Levi’s Bloaaaahg

Last week, Gemma and I went for a drink in the “Gay street” in Amsterdam. Mojitos for 5 Euro. The reason I like to go there, is that you always meet interesting people. At the beginning of the evening, nothing spectacular was going on. So we decided to switch bars. As soon as we ordered our first beers, a guy came sitting next to us. He was a 6′2″, drunk, black guy. A 6′2″, very drunk, very black, very gay guy. He started slurring to us about something. I did my best to try and understand him, but his dutch was awful. Apparently he needed someone to watch his Gucci bag, while he strolled around the bar trying to hook up. Well, if I need to choose between a bag or a big, black, gay guy sitting next to me, there aren’t hardly any second thoughts.
We finished our first four beers (happy hour. Didn’t know it still existed) and Gemma went up to the bar to order some more. She was gone a long time, and the bag owner, from now on known as BBGG (Big Black Gay Guy) came back. This time he started slurring in English, so the conversation went a little smoother. A little too smooth. At first he asked me if Gemma was my girlfriend. I answered that question with a very quick yes. But did that stop him from coming on to me? Of course not.
I don’t know what it is about gay men, but they seem a lot more full-on when hitting on someone else. His first question was how big my dick is. Before I could even answer it, he told me his was 30 centimeters. And while saying that he started to unzip his pants. No. NO. NOOOOO. I quickly got up and went to the bar to look for Gemma. She was talking to some guy. I held her from behind and mumbled “help” into her ear. She just laughed and handed me a beer. She introduced me to the guy she was talking to. A flight attendant from the States called Hilton. There’s your stereotype. He laughed at me, because he watched me and BBGG.
He: “Just tell him your straight.”
Me: “I did. But he is very persevere when it comes to hitting on chicken-armed, Caucasian boys.”
Wait.
Me: “You can tell I’m not gay?”
He: “Sure. You got this trying-to-be-even-more-masculine-in-a-gay-bar vibe all over you.”
Damn. I actually hate those guys, because I think it’s a sign of insecurity on your own sexuality.
BBGG came back and asked again if I could watch his 500 Dollar Gucci bag. Sure, you go and try to get laid, while I play the part where I act like I’m looking out for your ugly, stupid bag.
Gemma went home after an hour or so. I ended up with Hilton, who appeared to be a pretty good laugh. BBGG came back. “Where you gilfrien? She home not with you?” I completely forgot about my protective wall between me and the horny gay guys. Hilton stepped in and told him to get lost. As soon as BBGG turned around Hilton said: “Get your things, we’re going to Arc.” Sounded good enough to me.
After talking about cultural differences, religion, my real girlfriend and work, we decided to go for one last beer in the Exit bar. Now, let me tell you. There’s a reason they call it the Exit bar. When all the other bars close up for the night, the Exit bar opens. And all the horny, craving, sexually open-minded, gay guys enter this domain. Pure and only for their own sexual gratification. So. Guess who we run into there.
BBGG: “Wherdyougo?”
Me: “Away from you. But you, my friend, are more sticky than flies to a piece of crap.”
One beer. Just one. And then get the hell out of here. I didn’t care that it was raining cats and dogs. I really didn’t feel like getting BBGG’s tongue in my mouth. Or worse, 30 centimeters of “pure, black pleasure” up my bum.

Stewie: How you uh, how you comin’ on that novel you’re working on? Huh? Gotta a big, uh, big stack of papers there? Gotta, gotta nice litte story you’re working on there? Your big novel you’ve been working on for 3 years? Huh? Gotta, gotta compelling protaganist? Yeah? Gotta obstacle for him to overcome? Huh? Gotta story brewing there? Working on, working on that for quite some time? Huh? (voice getting higher pitched) Yea, talking about that 3 years ago. Been working on that the whole time? Nice little narrative? Beginning, middle, and end? Some friends become enemies, some enemies become friends? At the end your main character is richer from the experience? Yeah? Yeah? (voice returns to normal) No, no, you deserve some time off.

Stewie (his voice getting progressively higher): Oh I know it hurts now Brian, but look at the bright side: you have some new material for that novel you’ve been writing. You know…the novel you’ve been workin’ on? You know the the one, uh, you’ve been workin on for three years? You know the novel. Got somethin’ new to write about now. You know? Maybe a, maybe a main character gets into a relationship and suffers a little heartbreak? Somethin’ like what… what you’ve just been through? Draw from real life experience? Little, little heartbreak? You know? Work it into the story? Make the characters a little more three dimensional? Little, uh, richer experience for the reader? Make those second hundred pages really keep the reader guessing what’s going to happen? Some twists and turns? A little epilogue? Everybody learns that the hero’s journey isn’t always a happy one? (Voice returns to normal.) Oh, I look forward to reading it.

In the Netherlands, we’re not allowed to smoke inside bars from now on. Here’s a little impression.

The streets are fun.