Nomads on the Amstel
8. The middle-of-the-road bears do Cologne
“There, what do you think?”
Ruud, startled from his drowsy state on the settee, glared at his partner who had emerged from the bedroom. It was already late, the daylight was gone and the room was dark apart from the light of the television flickering and murmuring quietly in the background. Wil stood silhouetted against the light from the room behind him.
“Turn the light on, I can’t see you properly, you look like some satanic visitation at the moment. What have you got on anyway?”
Wil turned on the main light and posed, hands on hips, turning this way and that so that Ruud would get a full view.
“Oh Christ, stop the act Marlene; I thought the idea was to look butch! Anyway, what’s this all about? You can’t possibly be thinking of going out can you? It’s already eleven o’clock and I’m ready for my bed.”
Wil pouted,
“Well you can stay here and die peacefully in your sleep if you want but it’s Saturday, the night is young and it’s a warm summer’s evening. The bars will be buzzing.”
“Yeah, buzzing from all the bees around the honey pot. Well you go if you want but don’t wake me when you roll in.”
“God, you’re turning into such a misery Ruud. Anyway, I sort of promised Franck and Dennis that we’d be there.”
He turned away at the last phrase.
“You know, you’re such an unspeakable shit at times! Was there any reason why you couldn’t discuss this with me; at an earlier, more civilised time?”
“Well, I knew you’d say no if we talked about it too much.”
”Which is exactly what I’m going to say now, so your little scheme’s failed hasn’t it?”
Wil put on his most appealing expression and knelt down in front of his friend.
“Oh pleeease come out to play. It’s no fun without you and we have to talk about the trip; it’s next weekend you know.”
“Oh fuck, I’d forgotten about that. Oh well, if I must, I must but I’ve got to take another shower first; God it’s so hot!”
Ruud dragged himself up from the settee with exaggerated weariness.
“Wait just a minute there,” said Wil crossly, “You haven’t told me if I look alright yet.”
Ruud examined his friend’s choice of clothes for the night. Wil was in full leather drag; a posing pouch, chaps held up with his thickest studded belt, boots, cross-over chest straps and a waistcoat. He’d even buffed up his nipple rings and gone over some of the fake tattoos with a felt tip, to make them stand out better.
“Jesus, a whole herd of cows must have died to achieve that. What do you look like?
You’re not twenty five any more sweetie, are you sure you can carry this off at your age?”
Stung by the barb, Wil retaliated in the only way he knew how.
“Well, at least I don’t dye what’s left of my hair and at least I haven’t got a belly the size of Groningen and…and…I feel good, it feels natural, I feel comfortable, it’s an expression of my personality.”
“Another sheep in the flock more like! Oh I don’t know, wear what you like. Who am I to judge but don’t blame me if you overhear someone saying you should look your age and not your cock size.”
“I won’t blame you, even if I do develop hang-ups and neuroses because of your incessant carping. Any way, I think I look good, even if I have to say it myself.”
Ruud wandered off to the bathroom, picking up his usual jeans and white T-shirt on the way. It was always like this; always had been but they adored each other and both knew it. Wil was his alter ego and irreplaceable.
People were milling all over the street, drinking and laughing in small, ever-changing groups. Others hung around on the edges, trying to look casual and available whilst scanning the rest with practised eyes. A couple of bored policemen leaned against a corner wall. They weren’t likely to have much to do; there was rarely any trouble from the summer gay crowd and nothing that they saw shocked them in the slightest. They were there to watch out for stray groups of heterosexual youths who might cause trouble when they realised where they were and that they were outnumbered; besides which, there’d been a football match in town that afternoon and it was always best at those times, to have a police presence around in the centre of the city.
“Shall we stand outside? At least it’ll be a bit cooler,” Ruud suggested but as Wil had already fought his way into the bar, he had little choice but to follow him.
It was like entering another world on nights like this and from the doorway all the way to the back of the bar and down the stairs, it was a seething mass of bodies. The heat came at you in waves and Ruud swore it was a positive health risk just standing there for more than ten minutes, as the oxygen levels depleted and the air was filled with smoke and the assorted smells of the leather community. The music was unrelentingly hard; forcing your heartbeat to thump along at an unnatural pace and the testosterone could be tasted!
From the frantic signals Wil was giving him, Ruud realised that he was to get the drinks and he squeezed his way towards the bar to give his order although it looked like he would have to wait a while. Trying desperately to catch the barman’s eye, he was off guard when he felt a thump on his shoulder and then an arm wrapping itself around his neck in a mock stranglehold.
“Hi there beautiful man.”
Straining his neck to look around, he was faced by a giant with rolling eyes and breath bad enough to stop an elephant in its tracks. He tried to be polite and smiled through gritted teeth then replied in English.
“Hi, um… would you mind loosening your grip a little, you’re choking me.”
Either the colossus hadn’t understood, or was too drunk to take any notice but the grip tightened.
“You look good for your age, I want you.”
By the accent, Ruud guessed that he wasn’t English but probably German and summoning up his strength, whilst trying to turn his nose away from an unsavoury and very sweaty armpit, he spluttered vehemently,
“Well, I don’t want you, now get your arm away from me!”
It was loud enough to attract attention from their neighbours who stood awaiting the outcome and thanked the stars they weren’t in the same position. It was one of those situations that could have turned nasty but fortunately for Ruud, the man backed away and released his grip. Ruud heaved a sigh of relief and grinned, in an attempt to diffuse the situation.
“That’s better. Are you having a good time?”
His assailant looked at him through bleary eyes as if weighing up his options and then burst out laughing.
“Oh yes, a good time, oh yes,” and after another hefty clap on Ruud’s back, moved away through the crowd to pester someone else. A rather mousy young Englishman looked at Ruud admiringly,
“Rather you than me mate, well done.”
Feeling proud of himself Ruud thanked him and returned to the serious business of getting drinks; at least he’d have a story to tell but it had been a close call and he shuddered; confrontation was not his thing.
Wil had found Franck and Dennis squeezed into a corner on a bench and despite being continually jostled from behind, stood firm so that there would be a small space for Ruud when he arrived.
“Busy enough for you?”
“Wonderful isn’t it,” Franck giggled, “So many tourists, so many good-looking men but you can’t see the wood for the trees. I’m desperate for a piss but I’m not going to fight my way through that lot, I’d end up giving someone a golden shower.”
Wil put his arm around Dennis’ shoulder and kissed him on both cheeks.
“And how’s my favourite Irishman?”
Wil had always has a soft spot for Dennis, ever since he’d had an intense quickie with him at the sauna shortly after he’d first arrived in Amsterdam ten years before. He was quiet, polite and spoke Dutch with what Wil thought was an enchanting accent and being short and chunky and covered in hair, was physically a Ten in Wil’s eyes. Dennis took a long draw on his joint, handed it to Franck and gave Wil that lopsided grin that made him so attractive.
“I’m fine, just fine, though I’m sweating like a Turkish wrestler.”
”Mmm, wet and slippery huh! Just how I like them.”
Wil attempted what he thought was his most lascivious leer.
“So where’s your better half then?”
Dennis put his hand reassuringly on Franck’s thigh; another of the instinctive signals that made up the rainbow language. After so many years, there was no question of Dennis succumbing again to Wil’s endless, automatic and intrinsically harmless seduction technique but in this world body language was everything and practice made perfect.
“He’s getting the drinks, although from the time he’s taking, he’s probably met someone at the bar. Oh here she comes, finally!”
A dishevelled looking Ruud, clutching two bottles in each hand, battled his way through the crowd and handed the beers out.
“So what was he like then? It looks as though you’ve already had a session; been providing the bar-side entertainment then?”
“Well, in a manner of speaking, yes. I met this German…”
Wil had already turned away, distracted by an attraction in the distance. Spotting Ruud’s irritation, Franck tactfully took sides.
“You’re such a fucking butterfly Wil van Rossum; always flitting from flower to flower. It’s a wonder Ruud has put up with you all these years.”
Ruud flashed him a grateful glance.
”I know, I know but he knows I love him unconditionally, don’t you sweetie? I just can’t help playing; it’s in my nature. Anyway, shall we get down to the serious matter of our tripette to Cologne? What time do we set off? Who’s car are we going in? Where are we staying? What are we wearing? All those sorts of tedious details.”
Dennis dug into his jeans pocket and pulled out a scrap of paper.
“Okay guys, it’s all worked out. We set off after work on Friday, about three o’clock, assuming we can all get off early?”
The other three nodded.
“We go in our car, ‘cause I can’t drink, on account of the tablets, well, you know and it’s slightly bigger than yours anyway.”
“Mmm again promising!” chipped in Wil.
Franck glared at him,
“Oh, change the record Wil. Go on Dennis.”
“We share the petrol of course and we’re staying in a gay B&B not far from the bars; it’s a bit more expensive but much more convenient.”
They nodded again.
“Now it’s a bears weekend as you know and I thought we could do the leather party on the Saturday but there’s also a really good party on the other side of the Rhine on the Friday night and this is where you come in Ruud.”
Ruud looked at the others suspiciously.
“Oh yes, here it comes, what’s my special part in this Bear’s day out?”
“I told you yesterday,” Wil hissed at him fiercely,
“Or did I? I think I did. Anyway, the Friday thing is a drag do. Some of the other guys are going from here and everybody’s dressing up; it’ll be a hoot!”
Ruud groaned. The one thing he was never comfortable with wearing was drag, which everybody thought was highly hypocritical considering he was in charge of costumes for the local theatre group.
“Oh I see; it’s all crystal clear now. That’s why you were so keen on my coming out tonight. God you can be a treacherous little snake at times. Why couldn’t you have just told me? God, you do this all the time.”
Wil tried to look penitent.
“Because my sweet, you would have once more said no and I know from experience that once you’re dragged kicking and screaming to these things, you enjoy yourself immensely. There, case closed.”
Ruud had the higher moral ground and assumed his haughtiest demeanour.
“I take it you all want costumes making then?”
The other three clasped their hands in mock prayer and grovelled.
Ruud laughed at their absurd expressions and gave way.
“Okay then but I need to know details tonight; what you want, what your sizes are etcetera; no arsing around until Wednesday like the last time.”
Franck bowed from his seat.
“We are not worthy oh great one. Your wish is our command.”
At that moment, Wil lurched forward, his bottle flying in the air to be expertly caught by Dennis.
“What the…! Hey, you overgrown Bratwurst, watch who you’re shoving!”
Ruud tried to warn him,
“Don’t even go there Wil!” but it was too late, Wil’s face began to go purple as he succumbed to another Teutonic gesture of affection.
