Donna in Amsterdam

Donna had told me that she had always wanted to go to Amsterdam. ‘I have never seen a sex show,’ which I thought a bit unfair since I had provided one only the night before! I told her that and she laughed. ‘Not that sort, nitwit, a professional one. I don’t mean some bloke hung like a horse boffing a nun, I mean something tasteful and, naturally of the Sapphic persuasion.' And so it was that I bought her, for her birthday, a long-weekend for two in the Dutch capital. It’s not my favourite destination but if that was what she wanted, then that was what I’d give her. That’s the way we are.

We drove to Bristol airport and boarded the KLM flight (business class – I was splashing out on my lover) and drank champagne all the way there. Donna wanted to try ‘Puss-in-flight’ but we lacked the nerve although we did giggle like two schoolgirls at the thought. The Dutch stewardess was very pretty but clearly lacked a sense of humour – isn’t that what drunks always think of people who don’t get their jokes? We arrived plastered and went straight to our hotel where we tested the bed even before we unpacked. It was good. We walked the pretty streets of the city in the warm spring evening. The red-light district is always a disappointment for me. I’m not prudish - well, you know me well enough not to need to be told that – but it’s so terribly sleazy in a charmless way. Donna could barely stop giggling. Some of the ‘equipment’ on sale in the sex shops looked alarming, some was simply incomprehensible

‘Where on earth would you put that?’ I asked her, indicating a particularly malevolent looking steel hook with a ball on the end of the hook where a barb would be on a fish-hook.’

‘Blimey,College, for a brain with tits you do lack a certain worldly knowledge.’ She patted my backside. ‘It pops in there, dearest dimwit.’ I looked at her aghast, wondering how she knew! ‘Porn is a great educator.’ More laughter. Some of the women in the windows were interesting. They were all shapes and sizes and some clearly catered to ‘special interest’ groups of customers. One was huge, hideous and lay on her bed like a beached whale. Others were surprisingly pretty but had dull eyes, like someone who taken too much Prozac and perhaps indeed they did. There were lots in fetish kit of leather and latex and, frankly, looked ridiculous but I expect their customers appreciated their efforts.

We went to a lovely Indonesian restaurant and gorged ourselves on Nasi Goreng with all the trimmings. We drank some Oude Genever which I love but which Donna didn’t so I had hers too while she reverted to wine. That night was not a great sexual event. We were both tired and more than a little pissed. We did have a little try but I fell asleep in her arms which she teased me about all the next day. ‘Getting past it are we, College?’ Cow.

We made up for it the next morning. A deliciously slow, languid start led on to a rather more vigorous second round. And all that before breakfast. I swear she’s a nymphomaniac – I just hope nobody finds a cure.

We did the Rembrandt, canal ride and brown bar bit after that. My knees were glad to be re-acquainted. Amsterdam is prettier at night. During the day it bustles and, in the main streets, hurdy-gurdy men pester and are really aggressive if you attempt to take a picture without slipping some Euros into their tin. Cyclists are everywhere and don’t give a damn about brushing past so close they scare the living daylights out of me. It’s also busy at night but the action seems confined to the red-light district, leaving the rest of the city rather quieter and more placid. The canals are delightful and the buildings impressive.

I had done some research and discovered a few clubs which boasted of their live lesbian shows. I assumed they would be the sorts of acts designed for the amusement of men but a discreet enquiry by email before we went was very respectfully and professionally answered by one of the clubs which assured me that it catered exclusively for women. It was not cheap but Donna wasn’t going to be 35 again and I wanted her visit to be special so I splashed out and booked. I naturally wondered how it would appear on my credit card statement and how many times but it was all perfectly straightforward. It advertised its dress code as being semi-formal which I was not sure I understood but I persuaded Donna to wear one of her beautifully cut, dark blue trousers which sit high on her waist and are pleated at the front. They suit her so well. She wore a pale blue silk shirt with button down collar and it picked the colour of her blue eye almost exactly. She looked gorgeous. You may, knowing us as you do, be able to guess the clothes she had me in. I use the term advisedly. ‘A quickie before we go, College, don’t want you boiling over when the action starts!’ I had revealed her birthday present in the form of the gift voucher/entry cards that had been sent to me. Her actual birthday was not until the middle of the following week but I could hardly hold it back until then.

The club was surprisingly lovely. It had a warm, intimate feel and was not, partly because of the dress code, replete with dykes in vests and leathers, not that I have anything against them – just not quite my thing. A woman at the reception took our coats and led us to a table where we were offered drinks which were not crazily priced. Donna found the whole thing highly amusing.

‘It’s exactly like Twerton Social Club where my mum performs for money too, College.’ Apparently her sister (remember Cassandra with the second ‘a’ like the ahhhh in orgasm) had once coupled with two men on the billiard table, encouraged by an enthusiastic team of watchers. She and her mother were banned for two weeks for abusing the club’s facilities and Cassandra in particular for staining the table’s baize. It actually turned out not be anything like Twerton’s no doubt fine establishment. Donna nudged me and pointed to two women sitting near the front of the room who were kissing rather warmly. ‘Can’t wait for the show to start I reckon.’ But, unusually, Donna was wrong. These two were the show, or the first act anyway. Their kissing became increasingly passionate and sensual. It was a curiously lovely affair. They moved, one taking the lead, to a stage which had been revealed by the removal of two curtains and performed a pretty delicately choreographed dance of lust. It lasted about fifteen minutes and Donna was visibly aroused. Visibly? How? I hear you ask. Donna has small breasts which are topped with beautiful chocolate coloured nipples and when the hormones are flowing they grow. It’s not sudden but a sort of slow burgeoning. They burgeoned and I found myself watching her more than the show. It ended to considerable applause and the girls walked around the tables naked greeting new customers like us and kissing a few regulars. Then they were gone, the curtains closed over the stage and some pleasant music was played and more drinks served.

We watched three more acts. At one point two women, one dressed convincingly as a man, appeared. They danced and then the ‘man’ dropped her trousers to reveal a slender prosthesis pointing upwards from her crotch. ‘That’s just like mine,’ exclaimed Donna (referring to what she always called her ‘hands free and which you may recall from ‘Donna’s Surprise’). I have mentioned before that she can speak a little more loudly than oft I would wish and I covered my face in embarrassment. The other nearby clients laughed and there was even a smattering of applause.

The performers continued apparently unaware but at the conclusion of their act they too wandered through the crowd and the ‘man’ stopped at our table, the device in her hand. ‘Does yours have the vibrating thing?’ she asked and Donna explained it did not. ‘Well, who’d need a vibrator with someone as pretty as you?’ I might as well not have existed – her eyes were glued to Donna and there was clearly a meaning in her words. Donna’s always good at reacting to situations and with her slow, measured way she slipped an arm around my shoulder and pulled me to her while returning the girl’s gaze.

‘That’s what College always says,’ she lied effortlessly and kissed me. The actor got the message, smiled sweetly at Donna, poked her tongue out at me and went on her way.

Not all that much later, we wandered back to our hotel. ‘Thanks College that was great fun but I don’t think I want to go again. Not sure I like seeing people having more fun than I am.’ She grinned at me lasciviously. ‘When we get to our room I think we might give the old hands free a run. Who needs batteries?’ Certainly not me. The girl in the show got it right, who needs a vibrator when you have a Donna?