It was a typical summer afternoon and I was wandering around the Red Light District looking for a place to innocently wet my whistle. I was still a relative newcomer to the Amsterdam scene and so I generally just stumbled around letting destiny take me where it desired. Eventually I cut pass Oudezijds Achterburgwal -- Amsterdam's answer to Korea's Hooker Hill -- into Chinatown, and over to Zeedijk street.
I could smell the booze and drunkenness from down the street and immediately made my way there. I quickly noticed that this wasn't your typical street party. There was booze being served on the street and I ordered a Heineken in the hope that it would help me understand just exactly what kind of street party I had stumbled into.
Around me were drag queens in colors so bright my eyes could barely process them without feeling that burning sensation that comes from staring directly at the sun. Even as I ordered my first beer, a chunky grandmother grabbed my ass and made a licking motion in my direction, the tip of her tongue flickering down and away from her fake mustache.
The beer was pricey, and I noticed a liquor store. As I made my way into the liquor store, I came across a stunning six-foot blonde hanging out with her friends. I may be a liberal, open-minded guy, but at the risk of sounding inconsiderate, I have to confess that I'm simply not attracted to 7-foot-tall Dutch guys in flashy dresses and heels. As the closest thing to a straight guy in that festival, I knew I had an advantage.
So I get to the door of the liquor store and I glance over at her left hand, realizing that my target had a wedding ring. This is Amsterdam, where people don't waste time or mince words, so I quickly asked her, "Is that your wedding ring?""I'm not married," she replied, and I snapped back, "Oh yea? Well, let me get another beer and I'll be right back."
After almost getting into a fight with the Surinamese worker inside the liquor store, I calmly made my way out, beers in hands. Joana and I asked each other the usual questions and I learned she was also vegan and unemployed. "We're going to be spending a lot of time together if the pussy is good," I thought to myself.
I would later learn that the vibe I gave her was that it'd be a one-night stand, but it's not everyday that I meet a vegan woman with as much free time as me. I'm surprised she didn't factor that in as we made out in the middle of the drag street festival while gay guys giggled and told us, "It's unnatural!"
We kept kissing and walked into one of the gay bars just to the right of the canal. We molested each other on the way to the back of the bar, and into a quiet nook overlooking the canal parallel to Warmoestraat. As we kissed, a senior citizen in drag blessed our union by drinking from his "holy heel."
Once he started drinking from his shoe, Joanna and I knew we both had drunk enough, and I asked, "Your place or mine?"I was hoping she'd say hers since I was sleeping on a leaky air mattress with nothing but a radio for entertainment.
"Let's go to mine," she suggested and I breathed a sign of relief on the way to grab the tram. Eventually we got to her apartment and sat on the balcony.
"So, you don't look 34," she uttered.
"I'm 24," I replied, not caring that she'd overheard the fact that I was much younger. When it comes to love, I've realized that it has no age. I've dated women in their 30s who had the maturity level of a 15-year-old school girl.
But our age difference didn't matter and we jumped in bed, having sex twice that night and twice the next morning. I knew the next morning I'd found someone with whom I share a wild chemistry and spirit of adventure.
What we like the most, however, is when we meet other couples and eventually they ask us how we met.
"We met at Day of Hearts; it's a drag street festival on the Zeedijk."
Immediately people begin to wonder, and can't help but ask, "so, were you guys in drag?"
We laugh and always reply, "no, but we're working on gender-bending next year."