“You are so cute. I love you, I want you now.”
The tone of the evening had been set.
The journey to the German border had been hot and sticky but uneventful. Franck and Dennis had shared the driving and alternately cursed and moaned at the continuous traffic jams leaving Amsterdam, around Utrecht and at all intersections heading South East.
At one point, Wil had made a hopeful suggestion;
“How about some Imca Marina to cheer us up a bit?”
Three loud ‘no’s in unison only slightly discouraged him.
“I suppose Willeke Alberti’s out of the question then?”
Retreating into a sulk, under a flurry of blows from Ruud’s newspaper, he pulled out the fan from his costume bag and irritated them all by fanning himself furiously. Ruud leaned his head against the window and tried to sleep and Franck and Dennis went silent in the front. All four fervently wished for the journey’s end.
“What the hell is this all about?”
Ruud jumped. He’d been in that drowsy state just before deep sleep, where images drift randomly through your mind and opening his eyes was confronted by a uniformed and fully armed soldier staring at him through the window. They’d pulled over, as directed, into a lay-by just over the border, to join a queue of assorted cars and lorries. There were military personnel and police all around them and the atmosphere was clearly less than relaxed.
“Ooh, soldier boys,” exclaimed Wil, fluttering his eyelashes and winking at the stony-faced men around the car.
Dennis turned around,
“Wil, be careful, I’m not sure this is a routine check. It looks quite serious. I wonder what’s happened.”
Franck looked at his friend with some concern in his eyes.
“You brought your passport didn’t you Den?”
“Why should he bring his passport? I haven’t; we don’t need them now.”
Ruud nudged him,
“You can be so thick sometimes. Dennis is Irish.”
“So? Ireland’s part of the Schengen thing isn’t it? Dennis? Isn’t it?”
“Actually, I’m not sure but I always carry my passport anyway. We have a certain reputation you know and after last month’s bomb in Bielefeld, it’s better to be safe than sorry.”
Wil sighed loudly,
“God, you’re all such drama queens! It’s just a border check that’s all; they do it sometimes; trying to catch illegal immigrants or drugs or something. Relax, smile and imagine them naked.”
Eventually, it was their turn to be checked. A customs officer, accompanied by two soldiers with semi-automatic weapons, arrived at Franck’s window.
“Good afternoon gentlemen, may I ask where you’re going and what the purpose of your trip is?”
“We’re heading for Cologne for the weekend. It’s a mini-break. What’s all this about?”
“Oh, it’s just routine sir. Could I see your passports and driving licence?”
Wil knew he should have kept his mouth shut; knew it from the moment the words fell out of his mouth.
“Listen Obersturmfuehrer, we’re European citizens exercising our right to travel freely across borders within the Schengen zone. The least you can do is tell us why we’ve been stopped…ouch, bitch!”
The latter was in response to Ruud’s fierce dig in the ribs. To his credit, the customs officer didn’t rise to the bait but continued icily,
“Passports and drivers licences gentlemen…now…please.”
Franck, Dennis and Ruud all handed over their papers without a word.
“And you sir?”
Wil was still defiant.
“I don’t have my passport with me; as far as I know, I didn’t need it and I don’t drive, so I’m sorry, you’re out of luck.”
The man looked at Wil for a moment as if weighing up what his options were.
“If you could step out of the car sir and come with us? I assume you have some means of identification with you?”
Huffing and puffing, Wil got out of the car and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket; they all heard the clicks as the guns were reset.
“What a load of nonsense, do I look like a terrorist?”
“I’m not sure what you look like sir. Now if you could come this way?”
‘Well, at least he’s got some sort of sense of humour,’ thought Ruud as he leaned over and gripped Wil’s arm.
“Cool it, okay? Just for once, cooperate. You’re making a mountain out of a molehill.”
Wil nodded, seemingly now aware that he’d made things worse and walked off to a portacabin a short distance away.
“Jesus, that mouth of his will land him in trouble one day.”
“Well, actually Den, it’s landed him in more trouble than I care to remember, countless times. I can’t change him, though God knows I’ve tried. He’ll be alright, he may have verbal diarrhoea but he’s not stupid. I’m sorry guys, it looks like we’re going to be late.”
While Wil was away, the soldiers decided to search the car and the three friends stood by sheepishly as the boot was emptied of their costumes and luggage for the weekend. Thanks to Wil, they made a big deal out of the whole process and other similarly inconvenienced people began to gather round, having spotted an opportunity to make light of the situation.
“Oh God, do they have to take everything out like that?” Franck moaned. He may have been quite the exhibitionist in the gay leather community but he was a country boy from the east of Holland, at heart and he was highly embarrassed to see one dress after another being held up to public view. The muted chuckles from the small audience became roars of laughter and even applause as, one by one, the toys emerged; dildos, cockrings, posing pouches and the like, joining the assorted pile of bras and panties at the side of the road. Dennis buried his face in his hands.
“Oh my God, I can’t watch anymore. What would my dear old granny in County Cork make of all this? Where the fuck is that gobshite Wil? I’ll kill him when I get my hands on him.”
Ruud tried to make light of it,
“Oh come on guys, you’ve got to see the funny side of all this. Trust Wil to land us in an adventure before we’ve even got there.”
“I could cheerfully turn right around and go back, I’ve had enough.”
Ruud could see that he meant it and kept quiet. Wil was a liability at times but it was what he loved about him: the unpredictability, the sense of fun and the continuous refusal to conform to what was expected of him. He could never be as extrovert as his partner but he could live vicariously off it; it was what made his life worthwhile.
After a while, the onlookers began to get bored and drift back to their cars. Franck looked at his watch.
“Well, we’re not going to get there until at least eight or nine, even if we set off now. I’m starving, I don’t know about you two. I think we’ll have to stop off for something to eat as well.”
The others nodded. Ruud stuck his hands in his pockets and head down, wandered a little way along the grass verge. He was beginning to get worried now. Maybe he should go along and see what was happening. What if Wil had been arrested for some reason; how would he know? There was a constant stream of cars being pulled over but theirs was the only one that had been there for this long.
“Cooee.”
He turned around, to see Wil walking back to the car, laughing and joking with the same man he’d earlier confronted.
‘You’d think they were life-long buddies,’ he thought to himself, ‘how does he do it?’
“Okay girls, shall we go?”
The others stood there open-mouthed as Wil shook hands warmly with the customs officer, who saluted him with a broad grin.
“Will you three close your mouths, you look like stranded goldfish, or better still, queuing queens in the dark room; get in, I want to go now.”
As they sped off down the motorway, it was fully five minutes before anyone could bring himself to talk to Wil.
“What! What have I done? Anyone would think I’d committed a crime. Is nobody going to speak to me?”
Dennis gripped the steering wheel firmly and hissed through gritted teeth,
“Alright you little rat bag, you’ve obviously got a story to tell. Let’s hear it but it had better be good!”
He wouldn’t admit it to the others but the whole episode had unnerved him. He’d spent his childhood near the border with Northern Ireland and had unpleasant memories of road checks and dealings with soldiers. Coming to Amsterdam had been one way of getting away from all those memories and men in uniforms gave him the chills, despite perversely providing many of his sexual fantasies.
“Well…”
Wil paused for dramatic effect but failed to provoke a reaction.
“…First of all, they checked your passports and stuff and it all came up clean on the computer. Yours was first Dennis and they didn’t even give it a second look; everything checked out; so much for your national neurosis eh?”
Dennis snapped back at him,
“If you’d lived my life Wil, you might understand a bit better.”
Yeah, yeah but if you ask me, you people are like the Jews and the Palestinians and the like; you make a lifestyle out of being oppressed and walking round with chips on your shoulders.”
Seeing the expression on the Irishman’s face, Ruud jumped in quickly,
“Don’t fall in the trap of arguing with him Dennis, he’s just trying to get you going.”
Wil just smiled mischievously,
“Anyway, then I dragged out my credit cards and my photos and my COC membership card and they checked those out. God, it’s amazing what they can see about you these days! After a few questions, that was it; Guenther and I were getting on like a house on fire.”
“Guenther!” Ruud spluttered, “You mean we were standing around worrying and having our most intimate possessions examined by the world and his dog and you were on first name terms with Eva Braun there? Couldn’t you have hurried it along a bit for Christ’s sake? What was going on anyway? I assume Guenther filled you in on the whole operation!”
“Well, actually, he did. Apparently, they’d had intelligence reports that a gang of east Europeans, probably Russians from what I could gather, were coming back from Rotterdam with a boot full of cash, having delivered some nuclear parts or something dramatic. Exciting eh! Anyway, they’d got the guys from the Dutch end of the operation and were now trying to catch the smugglers here and because there were four of us, we looked likely suspects or something. Plus, I sort of upset Gunther a bit by being a bit stroppy; can’t think why.”
Franck turned around and gave him a weary look.
“Alright, I give in, you’ve got our curiosity aroused, what’s with the Gunther business?”
“A sweet man, though not my type as you can imagine; his brother however…now that’s a hunk! He guessed we were gay. I told him he had to be psychic…”
“No Wil, you walk, you talk…it isn’t nuclear science.”
“Oh, nuclear science, ha ha, very funny, my sides are splitting. Now can I finish the story? Guenther explained that his brother was gay and lived in Hamburg; we just have to go sometime! He asked what we were going to do in Cologne, so I told him. He didn’t bat an eyelid; if you ask me that one’s dabbled in the past anyway, it turns out, his grandmother married a Dutchman from Venlo…”
To everyone’s relief, Dennis spotted a motorway restaurant and their minds turned to their stomachs.
Having finally arrived at their hotel and settled in, there was a sense of urgency about their preparations for the night ahead, spurred on by Wil’s excitement and Ruud’s insistence that everyone looked the way they should in their costumes.
“Turn around Den, I need to put a couple of pins in and make a pleat here and there. Have you lost weight since last week?”
Dennis put his hands on his hips, breathed in, pouted his newly reddened lips and wiggled his backside in Ruud’s direction.
Ruud looked at him and giggled.
“My God, what a sight, the Dietrich from Hell. Couldn’t you have had a shave or something?”
“Look, I’m in drag, what more do you want?” retorted Dennis, “Shit, how do women wear bras all the time? It’s really chafing.”
”Well, you’ve got the tits for it darling; maybe it’s because most women don’t have bear rugs on their chests.”
“They’re not tits, they’re my pecs and if you think I’m shaving everything off for one night you’re sadly mistaken. I want to go out tomorrow night and be a real man again.”
