain complimentary Kleenex.
A five-guilder coin buys enough time to find even the most discriminating porn viewer an appropriate stroke scene. Blowjobs, facials, anal sex, gang bangs, fistings, lesbos, fags, pissing, shitting, bondage, beating, chicken fucking, horse sucking. Surfing these channels with their strange and often sinister content can be hazardous to one’s sexual health. At the very least, a man will never look at a clump of shit or a breast of chicken exactly the same way.
Despite such vulgar distractions, one ultimately doesn’t come to Amsterdam for the freakshows, but for the freedom; the freedom to fuck nearly 100 different girls at the drop of a guilder.
***************
Grace removes her stars-and-stripes thong and drops to her knees. Her man of the moment stuffs his thick glasses inside a coat pocket and hands the hooker a 100-guilder note.
The tart strokes the man’s shaft until he’s erect enough to accept a condom. Once sheathed, Grace sucks the old knob for 30 seconds.
“How old are you?” the man wonders.
“How old do you want me to be?” Grace volleys.
“Seventeen,” he responds.
“I’m 17 years old,” she confirms. “How do you want to fuck me?”
“From behind.”
“Doggie costs 25 guilders more,” she informs, her coy voice turning curt. The visitor forks over more cash, and Grace crawls onto the soiled sheets, posing on all fours with her naked ass in the air. The man mounts his young lass, spreading her pussy with two fingers. “I’ll do it,” she snorts and opens her loose lips to feed the cock inside.
“You’re tight like a virgin,” he fantasizes aloud. He looks down at his old dick sliding silently in and out of this barely legal girl’s cookie. For one moment, he is young again. “Can I come on your face?” he asks between thrusts.
“No,” she sighs. “Come in my pussy, baby.”
From her lips to john’s ears, spuzz fills the wretched rubber.
“You done?” Grace asks and answers her own question by feeling his shrinking violet. The hooker hops off the cock. “Trash can’s over there,” she drones. The old man dumps the soiled condom into the garbage filled with cigarette butts and several slimy scum bags.
Grace washes her pussy in a basin behind the bed and steps back into her star-spangled bikini. Her customer dresses and walks away from the scene of the grime with head down and hands deep inside front pockets.
The venetian blinds open and Grace stands in the window once more. Metallica is again cranked to 11, and her smile returns, beckoning to the horny zombies on the other side of the glass. A group of Belgium college boys ante-up for a dangerously drunk pal. The lucky stiff stumbles toward the hooker’s door and coughs up the necessary guilder.
It’s prime time in downtown Amsterdam. Grace’s shift has just begun.
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