(part one)
This story has the following content:
M+/F, Intr, Slut Wife, Size, Exh, Brothel, Orgy, SM, and is Pre-Viral.
In late spring, the canals, the many little bridges that ribbed each canal into the distance, and all the walkways leading to and from were framed with blooming trees and flowers, a scene that deserved to have been painted by one of the classic painters. But this was Amsterdam, and such scenes had been famously recreated by many Masters, over hundreds of years. An extra little flower from America was a part of today’s scene. Jaimie was central on one of the up and over bridges. There she was leaning upon a stone wall railing, peering onto the canal scene of barges. There was even a classic Keeshond, a Dutch barge dog, down there on one commercial boat. In total, a very busy route of commerce.
Almost simultaneously, both developed a new curiosity about Kees’s club offer. She pulled the card out, and, together, they looked at the address again. In the short time that they had been in Amsterdam, they had learned enough about the city to realize that the street was not that far away. The address seemed like it would be very close to the Red Light District. But, then, many restaurants and businesses thrived on the traffic generated within that entire section of town. A down the street, or around the corner, club could take good advantage of such pedestrian flow.
“Hoeveel voor een uur?” Interrupted her relaxed view of the waterway.
“Hoeveel voor een uur?” Again, from a sliver headed fellow with a matching silver beard.
Jaimie was confused. And, actually, it was many seconds before she even realized that he was asking something of her. And he was asking whatever it was, kindly, but with a noticeable self interest. That was particularly reflected in his face as he scanned Jaimie from head to foot. He twisted his head, as in puppy dog fashion, and asked again.
“Om fysieke liefde te maken. Hoeveel voor een uur?” All said with focus and precision.
Another man, who was between Jaimie and her husband Dave, intervened. He put his palm up to the man with the question, and addressed Jaimie.
“American?”
Jaimie nodded quickly and with some relief that someone at least knew that she spoke English.
“He wants to know how much you charge. How much for an hour of sex?”
“Me? Why is he asking me?”
“Well...oh, what is your name Miss?
“Jaimie.”
“Well, Jaimie, the RLD is less than a mile away, and, sometimes, the girls will come as far as over here for a break. He just thinks that you are one of the girls.”
“He thinks that I am a professional whore?” And she looked down at her short black jacket, with nothing but legs extending from the bottom of the jacket to the lace up leather bootlets. She thought that this outfit, with the mini hiding beneath the jacket was absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. The length of the skirt and the exposure of the legs was ultra common. Every day in the USA and England, this type of outfit pranced up and down streets all day and night. It was accepted as either business or leisure clothing, as far as she was concerned. After all, it was 1970 now. And she was not limited to a grandpa and grandma type of archaic vision. With her initial anger calming, she began to feel that a weird kind of compliment had been given to her. And she needed to deal with the man asking the question. Her husband Dave was coming over to her, as she told her personal interpreter to tell that man who requested sex that she was flattered, but that,
“Uh, er, I am married.”, and she held up her wedding band, so that the solicitor might see it.
Almost at the same time, the friendly interpreter was telling the man what she had just said.
And the man replied, “Hoeveel?”
“Jaimie, he still wants to know how much.” And the interpreter, smiled upon seeing her exasperated face, then quickly turned around and in some, apparently, direct manor, terminated the other man’s request for sex. The solicitor walked away with his hands up in a frustrated ‘what can you do?’ manner.
Dave arrived, just as the man was leaving. “What the hell just happened?”
“Oh, that man thought I was a professional whore. He was asking how much I charge for an hour And this nice man...” She opened for him to give his name.
“Kees (pronounced Kayes)”
“Well, Kees was nice enough to help straighten things out.”
Dave never took any of what was reported as negative. Rather, with a twinkle in his eyes and a mischievous smile
he asked, “Well, how much?”
he asked, “Well, how much?”
“Oh, you. With comments like that, Kees is going to think that we are awful.”
Kees jumped right in with, “No, I think no such thing. I think that you are a young couple, full of energy and enjoying the fun of the moment.”
Dave formally thanked him. And Kees said that he needed to leave. But before he left, he looked at Jaimie once more and gave her his card.
“Should you two need income while you are here in Holland, I might have work for Jaimie at one of the clubs that I run. I say this, only just in case funds are ever needed.. It was very nice meeting both of you.” And he walked away.
Jaimie was still more than a little aghast. “Wow, I won’t forget being on this bridge ”
“Ah, I kind of think that it was all pretty polite, and, well, up front and direct. Now I know how we can make money to fund the rest of this trip and travel even more ”
“Funny. Funny.” And she looked at the card that Kees left.
The only sense that she could get out of the card was that it involved two different clubs at the same address. Strange, but the card was divided right down the middle, with a different club name separately listed on each side. But each side had that same address and same phone number printed out. She had no idea what it meant, but one club was called ‘Aardbei Club’ (Strawberry Club), and the other was called ‘Slechts Groot’ (Only The Large).
So, one man sees this American and immediately wants to fuck her. Another saves her and gives her his card, just in case she wants to work in a sort of ‘Venice of the North’ city. Perhaps the action had something to do with the way this American looked? It was not just the outfit. If you peeled away the jacket, then the mini, you had a gorgeous woman. A perfectly balanced face of delicate features, topped by a feather hairdo of the day, ala Farah Fawcett, only jet black. An amazing 34B-20-32 body that was toned by college cheerleading, and then, later, professional dance. She was used to attention.
She put the card in her jacket pocket and left the bridge with her husband. After some more sight-seeing, they arrived back at the little room that they had rented. That room was equivalent to an early hostel, and the basic part of a trip plan that was created over the last two years. They were making the most of it, using the room as a hub for many short range adventures. Amsterdam, alone, was enough to keep them entertained. But Kees just happened to be prophetic about the limiting factor. Indeed, the couple’s finances were quite small. A low, but safe, limit of their funds would be met within the week. Then, they would only have enough for plane fare to the states.
Getting a local low pay job was an idea that Dave had last week. Then, the intention was that he be the one to do it. Such a job would stop the hemorrhage of funds and extend their stay. But he approached the quest without dedication; so, it was no surprise to either of them that the associated lack of effort assured his failure to obtain any job.