“You wish!”
Wil sashayed into the room in his Spanish, flamenco outfit, complete with mantilla, fan and castanets.
“Well, how do I look?”
“Like Saddam Hussain appearing for one night only at the Benidorm Hilton.” Dennis laughed, “ No, you look fine; really good actually.”
“Well thank you and I have to thank my dear mother, my producer, all the crew and of course my own personal dresser Rudi.”
“Ruud wasn’t in the mood.
“Shut up Wil and come and give me a hand. Dennis looks as though he’s got the arse of a big, black mamma here, hold this while I pin it and for Christ’s sake Den, stop fidgeting!”
The general commotion was brought to a halt when Franck made his entrance.
“Wow, look at you. I never thought you had it in you.”
The others echoed Dennis’ admiration as Franck smiled and took a twirl. He’d shaved off his moustache and stubble and had applied his make-up carefully. He made the perfect Streisand, right down to the nose. Wil was clearly impressed.
“So where’ve you put your equipment? I mean you’re not exactly a little boy.”
Franck was wearing a tight fitting evening dress that Ruud had salvaged from the last production of Chicago.
“Oh, it’s tucked away and taped up. I just hope I don’t meet someone exciting or need to go to the toilet too often.”
Ruud walked over and inspected Franck back and front. Although he’d been reluctant at first, now they were there and after he’d taken so much care altering the costumes, he was taking a professional interest and even felt a twinge of jealousy; his Queen Beatrix wasn’t a patch on Franck’s Streisand.
“Well, I think you’re really brave shaving off your facial hair, good for you.”
“Aw, I needed to start again really anyway; I could always smell the nicotine in my moustache and it definitely wasn’t my own colour for the same reason and the beard was getting really itchy.”
“Yuk! How repulsive. I always suspected you had your own eco-system in there.”
Wil ducked as the pot of face cream narrowly missed his head and splattered against the wall.
It may have turned a few heads, attracted a few wolf-whistles and the regulars in Amsterdam would have been shocked but the four very masculine men, who had reversed their images for one night, stepped off the tram, linked arms and walked proudly and full of optimism towards the party venue in the Essighalle. Wil turned around to look at the cathedral, lit up in the distance.
“Will you look at that; it’s so phallic!”
“There, what do you think?”
Ruud, startled from his drowsy state on the settee, glared at his partner who had emerged from the bedroom. It was already late, the daylight was gone and the room was dark apart from the light of the television flickering and murmuring quietly in the background. Wil stood silhouetted against the light from the room behind him.
“Turn the light on, I can’t see you properly, you look like some satanic visitation at the moment. What have you got on anyway?”
Wil turned on the main light and posed, hands on hips, turning this way and that so that Ruud would get a full view.
“Oh Christ, stop the act Marlene; I thought the idea was to look butch! Anyway, what’s this all about? You can’t possibly be thinking of going out can you? It’s already eleven o’clock and I’m ready for my bed.”
Wil pouted,
“Well you can stay here and die peacefully in your sleep if you want but it’s Saturday, the night is young and it’s a warm summer’s evening. The bars will be buzzing.”
“Yeah, buzzing from all the bees around the honey pot. Well you go if you want but don’t wake me when you roll in.”
“God, you’re turning into such a misery Ruud. Anyway, I sort of promised Franck and Dennis that we’d be there.”
He turned away at the last phrase.
“You know, you’re such an unspeakable shit at times! Was there any reason why you couldn’t discuss this with me; at an earlier, more civilised time?”
“Well, I knew you’d say no if we talked about it too much.”
”Which is exactly what I’m going to say now, so your little scheme’s failed hasn’t it?”
Wil put on his most appealing expression and knelt down in front of his friend.
“Oh pleeease come out to play. It’s no fun without you and we have to talk about the trip; it’s next weekend you know.”
“Oh fuck, I’d forgotten about that. Oh well, if I must, I must but I’ve got to take another shower first; God it’s so hot!”
Ruud dragged himself up from the settee with exaggerated weariness.
“Wait just a minute there,” said Wil crossly, “You haven’t told me if I look alright yet.”
Ruud examined his friend’s choice of clothes for the night. Wil was in full leather drag; a posing pouch, chaps held up with his thickest studded belt, boots, cross-over chest straps and a waistcoat. He’d even buffed up his nipple rings and gone over some of the fake tattoos with a felt tip, to make them stand out better.
“Jesus, a whole herd of cows must have died to achieve that. What do you look like?
You’re not twenty five any more sweetie, are you sure you can carry this off at your age?”
Stung by the barb, Wil retaliated in the only way he knew how.
“Well, at least I don’t dye what’s left of my hair and at least I haven’t got a belly the size of Groningen and…and…I feel good, it feels natural, I feel comfortable, it’s an expression of my personality.”
“Another sheep in the flock more like! Oh I don’t know, wear what you like. Who am I to judge but don’t blame me if you overhear someone saying you should look your age and not your cock size.”
“I won’t blame you, even if I do develop hang-ups and neuroses because of your incessant carping. Any way, I think I look good, even if I have to say it myself.”
Ruud wandered off to the bathroom, picking up his usual jeans and white T-shirt on the way. It was always like this; always had been but they adored each other and both knew it. Wil was his alter ego and irreplaceable.
People were milling all over the street, drinking and laughing in small, ever-changing groups. Others hung around on the edges, trying to look casual and available whilst scanning the rest with practised eyes. A couple of bored policemen leaned against a corner wall. They weren’t likely to have much to do; there was rarely any trouble from the summer gay crowd and nothing that they saw shocked them in the slightest. They were there to watch out for stray groups of heterosexual youths who might cause trouble when they realised where they were and that they were outnumbered; besides which, there’d been a football match in town that afternoon and it was always best at those times, to have a police presence around in the centre of the city.
“Shall we stand outside? At least it’ll be a bit cooler,” Ruud suggested but as Wil had already fought his way into the bar, he had little choice but to follow him.
It was like entering another world on nights like this and from the doorway all the way to the back of the bar and down the stairs, it was a seething mass of bodies. The heat came at you in waves and Ruud swore it was a positive health risk just standing there for more than ten minutes, as the oxygen levels depleted and the air was filled with smoke and the assorted smells of the leather community. The music was unrelentingly hard; forcing your heartbeat to thump along at an unnatural pace and the testosterone could be tasted!
From the frantic signals Wil was giving him, Ruud realised that he was to get the drinks and he squeezed his way towards the bar to give his order although it looked like he would have to wait a while. Trying desperately to catch the barman’s eye, he was off guard when he felt a thump on his shoulder and then an arm wrapping itself around his neck in a mock stranglehold.
“Hi there beautiful man.”
Straining his neck to look around, he was faced by a giant with rolling eyes and breath bad enough to stop an elephant in its tracks. He tried to be polite and smiled through gritted teeth then replied in English.
“Hi, um… would you mind loosening your grip a little, you’re choking me.”
Either the colossus hadn’t understood, or was too drunk to take any notice but the grip tightened.
“You look good for your age, I want you.”
By the accent, Ruud guessed that he wasn’t English but probably German and summoning up his strength, whilst trying to turn his nose away from an unsavoury and very sweaty armpit, he spluttered vehemently,
“Well, I don’t want you, now get your arm away from me!”
It was loud enough to attract attention from their neighbours who stood awaiting the outcome and thanked the stars they weren’t in the same position. It was one of those situations that could have turned nasty but fortunately for Ruud, the man backed away and released his grip. Ruud heaved a sigh of relief and grinned, in an attempt to diffuse the situation.
“That’s better. Are you having a good time?”
His assailant looked at him through bleary eyes as if weighing up his options and then burst out laughing.
“Oh yes, a good time, oh yes,” and after another hefty clap on Ruud’s back, moved away through the crowd to pester someone else. A rather mousy young Englishman looked at Ruud admiringly,
“Rather you than me mate, well done.”
Feeling proud of himself Ruud thanked him and returned to the serious business of getting drinks; at least he’d have a story to tell but it had been a close call and he shuddered; confrontation was not his thing.
Wil had found Franck and Dennis squeezed into a corner on a bench and despite being continually jostled from behind, stood firm so that there would be a small space for Ruud when he arrived.
“Busy enough for you?”
“Wonderful isn’t it,” Franck giggled, “So many tourists, so many good-looking men but you can’t see the wood for the trees. I’m desperate for a piss but I’m not going to fight my way through that lot, I’d end up giving someone a golden shower.”
Wil put his arm around Dennis’ shoulder and kissed him on both cheeks.
“And how’s my favourite Irishman?”
Wil had always has a soft spot for Dennis, ever since he’d had an intense quickie with him at the sauna shortly after he’d first arrived in Amsterdam ten years before. He was quiet, polite and spoke Dutch with what Wil thought was an enchanting accent and being short and chunky and covered in hair, was physically a Ten in Wil’s eyes. Dennis took a long draw on his joint, handed it to Franck and gave Wil that lopsided grin that made him so attractive.
“I’m fine, just fine, though I’m sweating like a Turkish wrestler.”
”Mmm, wet and slippery huh! Just how I like them.”
Wil attempted what he thought was his most lascivious leer.
“So where’s your better half then?”
Dennis put his hand reassuringly on Franck’s thigh; another of the instinctive signals that made up the rainbow language. After so many years, there was no question of Dennis succumbing again to Wil’s endless, automatic and intrinsically harmless seduction technique but in this world body language was everything and practice made perfect.
“He’s getting the drinks, although from the time he’s taking, he’s probably met someone at the bar. Oh here she comes, finally!”
A dishevelled looking Ruud, clutching two bottles in each hand, battled his way through the crowd and handed the beers out.
“So what was he like then? It looks as though you’ve already had a session; been providing the bar-side entertainment then?”
“Well, in a manner of speaking, yes. I met this German…”
Wil had already turned away, distracted by an attraction in the distance. Spotting Ruud’s irritation, Franck tactfully took sides.
“You’re such a fucking butterfly Wil van Rossum; always flitting from flower to flower. It’s a wonder Ruud has put up with you all these years.”
Ruud flashed him a grateful glance.
”I know, I know but he knows I love him unconditionally, don’t you sweetie? I just can’t help playing; it’s in my nature. Anyway, shall we get down to the serious matter of our tripette to Cologne? What time do we set off? Who’s car are we going in? Where are we staying? What are we wearing? All those sorts of tedious details.”
Dennis dug into his jeans pocket and pulled out a scrap of paper.
