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- By Shana Ting Lipton
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- There's a famous song by Belgian
crooner Jacques Brel called "Amsterdam," which starts
off romantically enough with "a sailor who sings of the
dreams that he brings from the wide open sea." As the tune
winds down and basically degenerates, our maritime man goes on
a booze bender, toasting the whores of Amsterdam. Ultimately,
as Brel tells it, "he pisses like I cry on the unfaithful
love…in the port of Amsterdam."
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- I can't claim a well-earned
Whiskey brogue or the sorts of chest-hair growth inducing activities
that the iconic ballad recounts. But, four years of living in
that very Northern European city and a recent trip back, did
in fact bring on my own dirty catharsis.
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- When people think of Amsterdam,
two things come to mind: weed and sex. A quick jaunt around the
Wallen, also known as the Red Light District brazenly
confirms evidence of the latter. There, ladies from Suriname,
Eastern Europe and Holland unabashedly flaunt their pricey wares
like erotic rotisserie chicken under violet magenta lighting.
Tourist bait. To most locals, these window displays are about
as banal and commonplace as said poultry.
- Stiff cocks even proudly line
the city's streets. These small roadside poles are called Amsterdametjes-antiquated
mushroom capped phalluses symbolizing the town.
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- Sex, for the Dutch, is like
brushing one's teeth-a necessary yet unglamorous part of life.
Unlike in America, sex is NOT separate from other facets of life,
taboo or an exotic curiosity. It doesn't even look particularly
attractive, even in porn. It's, dare I say, full of flaws and…well,
quite human, while American porn seems to have been tucked, enhanced
and Photoshopped to surreal dimensions. More notable according
to my Dutch friends: American porn is goofily riddled with absurd
extraneous storylines and characters like the pizza boy and the
maid, at once obfuscating and tarting up the biological and allegedly
intimate act of 'doing it.'
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- As a 20something American expat
in Amsterdam, I naturally brought some baggage. Namely, the aforementioned
tendency to compartmentalize my sex life, separating it from
anything remotely human and holistic. I slapped a lot of lipstick
on the pig, so to speak, in the form of roleplay and a pronounced
fetish for barely legal Dutch guys.
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- "In the port of Amsterdam,
There's a sailor who drinks, And he drinks and he drinks, And
he drinks once again." This sailor found herself frequenting
what some locals dubbed the kinderdisco-mini-clubs where beautiful,
blond 18 and 19-year-old boys went to get their drink on.
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- During my first year in town,
I kissed a few tadpoles. There was the police academy cadet who
couldn't hold his liquor. I had to hold his head…cold-compress
in-hand, over a bucket as he yakked. Not fond of wasting time
and never to be defeated, I got him cleaned up and teeth brushed.
I guided him to my bed and stripped down his supine but willing
body …and mounted him until I was satisfied.
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- PAGE
2: God, fur and the grind...
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- Copyright © 2008
Shana Ting Lipton
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