As promised, today we discuss Natascha (not her real name), the most attractive prostitute I found in my tour of the Red Light District. And – by attractive – I mean not disgusting. As are many of the pros in their windows downtown.
Don’t get me wrong. I am not referring to any specific women as disgusting; it’s the whole process. There’s a reason they call them “sex workers.” For them it’s work. And they’re apparently very good at what they do. As you can judge by the friends of any john, who wait outside, usually not for very long. “Get ‘em in, get ‘em out.” If I wanted sex this devoid of passion, I could’ve stayed in LA.
It should be said that different types of johns prefer different types of women, and Amsterdam’s Red Light district caters to every whim. As long as the whim includes red lights augmented with black lights and generally (surprisingly) ill-fitting white lingerie. Where are the school girl uniforms? The nurse outfits? Personally, I find an art-school chick in an old t-shirt and no bra one of the sexiest looks on this earth. But I guess I’ll have to settle for the standard Playboy-bunny wannabe outfit.
Maybe it’s just me, but part of sex is the thrill of the hunt. The feeling of being desired, of returning the sentiment… but in some areas of the Red Light district I felt surrounded. The hunter, hunted. And then I heard it: one tap-tap-tap on the glass and a come-hither look. A serious violation of the rules of attraction. I can’t imagine surrendering my seed to such a situation.
And then there was Natascha. Young, but not too young. Shoulder-length, blond hair, which she wore pulled back out of her face to reveal piercing brown eyes. She wore not lingerie, but a dress. As dresses go, it was pretty form-fitting. But a dress. And the kicker: the thick-rimmed glasses. Art-school chick glasses. Oooh, yes. And now you know the way to turn on Hank Moody. You have to give me the impression that you like to read, preferably my writing. Yes, that’s very attractive, indeed.
Spoiler alert: we did not have sex. Not yet, anyway. I get to take her out to dinner tomorrow. I did pay her for her time, though. (After Trixie, I have a nice track-record of painting whores’ toenails.) I spent my allotted 15 minutes asking Natascha the basics: yes, she’s from Eastern Europe. Yes, she likes the job for now but is saving up to be a writer (nice). And yes, she prefers legalized prostitution to illegal. The organization called The Red Thread is a sort of union for prostitutes, and they take care of her. With the dental dam comes a dental plan.
I’m glad I visited The Red Light district. So I can say that I did it. But in Hank Moody’s analysis of prostitution in the US vs. Holland, Venice Beach is far more depraved than Amsterdam. Off to a place called Club NL… More tomorrow.