“Okay guys, it’s all worked out. We set off after work on Friday, about three o’clock, assuming we can all get off early?”
The other three nodded.
“We go in our car, ‘cause I can’t drink, on account of the tablets, well, you know and it’s slightly bigger than yours anyway.”
“Mmm again promising!” chipped in Wil.
Franck glared at him,
“Oh, change the record Wil. Go on Dennis.”
“We share the petrol of course and we’re staying in a gay B&B not far from the bars; it’s a bit more expensive but much more convenient.”
They nodded again.
“Now it’s a bears weekend as you know and I thought we could do the leather party on the Saturday but there’s also a really good party on the other side of the Rhine on the Friday night and this is where you come in Ruud.”
Ruud looked at the others suspiciously.
“Oh yes, here it comes, what’s my special part in this Bear’s day out?”
“I told you yesterday,” Wil hissed at him fiercely,
“Or did I? I think I did. Anyway, the Friday thing is a drag do. Some of the other guys are going from here and everybody’s dressing up; it’ll be a hoot!”
Ruud groaned. The one thing he was never comfortable with wearing was drag, which everybody thought was highly hypocritical considering he was in charge of costumes for the local theatre group.
“Oh I see; it’s all crystal clear now. That’s why you were so keen on my coming out tonight. God you can be a treacherous little snake at times. Why couldn’t you have just told me? God, you do this all the time.”
Wil tried to look penitent.
“Because my sweet, you would have once more said no and I know from experience that once you’re dragged kicking and screaming to these things, you enjoy yourself immensely. There, case closed.”
Ruud had the higher moral ground and assumed his haughtiest demeanour.
“I take it you all want costumes making then?”
The other three clasped their hands in mock prayer and grovelled.
Ruud laughed at their absurd expressions and gave way.
“Okay then but I need to know details tonight; what you want, what your sizes are etcetera; no arsing around until Wednesday like the last time.”
Franck bowed from his seat.
“We are not worthy oh great one. Your wish is our command.”
At that moment, Wil lurched forward, his bottle flying in the air to be expertly caught by Dennis.
“What the…! Hey, you overgrown Bratwurst, watch who you’re shoving!”
Ruud tried to warn him,
“Don’t even go there Wil!” but it was too late, Wil’s face began to go purple as he succumbed to another Teutonic gesture of affection.
“You are so cute. I love you, I want you now.”
The tone of the evening had been set.
The journey to the German border had been hot and sticky but uneventful. Franck and Dennis had shared the driving and alternately cursed and moaned at the continuous traffic jams leaving Amsterdam, around Utrecht and at all intersections heading South East.
At one point, Wil had made a hopeful suggestion;
“How about some Imca Marina to cheer us up a bit?”
Three loud ‘no’s in unison only slightly discouraged him.
“I suppose Willeke Alberti’s out of the question then?”
Retreating into a sulk, under a flurry of blows from Ruud’s newspaper, he pulled out the fan from his costume bag and irritated them all by fanning himself furiously. Ruud leaned his head against the window and tried to sleep and Franck and Dennis went silent in the front. All four fervently wished for the journey’s end.
“What the hell is this all about?”
Ruud jumped. He’d been in that drowsy state just before deep sleep, where images drift randomly through your mind and opening his eyes was confronted by a uniformed and fully armed soldier staring at him through the window. They’d pulled over, as directed, into a lay-by just over the border, to join a queue of assorted cars and lorries. There were military personnel and police all around them and the atmosphere was clearly less than relaxed.
“Ooh, soldier boys,” exclaimed Wil, fluttering his eyelashes and winking at the stony-faced men around the car.
Dennis turned around,
“Wil, be careful, I’m not sure this is a routine check. It looks quite serious. I wonder what’s happened.”
Franck looked at his friend with some concern in his eyes.
“You brought your passport didn’t you Den?”
“Why should he bring his passport? I haven’t; we don’t need them now.”
Ruud nudged him,
“You can be so thick sometimes. Dennis is Irish.”
“So? Ireland’s part of the Schengen thing isn’t it? Dennis? Isn’t it?”
“Actually, I’m not sure but I always carry my passport anyway. We have a certain reputation you know and after last month’s bomb in Bielefeld, it’s better to be safe than sorry.”
Wil sighed loudly,
“God, you’re all such drama queens! It’s just a border check that’s all; they do it sometimes; trying to catch illegal immigrants or drugs or something. Relax, smile and imagine them naked.”
Eventually, it was their turn to be checked. A customs officer, accompanied by two soldiers with semi-automatic weapons, arrived at Franck’s window.
“Good afternoon gentlemen, may I ask where you’re going and what the purpose of your trip is?”
“We’re heading for Cologne for the weekend. It’s a mini-break. What’s all this about?”
“Oh, it’s just routine sir. Could I see your passports and driving licence?”
Wil knew he should have kept his mouth shut; knew it from the moment the words fell out of his mouth.
“Listen Obersturmfuehrer, we’re European citizens exercising our right to travel freely across borders within the Schengen zone. The least you can do is tell us why we’ve been stopped…ouch, bitch!”
The latter was in response to Ruud’s fierce dig in the ribs. To his credit, the customs officer didn’t rise to the bait but continued icily,
“Passports and drivers licences gentlemen…now…please.”
Franck, Dennis and Ruud all handed over their papers without a word.
“And you sir?”
Wil was still defiant.
“I don’t have my passport with me; as far as I know, I didn’t need it and I don’t drive, so I’m sorry, you’re out of luck.”
The man looked at Wil for a moment as if weighing up what his options were.
“If you could step out of the car sir and come with us? I assume you have some means of identification with you?”
Huffing and puffing, Wil got out of the car and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket; they all heard the clicks as the guns were reset.
“What a load of nonsense, do I look like a terrorist?”
“I’m not sure what you look like sir. Now if you could come this way?”
‘Well, at least he’s got some sort of sense of humour,’ thought Ruud as he leaned over and gripped Wil’s arm.
“Cool it, okay? Just for once, cooperate. You’re making a mountain out of a molehill.”
Wil nodded, seemingly now aware that he’d made things worse and walked off to a portacabin a short distance away.
“Jesus, that mouth of his will land him in trouble one day.”
“Well, actually Den, it’s landed him in more trouble than I care to remember, countless times. I can’t change him, though God knows I’ve tried. He’ll be alright, he may have verbal diarrhoea but he’s not stupid. I’m sorry guys, it looks like we’re going to be late.”
While Wil was away, the soldiers decided to search the car and the three friends stood by sheepishly as the boot was emptied of their costumes and luggage for the weekend. Thanks to Wil, they made a big deal out of the whole process and other similarly inconvenienced people began to gather round, having spotted an opportunity to make light of the situation.
“Oh God, do they have to take everything out like that?” Franck moaned. He may have been quite the exhibitionist in the gay leather community but he was a country boy from the east of Holland, at heart and he was highly embarrassed to see one dress after another being held up to public view. The muted chuckles from the small audience became roars of laughter and even applause as, one by one, the toys emerged; dildos, cockrings, posing pouches and the like, joining the assorted pile of bras and panties at the side of the road. Dennis buried his face in his hands.
“Oh my God, I can’t watch anymore. What would my dear old granny in County Cork make of all this? Where the fuck is that gobshite Wil? I’ll kill him when I get my hands on him.”
Ruud tried to make light of it,
“Oh come on guys, you’ve got to see the funny side of all this. Trust Wil to land us in an adventure before we’ve even got there.”
“I could cheerfully turn right around and go back, I’ve had enough.”
Ruud could see that he meant it and kept quiet. Wil was a liability at times but it was what he loved about him: the unpredictability, the sense of fun and the continuous refusal to conform to what was expected of him. He could never be as extrovert as his partner but he could live vicariously off it; it was what made his life worthwhile.
After a while, the onlookers began to get bored and drift back to their cars. Franck looked at his watch.
“Well, we’re not going to get there until at least eight or nine, even if we set off now. I’m starving, I don’t know about you two. I think we’ll have to stop off for something to eat as well.”
The others nodded. Ruud stuck his hands in his pockets and head down, wandered a little way along the grass verge. He was beginning to get worried now. Maybe he should go along and see what was happening. What if Wil had been arrested for some reason; how would he know? There was a constant stream of cars being pulled over but theirs was the only one that had been there for this long.
“Cooee.”
He turned around, to see Wil walking back to the car, laughing and joking with the same man he’d earlier confronted.
‘You’d think they were life-long buddies,’ he thought to himself, ‘how does he do it?’
“Okay girls, shall we go?”
The others stood there open-mouthed as Wil shook hands warmly with the customs officer, who saluted him with a broad grin.
“Will you three close your mouths, you look like stranded goldfish, or better still, queuing queens in the dark room; get in, I want to go now.”
As they sped off down the motorway, it was fully five minutes before anyone could bring himself to talk to Wil.
“What! What have I done? Anyone would think I’d committed a crime. Is nobody going to speak to me?”
Dennis gripped the steering wheel firmly and hissed through gritted teeth,
“Alright you little rat bag, you’ve obviously got a story to tell. Let’s hear it but it had better be good!”
He wouldn’t admit it to the others but the whole episode had unnerved him. He’d spent his childhood near the border with Northern Ireland and had unpleasant memories of road checks and dealings with soldiers. Coming to Amsterdam had been one way of getting away from all those memories and men in uniforms gave him the chills, despite perversely providing many of his sexual fantasies.
“Well…”
Wil paused for dramatic effect but failed to provoke a reaction.
“…First of all, they checked your passports and stuff and it all came up clean on the computer. Yours was first Dennis and they didn’t even give it a second look; everything checked out; so much for your national neurosis eh?”
Dennis snapped back at him,
“If you’d lived my life Wil, you might understand a bit better.”
Yeah, yeah but if you ask me, you people are like the Jews and the Palestinians and the like; you make a lifestyle out of being oppressed and walking round with chips on your shoulders.”
Seeing the expression on the Irishman’s face, Ruud jumped in quickly,
“Don’t fall in the trap of arguing with him Dennis, he’s just trying to get you going.”
Wil just smiled mischievously,
“Anyway, then I dragged out my credit cards and my photos and my COC membership card and they checked those out. God, it’s amazing what they can see about you these days! After a few questions, that was it; Guenther and I were getting on like a house on fire.”
“Guenther!” Ruud spluttered, “You mean we were standing around worrying and having our most intimate possessions examined by the world and his dog and you were on first name terms with Eva Braun there? Couldn’t you have hurried it along a bit for Christ’s sake? What was going on anyway? I assume Guenther filled you in on the whole operation!”
