Mom, I hope you’re not reading this.
My most recent misadventures took me to Amsterdam’s infamous Red Light District. Not for prostitutes, I’m far classier than that; I went to a sex-show.
I wasn’t planning on it. I just wanted to walk around and see the heart of Europe’s sin city, but the man working the door informed my friends and I that sex shows were a classic element of Dutch culture.
“A show the whole family can enjoy,” he assured us. He told the one girl accompanying us that they encouraged audience participation.
Once inside, we were seated in the front row of what appeared to be old church pews and quickly brought our first of many rounds of drinks.
The show consisted of four acts: a couple show, a candle show, a writing show and a banana show. The audience consisted of mostly drunk British guys and a few women.
The couple show was rather simple. The pair came out on stage scantily clad and danced for the audience before proceeding to strip and then have sex. The fact that this was the most boring part of the show speaks volumes to the ridiculous things I saw after.
In writing show, a young woman came on stage and danced before picking a “volunteer” from the audience to join her on stage, by yanking somone from the audience. Her “volunteer” was my friend Jacques, who was sitting next to me. Once back onstage with Jacques in tow, she stripped for the audience before removing Jacques’ shirt and laying him on his back. With Jacques in a compromising position, to say the least, she pulled out a black magic marker, which she proceeded to insert into her (I’ll let you guess where) and then use to write “BAD BOY” on his chest. I was impressed by her penmanship, which was much better than my own – and that’s when I use my hands.
The finale was the banana show; a spectacle that will give me nightmares for years. Yet another young woman – I like to call her “Chiquita,” – entered the stage, began dancing and once again selected “volunteers.” This time she pulled four guys, including me, onstage. Once onstage, we were lined up along a wall while Chiquita stripped nude and pulled two bananas out of a box she had brought with her. She peeled half of one and inserted the other end into the same place as the marker from the show before. She instructed us to each take one small bite. I was last in line and when my turn finally came and I took my bite, Chiquita suddenly crossed her legs with my head stuck in the middle. After a few seconds, which felt like a few hours, she let me go; and as I came up for air, the audience gave us a standing ovation. Chiquita ate the other banana herself.
I immediately drank scotch until I had removed the taste from my mouth and vowed to never eat another banana again.
 
Will is officially scarred for life.
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