“Well, actually, he did. Apparently, they’d had intelligence reports that a gang of east Europeans, probably Russians from what I could gather, were coming back from Rotterdam with a boot full of cash, having delivered some nuclear parts or something dramatic. Exciting eh! Anyway, they’d got the guys from the Dutch end of the operation and were now trying to catch the smugglers here and because there were four of us, we looked likely suspects or something. Plus, I sort of upset Gunther a bit by being a bit stroppy; can’t think why.”
Franck turned around and gave him a weary look.
“Alright, I give in, you’ve got our curiosity aroused, what’s with the Gunther business?”
“A sweet man, though not my type as you can imagine; his brother however…now that’s a hunk! He guessed we were gay. I told him he had to be psychic…”
“No Wil, you walk, you talk…it isn’t nuclear science.”
“Oh, nuclear science, ha ha, very funny, my sides are splitting. Now can I finish the story? Guenther explained that his brother was gay and lived in Hamburg; we just have to go sometime! He asked what we were going to do in Cologne, so I told him. He didn’t bat an eyelid; if you ask me that one’s dabbled in the past anyway, it turns out, his grandmother married a Dutchman from Venlo…”
To everyone’s relief, Dennis spotted a motorway restaurant and their minds turned to their stomachs.
Having finally arrived at their hotel and settled in, there was a sense of urgency about their preparations for the night ahead, spurred on by Wil’s excitement and Ruud’s insistence that everyone looked the way they should in their costumes.
“Turn around Den, I need to put a couple of pins in and make a pleat here and there. Have you lost weight since last week?”
Dennis put his hands on his hips, breathed in, pouted his newly reddened lips and wiggled his backside in Ruud’s direction.
Ruud looked at him and giggled.
“My God, what a sight, the Dietrich from Hell. Couldn’t you have had a shave or something?”
“Look, I’m in drag, what more do you want?” retorted Dennis, “Shit, how do women wear bras all the time? It’s really chafing.”
”Well, you’ve got the tits for it darling; maybe it’s because most women don’t have bear rugs on their chests.”
“They’re not tits, they’re my pecs and if you think I’m shaving everything off for one night you’re sadly mistaken. I want to go out tomorrow night and be a real man again.”
“You wish!”
Wil sashayed into the room in his Spanish, flamenco outfit, complete with mantilla, fan and castanets.
“Well, how do I look?”
“Like Saddam Hussain appearing for one night only at the Benidorm Hilton.” Dennis laughed, “ No, you look fine; really good actually.”
“Well thank you and I have to thank my dear mother, my producer, all the crew and of course my own personal dresser Rudi.”
“Ruud wasn’t in the mood.
“Shut up Wil and come and give me a hand. Dennis looks as though he’s got the arse of a big, black mamma here, hold this while I pin it and for Christ’s sake Den, stop fidgeting!”
The general commotion was brought to a halt when Franck made his entrance.
“Wow, look at you. I never thought you had it in you.”
The others echoed Dennis’ admiration as Franck smiled and took a twirl. He’d shaved off his moustache and stubble and had applied his make-up carefully. He made the perfect Streisand, right down to the nose. Wil was clearly impressed.
“So where’ve you put your equipment? I mean you’re not exactly a little boy.”
Franck was wearing a tight fitting evening dress that Ruud had salvaged from the last production of Chicago.
“Oh, it’s tucked away and taped up. I just hope I don’t meet someone exciting or need to go to the toilet too often.”
Ruud walked over and inspected Franck back and front. Although he’d been reluctant at first, now they were there and after he’d taken so much care altering the costumes, he was taking a professional interest and even felt a twinge of jealousy; his Queen Beatrix wasn’t a patch on Franck’s Streisand.
“Well, I think you’re really brave shaving off your facial hair, good for you.”
“Aw, I needed to start again really anyway; I could always smell the nicotine in my moustache and it definitely wasn’t my own colour for the same reason and the beard was getting really itchy.”
“Yuk! How repulsive. I always suspected you had your own eco-system in there.”
Wil ducked as the pot of face cream narrowly missed his head and splattered against the wall.
It may have turned a few heads, attracted a few wolf-whistles and the regulars in Amsterdam would have been shocked but the four very masculine men, who had reversed their images for one night, stepped off the tram, linked arms and walked proudly and full of optimism towards the party venue in the Essighalle. Wil turned around to look at the cathedral, lit up in the distance.
“Will you look at that; it’s so phallic!”
9. Arend spreads his options
Amsterdam
July 31st
Dear Rob,
Thanks for your letter; it was more like a short novel actually but that’s always welcome. You know I can’t compete with your letter-writing prowess but I’ll give it a go.
I’m glad to hear that your relationship with your hunky Bear is getting stronger; does that officially make you a Bear cub now, or a Bear chaser? I guess not the latter, seeing as you have clearly chased and caught! Luc sounds like your perfect match and French Canadian to boot! Very exotic! I’m green with envy and not a little turned on by your descriptions; you’ll have to stop being so graphic, it’s not good for my heart!
Yes, I’d love to come over and visit sometime, in fact it sounds like the ideal solution to the complications which have suddenly manifested themselves in my normally, uneventful life but I’ve got to sort myself out first. You wouldn’t believe what’s been happening here: all sorts of domestic dramas, disappointments and the like. Life has very definitely turned around and hit me in the face with the proverbial wet fish! The problem is, where to begin? Everything seemed to have happened at once.
First of all, I suppose the headline news is that Freek has left me! I know; a fairly major bombshell to drop and believe me, nobody was more surprised than I was. I’ve searched my soul for reasons, both superficial and deep-seated but I’m pretty much still at a loss to explain why he just upped and left that day. Having Michel and Huub as the lodgers from Hell can’t have helped of course, though they were actually quite supportive when it happened and as they’re both still here, I can hardly sit back and dwell on my sorrows. Then there was the massage and photography business, which I believe I told you in my last letter, had hardly got off to the most auspicious of starts and proceeded to go from bad to worse. I’ve decided that the gay scene on the Internet is for people who are in search of a lifestyle rather than a life but more of that later. Then, to cap it all, I picked up an antisocial disease; you don’t want to know the details but if it didn’t come from Freek, then it must have been the Immaculate Infection because I swear I didn’t do anything with anyone else, (unless you can catch gonorrhoea from a hand job these days and I think not). So, a trilogy of disasters which, at the time caused me more anguish than I think I’ve experienced for years, though, as you can probably tell from the tone of this letter, I’ve been able to rationalise it all somewhat. You know me Rob, a survivor, always have been, always will be; life goes on and all that shit but I have to admit, the vagaries of gay life don’t get any easier the older you get. Sorry, I’ve just given you a list haven’t I? I suppose I’d better fill in some of the gaps.
I told you that Michel was coming up to his finals and that he’d had a bust up with his flatmate Rik didn’t I? Well, I thought the imminent prospect of exams would keep him safely rooted in Leiden, at least until they were over and as far as rows with Rik were concerned, they were a weekly occurrence, so I was somewhat taken aback when he appeared on the doorstep one morning, bags in hand, announcing that he was moving in with us!
“It’s just temporary, until I find a place of my own and I’ll commute to Leiden when I need to oh and by the way, can you pay the taxi driver, I’m a bit short on cash?”
If it weren’t for the memory of our dear departed mother making me swear to look after him…
“…Especially as he’s…well, you know… like you!”
…and my being overcome with family sentimentality and being foolish enough to agree; I’d have paid the taxi driver to take him right back where he came from! Needless to say, I gave in; he’s here and he shows no sign of moving on. I was expecting a volcanic reaction from Freek but he took the news surprisingly well, helped to some degree by Michel fluttering his impossibly long eyelashes at him and showering him with compliments. One thing Michel is never short of is the right word at the right time, though I am beginning to get worried that my little gay brother is becoming a manipulative hussy; he should do well on the scene, not to mention the fact that he’ll make a successful lawyer! Talking of which, that was the first major battle, which I’m relieved to say I won. I let him go out a couple of times but then he began to get a taste for it and I put my foot down, insisting that, at least until his exams were over, studies came first. There were a few tantrums but I played my ‘big-brother-knows-best’ card and he now spends most evenings with his books and tramps off dutifully to Leiden for vital lectures. I was relieved I can tell you, as was my wallet, from which he is already heavily subsidised! I keep reminding myself that a future lawyer’s salary will ensure I’m paid back in full; that’s the theory anyway.
To complete the happy family, Huub duly arrived a few days later. I’ve always felt a bit sorry for Huub you know. It can’t be easy having two gay brothers as your only close family but he copes with it admirably and is so laid back about things. Sometimes I wish he’d be a bit more ambitious but he’s just finished his second year at teachers’ training college in Utrecht and although I didn’t entirely believe him at first, documentary evidence seems to bear out his claim to be doing well. He’s sailing through actually. It always amazes me how some people can do that; I never could and I’m certain Michel can’t. Huub takes after Dad in that respect and we take after Mum, how’s that for a gay cliché? Anyway, he has a steady girlfriend, who’s backpacking around Turkey or somewhere for the summer and seems thoroughly content with his lot in life; must be wonderful!
Freek had known Huub was coming, so that wasn’t such a surprise and we have plenty of room as you know but nevertheless, after a few days, things started to become a little claustrophobic and Freek began going out even more than usual. I should have seen the danger signs then I suppose but at the time, I sort of understood it you know? So, with a full house and a more or less absentee husband, you would think I would have enough on my plate wouldn’t you? It must have been the heat but I ploughed recklessly on.
After my initial disappointments with the massage service, I more or less decided to give it a rest for a while; especially with a house full and I began to think of other ways to raise a bit of cash. It’s not that I’m knocking at the gates of the Poor house, don’t get me wrong, I’ve still got the vast majority of Mum’s money stashed away and earning interest in various places; very few known to the tax authorities I might add! However, I have a feeling that I’ll need every penny of that when it comes to my old age and I’m reluctant to keep dipping into it for day-to-day use. Not working though, means that I’ve only got my state benefit and because of recent events, that’s in severe danger of being reduced, or in the worst possible scenario, taken away altogether! I know, I know, I’ll explain.
Having removed the massage adverts, I was quite surprised when I started getting responses to the offer of personal photography portfolios. I’d thought that that was a fairly exclusive field and that there wouldn’t be much interest; how wrong I was!
Never underestimate the narcissism of the Rainbow nation my friend. Within a week, my afternoons and evenings were fully booked with people wanting sets of photos. Apparently it’s a new craze, especially with the Internet explosion. People are no longer satisfied with grainy, over-exposed web-cam shots, or ten-year-old holiday photos that lose sharpness in the scanning process; they want to promote themselves professionally in cyber space in the same way that models and actors do. Well, accidentally or not, I’m not one to turn down an opportunity and I really thought I’d found a niche in the market and a lucrative one to boot. Another bonus was that I didn’t have to lay my hands on hideous rolls of flesh anymore and that was quite a relief. Freek was happier and the boys took it all in their stride as being further evidence of my eccentricity. So, the money started rolling in and everybody was happy; I should have known it couldn’t last!
Before I go into what went wrong however, I have to tell you about some of the more amusing moments and there were quite a few. Believe me Rob; I’ve learned more about the male psyche doing this, than in all the years spent cruising the scene and I’m all the more convinced that when you think you know it all and have seen it all, think again, life’s full of surprises.
One client was an older guy, well actually more of a pensioner, with the most amazing, white and wavy head of hair. Now, I always started off by asking them what they wanted, what they expected and how much they wanted to pay for it. Most people weren’t really sure; they just wanted to look as good as possible for the internet, so I was able to nudge them in the right direction by saying that I would attempt to bring out their best features. Now this guy’s best feature was most definitely his hair; gravity had more or less taken care of the rest! I suggested lots of headshots with back lighting and so on but did he want that? No way! First he wanted nude shots from the waist down, which despite my hints to the contrary, he was convinced would bring him countless admirers and then he wanted a set concentrating on his feet! ‘Okay,’ I thought, ‘he’s a bit of a fetishist; no harm in that’
but God Rob, you have never seen such repulsive things in all your life. They weren’t dirty or anything like that, they were just incredibly misshapen and lumpy, with old corns and scars and bones that stuck out at abnormal angles. I think he must have had arthritis or had spent a lifetime wearing the wrong shoes, or belonged to some weird, masochistic foot-torturing cult or something but going on the principle that the customer is always right, I proceeded to make a portfolio to his satisfaction. I tried really hard but unsuccessfully to find him on the Net after that. I think he must appear on very specialised sites!
Then I did some work for a pair of she-males, or transsexuals, or whatever they’re called. Now that was fascinating! These two extremely attractive creatures came in, dressed in the most elegant female clothes and made up to look like the chicest habitués of the P.C.Hooftstraat and we had our usual chat. They wanted a set of clothed and a set of unclothed, with the full compliment of soft lighting, filters and all the magic tricks I could muster. I was only too happy to oblige, especially as money seemed to be no object and I have to say, I was unhealthily curious about the nude shots.
Even though I say it myself, the clothed pictures were some of the best I have produced; they looked stunning but the most interesting work; the sort that wins awards in the highest photography circles was certainly these two naked.
They showed absolutely no embarrassment or shyness in stripping off and had the sort of figures you would expect ballet dancers to be proud of but the shock was in the anatomical anomalies! One, who was mixed race I think, with the most perfect, glowing olive skin tone, had tiny breasts, perfectly formed and sculpted and the most enormous appendage you have ever seen! It wasn’t just the size of it; it was the contrast you know? Sitting in a neatly trimmed bush of pubic hair, this thing swung like a pendulum between lily white and hairless thighs. It was an incredible sight but from a photographer’s point of view, a gift from heaven. The other guy/girl was a mirror image of the first, with large tits and a small penis; equally incongruous but none the less fascinating. I took hours over those two. They were such nice people as well, really sweet. Although I had made a promise to myself that customer confidentiality would be paramount, I couldn’t resist showing the proofs to Freek and the boys. Strangely, it was Huub who raved over them most, suggesting I send them off somewhere but I couldn’t do that, however good they were.
I could go on and on but I must just mention this other one, especially as it might interest you as a Bear lover. This particular man-mountain arrived with very specific requests; again, a nice guy really and very chatty but this one stretched my tolerance a bit. I should have suspected that this might be a strange one by the bag he was carrying.
Once he’d taken off his clothes, which I should mention at this point was commonplace with most of my clients; he emptied the contents of the bag on the floor. Picture the sight if you can, little me standing in front of a naked, one hundred and fifteen kilo man and hairy to the point of being almost simian. He was bald headed, with one of those knobbly skulls that looked as though it had experienced a cramped birth but had a flourishing beard, which framed the sort of lips only fat men have; you know, anus-like in some respects. The squashed nose and little piggy eyes completed the picture; not in the least bit attractive in my book but there’s no accounting for taste and who am I to judge? We’re having quite a heat wave at the moment as you know and despite the two electric fans I have in the room, he was soon lathered in sweat, which isn’t conducive to good photography. He was also developing red marks at each of the folds on his body and that, plus the multitude of spots and blemishes led me to rush for towels, creams and powders. It may be okay for cinema verité as it were but even my skills would have been hard-pressed to turn this sow’s ear into a silk purse! Strangely enough, he wasn’t particularly bothered about the eventual quality of his skin tones; although I insisted on his drying off and applying a modicum of make up to hide the most obvious blotches. I even tactfully suggested black and white but he wasn’t having any of it; he wanted a series of different poses and in glorious Technicolor! It was at this point that the bag’s mysteries were revealed. Now I’m no prude and I’ve tweaked enough nipple rings and PAs in my time but this guy’s collection of accoutrements could have kept a respected hardware store in business for months. First, the chain was attached between the nipples and then the weights were hung, stretching them until they resembled those mangled earlobes you see on jungle tribes in National Geographic. Then assorted rings, straps and weights were wrapped around the genitals, until the testicles looked like enormous grapes and the foreskin resembled my mouth – open in wonderment! Various holes were searched for, located and pierced by vicious looking spikes and chaps and straps were donned to provide a grotesque leather frame for all this. Head-hunters from New Guinea would have been so jealous! ‘Okay,’ I thought, ‘I can deal with this’ but he wasn’t finished. I tell you, I was rooted to the spot when he started with his backside. I have never seen so many dildos, except in a sex shop window. After liberal application of lubricant, he began stretching himself, starting small and gradually increasing the girth until he was comfortable. I could have turned away and busied myself with camera preparation, I know I could but it was like watching those operations on the television, once you start, you can’t tear yourself away! Having slotted a rubber penis the size of a small tree up his backside, he declared himself ready and asked me to pose him. Now, a thing of beauty this most definitely was not but fascinating, Jesus! There was so little humanity left in the man; it was a true homage to perversion. I didn’t disapprove but it did make me realise the true breadth of the gay spectrum. In a way, he was more liberated than any of us, at least in the way he could explore his own limits but I think in some ways I feel closer to heterosexuals, although when you look at the various Sex fairs that they hold, maybe I’m just becoming a conservative fuddy-duddy. Do you remember all those years ago when we started out, how exciting it all seemed and how shocked we were as we each crossed yet another boundary? Well, I don’t know, it seems that in the last twenty years, the boundaries have extended way off into the distance and I just can’t keep up; I don’t want to keep up. Did our parents say all this in the sixties? Am I getting old?
Anyway, the photography as a whole, was going great and I was even thinking of expanding, buying new equipment, maybe even renting a proper studio somewhere until inevitably, it all came crashing down around my ears. I had a late appointment, about eight o’clock in the evening; everybody was out and I answered the door to this very sexy man. I took him upstairs and we chatted about this and that and what he had come for. I was really attracted to him and began to look forward to a pleasurable session. Actually, to cut a long story short, all he wanted was a set of head and shoulder shots; no nudity, no sex toys nothing. Refreshing as this sounded, I should have smelled a rat there and then. Anyway, there was chemistry there for sure, or so I thought and before any of the real business could get started, we were at it, if you know what I mean! If the truth were known, I sort of pounced on him and gave him very little options. The second clue should have been obvious; he was lousy in the lust department. He wouldn’t let me kiss him, or undress him, far less anything else and it ended up being a mutual masturbation session of extremely short duration. I don’t even know if he was gay or not, though I reckon it’s only a matter of time. Anyway, extremely disappointed, I decided to get the photo session over with as quickly as possible and get him out but the minute we discussed payment, he reached in his pocket and produced a pass complete with photo and official stamp and declared himself to be an inspector with the Social Services! I swear he smirked! Can you believe it? I couldn’t and even asked him if he was joking and what he was doing wasting his time with the likes of me. Wrong move! After various questions as to whether the invalidity benefit department knew of my extra earnings; whether I declared them to the tax office and that sort of crap, I got so angry, accused him of being an agent provocateur and threatened him with my non-existent lawyer. Naturally, he said that that was my right etcetera and promptly produced a mini tape recorder from his pocket. Having also told me he had an accomplice waiting in a van outside, he left, assuring me that I would be hearing more on the matter. I was flabbergasted. I mean it was all so Secret Service. I couldn’t believe they would go to those lengths to trap people for a little extra pocket money. Talk about ‘Big Brother is watching you!’ What’s more, he had the nerve to grab some nooky, however unsatisfying it was, before doing the dirty deed. Afterwards, I thought I’d got him on that one but who could prove it and who would believe me? Even now, after receiving a letter saying my case is going to be reviewed and my benefit is under threat, I still can’t really believe that it happened. Half of Amsterdam is on the take and on a much bigger scale than my pocket money venture! Needless to say, the photography business is put on hold. Freek was equally speechless and being the aggressive little man that he is, went to a lawyer; there’s nothing he likes better than a ‘cause’ but of course, it was a waste of time and I just have to wait until the civil service machinery grinds into action to find out my fate. It could take months.
Disaster number two came a week later with the attack of the Clap. Now, I swear on my mother’s grave that this wasn’t a parting gift from the Social Service Nazi; he jerked me off that’s all, so it had to have been Freek. There was no doubt. Apart from my loving ex, I’d been Julie-Andrews-in-the-Sound-of-Music-whilst-still-in-the-Convent, for months. Naturally I confronted him and was shocked by his denials. I couldn’t have cared less really. Yes, it was an inconvenience but I knew he was no angel and these things happen from time to time but the vehement refusal to accept responsibility really upset me. What was he hiding? I still don’t really know, though I can guess, which naturally brings me on to disaster number three.
I’d finished the antibiotics two days before and was feeling optimistic, despite having had quite a few celebratory drinks the night before and having the mother and father of all hangovers, when in strolled Freek and in front of my two, still reasonably innocent brothers, announced that he was leaving and moving in with someone else and that it would be better if he left that day. He was sorry but there was nothing he could do and that was that! He was sorry! I went into an immediate and sharp decline and was seriously wondering which particular deities I’d upset so much that I’d been handed a trilogy of such miseries. I can laugh about it now, well, sort of but at the time I was devastated and if it hadn’t have been for my two unexpectedly supportive brothers, I might now be drifting along on an endless supply of Prozac and sliding downhill fast. I still can’t understand why he left. I mean I know three years is not that long a relationship but I was really comfortable in it you know. I was settled, yes that’s the word, settled into a life of cosy evenings, pipes and slippers, that sort of sentimental image. He’d never been restricted; he could go with whom he wanted, as could I, it was no big deal. We were financially secure, despite my latest problems and I really thought that this was it, the future, growing old together and all that. From what I’ve heard, he’s moved to somewhere in Amsterdam West but I still don’t know who with and more importantly, why. I asked him of course but the glib excuses that we’d outgrown each other, that he wasn’t happy any more and that the ‘spark’ had gone out of our relationship just don’t sound credible. I mean my latest escapades prove that I’m not boring don’t they? There’s not much more to tell really Rob. I had the white handkerchief in hand and waved him the expected tearful goodbye but I wasn’t going to try to stop him. If someone’s made their mind up and you go down on bended knee and grovel, all you end up doing is humiliating yourself, much as I wanted to do exactly that! Thankfully, I resisted; I still have my pride! It’s a mystery that remains to be solved however and I’ll keep you up to date with what I find out but as time goes by, it is getting easier as you would expect and I’m less and less inclined to go chasing after the truth. Anyway, I might not like what I find out; self-protection is the order of the day here.
So, there you have it, a chapter of gloomy happenings. God knows what’s round the corner but if these things do come in threes, then hopefully, I’m over the worst; keep your fingers crossed.
You know, your offer of a trip to Vancouver sounds more and more appealing. Perhaps I’ll take you up on it after the dust has settled and I’ve got rid of house guests and ex lovers and been to jail for ten years, or whatever punishment they have in store for me. At least you have some good news and that’s uplifting. Oh, I’ll get over it, you know me, ever the optimist.
All the best,
Arend
PS. I’ve written this letter at ten in the evening and it’s still twenty-eight degrees! All the houseplants are sitting on the balcony, dreaming of tropical homelands; they’ll get a shock in October!
Amsterdam
July 31st
Dear Rob,
Thanks for your letter; it was more like a short novel actually but that’s always welcome. You know I can’t compete with your letter-writing prowess but I’ll give it a go.
I’m glad to hear that your relationship with your hunky Bear is getting stronger; does that officially make you a Bear cub now, or a Bear chaser? I guess not the latter, seeing as you have clearly chased and caught! Luc sounds like your perfect match and French Canadian to boot! Very exotic! I’m green with envy and not a little turned on by your descriptions; you’ll have to stop being so graphic, it’s not good for my heart!
Yes, I’d love to come over and visit sometime, in fact it sounds like the ideal solution to the complications which have suddenly manifested themselves in my normally, uneventful life but I’ve got to sort myself out first. You wouldn’t believe what’s been happening here: all sorts of domestic dramas, disappointments and the like. Life has very definitely turned around and hit me in the face with the proverbial wet fish! The problem is, where to begin? Everything seemed to have happened at once.
First of all, I suppose the headline news is that Freek has left me! I know; a fairly major bombshell to drop and believe me, nobody was more surprised than I was. I’ve searched my soul for reasons, both superficial and deep-seated but I’m pretty much still at a loss to explain why he just upped and left that day. Having Michel and Huub as the lodgers from Hell can’t have helped of course, though they were actually quite supportive when it happened and as they’re both still here, I can hardly sit back and dwell on my sorrows. Then there was the massage and photography business, which I believe I told you in my last letter, had hardly got off to the most auspicious of starts and proceeded to go from bad to worse. I’ve decided that the gay scene on the Internet is for people who are in search of a lifestyle rather than a life but more of that later. Then, to cap it all, I picked up an antisocial disease; you don’t want to know the details but if it didn’t come from Freek, then it must have been the Immaculate Infection because I swear I didn’t do anything with anyone else, (unless you can catch gonorrhoea from a hand job these days and I think not). So, a trilogy of disasters which, at the time caused me more anguish than I think I’ve experienced for years, though, as you can probably tell from the tone of this letter, I’ve been able to rationalise it all somewhat. You know me Rob, a survivor, always have been, always will be; life goes on and all that shit but I have to admit, the vagaries of gay life don’t get any easier the older you get. Sorry, I’ve just given you a list haven’t I? I suppose I’d better fill in some of the gaps.
I told you that Michel was coming up to his finals and that he’d had a bust up with his flatmate Rik didn’t I? Well, I thought the imminent prospect of exams would keep him safely rooted in Leiden, at least until they were over and as far as rows with Rik were concerned, they were a weekly occurrence, so I was somewhat taken aback when he appeared on the doorstep one morning, bags in hand, announcing that he was moving in with us!
“It’s just temporary, until I find a place of my own and I’ll commute to Leiden when I need to oh and by the way, can you pay the taxi driver, I’m a bit short on cash?”
If it weren’t for the memory of our dear departed mother making me swear to look after him…
“…Especially as he’s…well, you know… like you!”
…and my being overcome with family sentimentality and being foolish enough to agree; I’d have paid the taxi driver to take him right back where he came from! Needless to say, I gave in; he’s here and he shows no sign of moving on. I was expecting a volcanic reaction from Freek but he took the news surprisingly well, helped to some degree by Michel fluttering his impossibly long eyelashes at him and showering him with compliments. One thing Michel is never short of is the right word at the right time, though I am beginning to get worried that my little gay brother is becoming a manipulative hussy; he should do well on the scene, not to mention the fact that he’ll make a successful lawyer! Talking of which, that was the first major battle, which I’m relieved to say I won. I let him go out a couple of times but then he began to get a taste for it and I put my foot down, insisting that, at least until his exams were over, studies came first. There were a few tantrums but I played my ‘big-brother-knows-best’ card and he now spends most evenings with his books and tramps off dutifully to Leiden for vital lectures. I was relieved I can tell you, as was my wallet, from which he is already heavily subsidised! I keep reminding myself that a future lawyer’s salary will ensure I’m paid back in full; that’s the theory anyway.
To complete the happy family, Huub duly arrived a few days later. I’ve always felt a bit sorry for Huub you know. It can’t be easy having two gay brothers as your only close family but he copes with it admirably and is so laid back about things. Sometimes I wish he’d be a bit more ambitious but he’s just finished his second year at teachers’ training college in Utrecht and although I didn’t entirely believe him at first, documentary evidence seems to bear out his claim to be doing well. He’s sailing through actually. It always amazes me how some people can do that; I never could and I’m certain Michel can’t. Huub takes after Dad in that respect and we take after Mum, how’s that for a gay cliché? Anyway, he has a steady girlfriend, who’s backpacking around Turkey or somewhere for the summer and seems thoroughly content with his lot in life; must be wonderful!
Freek had known Huub was coming, so that wasn’t such a surprise and we have plenty of room as you know but nevertheless, after a few days, things started to become a little claustrophobic and Freek began going out even more than usual. I should have seen the danger signs then I suppose but at the time, I sort of understood it you know? So, with a full house and a more or less absentee husband, you would think I would have enough on my plate wouldn’t you? It must have been the heat but I ploughed recklessly on.
After my initial disappointments with the massage service, I more or less decided to give it a rest for a while; especially with a house full and I began to think of other ways to raise a bit of cash. It’s not that I’m knocking at the gates of the Poor house, don’t get me wrong, I’ve still got the vast majority of Mum’s money stashed away and earning interest in various places; very few known to the tax authorities I might add! However, I have a feeling that I’ll need every penny of that when it comes to my old age and I’m reluctant to keep dipping into it for day-to-day use. Not working though, means that I’ve only got my state benefit and because of recent events, that’s in severe danger of being reduced, or in the worst possible scenario, taken away altogether! I know, I know, I’ll explain.
Having removed the massage adverts, I was quite surprised when I started getting responses to the offer of personal photography portfolios. I’d thought that that was a fairly exclusive field and that there wouldn’t be much interest; how wrong I was!
Never underestimate the narcissism of the Rainbow nation my friend. Within a week, my afternoons and evenings were fully booked with people wanting sets of photos. Apparently it’s a new craze, especially with the Internet explosion. People are no longer satisfied with grainy, over-exposed web-cam shots, or ten-year-old holiday photos that lose sharpness in the scanning process; they want to promote themselves professionally in cyber space in the same way that models and actors do. Well, accidentally or not, I’m not one to turn down an opportunity and I really thought I’d found a niche in the market and a lucrative one to boot. Another bonus was that I didn’t have to lay my hands on hideous rolls of flesh anymore and that was quite a relief. Freek was happier and the boys took it all in their stride as being further evidence of my eccentricity. So, the money started rolling in and everybody was happy; I should have known it couldn’t last!
Before I go into what went wrong however, I have to tell you about some of the more amusing moments and there were quite a few. Believe me Rob; I’ve learned more about the male psyche doing this, than in all the years spent cruising the scene and I’m all the more convinced that when you think you know it all and have seen it all, think again, life’s full of surprises.
One client was an older guy, well actually more of a pensioner, with the most amazing, white and wavy head of hair. Now, I always started off by asking them what they wanted, what they expected and how much they wanted to pay for it. Most people weren’t really sure; they just wanted to look as good as possible for the internet, so I was able to nudge them in the right direction by saying that I would attempt to bring out their best features. Now this guy’s best feature was most definitely his hair; gravity had more or less taken care of the rest! I suggested lots of headshots with back lighting and so on but did he want that? No way! First he wanted nude shots from the waist down, which despite my hints to the contrary, he was convinced would bring him countless admirers and then he wanted a set concentrating on his feet! ‘Okay,’ I thought, ‘he’s a bit of a fetishist; no harm in that’
but God Rob, you have never seen such repulsive things in all your life. They weren’t dirty or anything like that, they were just incredibly misshapen and lumpy, with old corns and scars and bones that stuck out at abnormal angles. I think he must have had arthritis or had spent a lifetime wearing the wrong shoes, or belonged to some weird, masochistic foot-torturing cult or something but going on the principle that the customer is always right, I proceeded to make a portfolio to his satisfaction. I tried really hard but unsuccessfully to find him on the Net after that. I think he must appear on very specialised sites!
Then I did some work for a pair of she-males, or transsexuals, or whatever they’re called. Now that was fascinating! These two extremely attractive creatures came in, dressed in the most elegant female clothes and made up to look like the chicest habitués of the P.C.Hooftstraat and we had our usual chat. They wanted a set of clothed and a set of unclothed, with the full compliment of soft lighting, filters and all the magic tricks I could muster. I was only too happy to oblige, especially as money seemed to be no object and I have to say, I was unhealthily curious about the nude shots.
Even though I say it myself, the clothed pictures were some of the best I have produced; they looked stunning but the most interesting work; the sort that wins awards in the highest photography circles was certainly these two naked.
They showed absolutely no embarrassment or shyness in stripping off and had the sort of figures you would expect ballet dancers to be proud of but the shock was in the anatomical anomalies! One, who was mixed race I think, with the most perfect, glowing olive skin tone, had tiny breasts, perfectly formed and sculpted and the most enormous appendage you have ever seen! It wasn’t just the size of it; it was the contrast you know? Sitting in a neatly trimmed bush of pubic hair, this thing swung like a pendulum between lily white and hairless thighs. It was an incredible sight but from a photographer’s point of view, a gift from heaven. The other guy/girl was a mirror image of the first, with large tits and a small penis; equally incongruous but none the less fascinating. I took hours over those two. They were such nice people as well, really sweet. Although I had made a promise to myself that customer confidentiality would be paramount, I couldn’t resist showing the proofs to Freek and the boys. Strangely, it was Huub who raved over them most, suggesting I send them off somewhere but I couldn’t do that, however good they were.
I could go on and on but I must just mention this other one, especially as it might interest you as a Bear lover. This particular man-mountain arrived with very specific requests; again, a nice guy really and very chatty but this one stretched my tolerance a bit. I should have suspected that this might be a strange one by the bag he was carrying.
Once he’d taken off his clothes, which I should mention at this point was commonplace with most of my clients; he emptied the contents of the bag on the floor. Picture the sight if you can, little me standing in front of a naked, one hundred and fifteen kilo man and hairy to the point of being almost simian. He was bald headed, with one of those knobbly skulls that looked as though it had experienced a cramped birth but had a flourishing beard, which framed the sort of lips only fat men have; you know, anus-like in some respects. The squashed nose and little piggy eyes completed the picture; not in the least bit attractive in my book but there’s no accounting for taste and who am I to judge? We’re having quite a heat wave at the moment as you know and despite the two electric fans I have in the room, he was soon lathered in sweat, which isn’t conducive to good photography. He was also developing red marks at each of the folds on his body and that, plus the multitude of spots and blemishes led me to rush for towels, creams and powders. It may be okay for cinema verité as it were but even my skills would have been hard-pressed to turn this sow’s ear into a silk purse! Strangely enough, he wasn’t particularly bothered about the eventual quality of his skin tones; although I insisted on his drying off and applying a modicum of make up to hide the most obvious blotches. I even tactfully suggested black and white but he wasn’t having any of it; he wanted a series of different poses and in glorious Technicolor! It was at this point that the bag’s mysteries were revealed. Now I’m no prude and I’ve tweaked enough nipple rings and PAs in my time but this guy’s collection of accoutrements could have kept a respected hardware store in business for months. First, the chain was attached between the nipples and then the weights were hung, stretching them until they resembled those mangled earlobes you see on jungle tribes in National Geographic. Then assorted rings, straps and weights were wrapped around the genitals, until the testicles looked like enormous grapes and the foreskin resembled my mouth – open in wonderment! Various holes were searched for, located and pierced by vicious looking spikes and chaps and straps were donned to provide a grotesque leather frame for all this. Head-hunters from New Guinea would have been so jealous! ‘Okay,’ I thought, ‘I can deal with this’ but he wasn’t finished. I tell you, I was rooted to the spot when he started with his backside. I have never seen so many dildos, except in a sex shop window. After liberal application of lubricant, he began stretching himself, starting small and gradually increasing the girth until he was comfortable. I could have turned away and busied myself with camera preparation, I know I could but it was like watching those operations on the television, once you start, you can’t tear yourself away! Having slotted a rubber penis the size of a small tree up his backside, he declared himself ready and asked me to pose him. Now, a thing of beauty this most definitely was not but fascinating, Jesus! There was so little humanity left in the man; it was a true homage to perversion. I didn’t disapprove but it did make me realise the true breadth of the gay spectrum. In a way, he was more liberated than any of us, at least in the way he could explore his own limits but I think in some ways I feel closer to heterosexuals, although when you look at the various Sex fairs that they hold, maybe I’m just becoming a conservative fuddy-duddy. Do you remember all those years ago when we started out, how exciting it all seemed and how shocked we were as we each crossed yet another boundary? Well, I don’t know, it seems that in the last twenty years, the boundaries have extended way off into the distance and I just can’t keep up; I don’t want to keep up. Did our parents say all this in the sixties? Am I getting old?
Anyway, the photography as a whole, was going great and I was even thinking of expanding, buying new equipment, maybe even renting a proper studio somewhere until inevitably, it all came crashing down around my ears. I had a late appointment, about eight o’clock in the evening; everybody was out and I answered the door to this very sexy man. I took him upstairs and we chatted about this and that and what he had come for. I was really attracted to him and began to look forward to a pleasurable session. Actually, to cut a long story short, all he wanted was a set of head and shoulder shots; no nudity, no sex toys nothing. Refreshing as this sounded, I should have smelled a rat there and then. Anyway, there was chemistry there for sure, or so I thought and before any of the real business could get started, we were at it, if you know what I mean! If the truth were known, I sort of pounced on him and gave him very little options. The second clue should have been obvious; he was lousy in the lust department. He wouldn’t let me kiss him, or undress him, far less anything else and it ended up being a mutual masturbation session of extremely short duration. I don’t even know if he was gay or not, though I reckon it’s only a matter of time. Anyway, extremely disappointed, I decided to get the photo session over with as quickly as possible and get him out but the minute we discussed payment, he reached in his pocket and produced a pass complete with photo and official stamp and declared himself to be an inspector with the Social Services! I swear he smirked! Can you believe it? I couldn’t and even asked him if he was joking and what he was doing wasting his time with the likes of me. Wrong move! After various questions as to whether the invalidity benefit department knew of my extra earnings; whether I declared them to the tax office and that sort of crap, I got so angry, accused him of being an agent provocateur and threatened him with my non-existent lawyer. Naturally, he said that that was my right etcetera and promptly produced a mini tape recorder from his pocket. Having also told me he had an accomplice waiting in a van outside, he left, assuring me that I would be hearing more on the matter. I was flabbergasted. I mean it was all so Secret Service. I couldn’t believe they would go to those lengths to trap people for a little extra pocket money. Talk about ‘Big Brother is watching you!’ What’s more, he had the nerve to grab some nooky, however unsatisfying it was, before doing the dirty deed. Afterwards, I thought I’d got him on that one but who could prove it and who would believe me? Even now, after receiving a letter saying my case is going to be reviewed and my benefit is under threat, I still can’t really believe that it happened. Half of Amsterdam is on the take and on a much bigger scale than my pocket money venture! Needless to say, the photography business is put on hold. Freek was equally speechless and being the aggressive little man that he is, went to a lawyer; there’s nothing he likes better than a ‘cause’ but of course, it was a waste of time and I just have to wait until the civil service machinery grinds into action to find out my fate. It could take months.
Disaster number two came a week later with the attack of the Clap. Now, I swear on my mother’s grave that this wasn’t a parting gift from the Social Service Nazi; he jerked me off that’s all, so it had to have been Freek. There was no doubt. Apart from my loving ex, I’d been Julie-Andrews-in-the-Sound-of-Music-whilst-still-in-the-Convent, for months. Naturally I confronted him and was shocked by his denials. I couldn’t have cared less really. Yes, it was an inconvenience but I knew he was no angel and these things happen from time to time but the vehement refusal to accept responsibility really upset me. What was he hiding? I still don’t really know, though I can guess, which naturally brings me on to disaster number three.
I’d finished the antibiotics two days before and was feeling optimistic, despite having had quite a few celebratory drinks the night before and having the mother and father of all hangovers, when in strolled Freek and in front of my two, still reasonably innocent brothers, announced that he was leaving and moving in with someone else and that it would be better if he left that day. He was sorry but there was nothing he could do and that was that! He was sorry! I went into an immediate and sharp decline and was seriously wondering which particular deities I’d upset so much that I’d been handed a trilogy of such miseries. I can laugh about it now, well, sort of but at the time I was devastated and if it hadn’t have been for my two unexpectedly supportive brothers, I might now be drifting along on an endless supply of Prozac and sliding downhill fast. I still can’t understand why he left. I mean I know three years is not that long a relationship but I was really comfortable in it you know. I was settled, yes that’s the word, settled into a life of cosy evenings, pipes and slippers, that sort of sentimental image. He’d never been restricted; he could go with whom he wanted, as could I, it was no big deal. We were financially secure, despite my latest problems and I really thought that this was it, the future, growing old together and all that. From what I’ve heard, he’s moved to somewhere in Amsterdam West but I still don’t know who with and more importantly, why. I asked him of course but the glib excuses that we’d outgrown each other, that he wasn’t happy any more and that the ‘spark’ had gone out of our relationship just don’t sound credible. I mean my latest escapades prove that I’m not boring don’t they? There’s not much more to tell really Rob. I had the white handkerchief in hand and waved him the expected tearful goodbye but I wasn’t going to try to stop him. If someone’s made their mind up and you go down on bended knee and grovel, all you end up doing is humiliating yourself, much as I wanted to do exactly that! Thankfully, I resisted; I still have my pride! It’s a mystery that remains to be solved however and I’ll keep you up to date with what I find out but as time goes by, it is getting easier as you would expect and I’m less and less inclined to go chasing after the truth. Anyway, I might not like what I find out; self-protection is the order of the day here.
So, there you have it, a chapter of gloomy happenings. God knows what’s round the corner but if these things do come in threes, then hopefully, I’m over the worst; keep your fingers crossed.
You know, your offer of a trip to Vancouver sounds more and more appealing. Perhaps I’ll take you up on it after the dust has settled and I’ve got rid of house guests and ex lovers and been to jail for ten years, or whatever punishment they have in store for me. At least you have some good news and that’s uplifting. Oh, I’ll get over it, you know me, ever the optimist.
All the best,
Arend
PS. I’ve written this letter at ten in the evening and it’s still twenty-eight degrees! All the houseplants are sitting on the balcony, dreaming of tropical homelands; they’ll get a shock in October!
The Amsterdam Series
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8. The middle-of-the-road bears do Cologne
9. Arend spreads his options
