Life is full of surprises, but the one I received from my girlfriend Claire was one of the few that have come closest to literally flooring me. We were on a four-day break in Amsterdam, sin capital of Europe, but not for Claire. No, for Claire Amsterdam was art galleries, old buildings and canals. I was relaxed with that; I find Der Wallen depressing and my days of hanging out in cannabis cafes are long gone, along with most of my hair. Seriously, being a stoned forty-year-old leering at bored shop window prostitutes is a bad look, at least for me.
We were on our third day in the Dutch capital and had thus far avoided any hint of the steamy underside of the city. It was a beautiful, sunny spring day and we sat outside eating a light breakfast. After the waiter had cleared the plates Claire reached out her hand and suggested we go for a walk. It was fine by me as I was feeling a little culture fatigue. If I saw another Rembrandt or Van Dyke my brain was going to melt.
"I don't think you want to go this way," I said as Claire turned along a canal I knew led to Der Wallen. Her expression asked the question so I explained that it was the red light district and just what it consisted of. To my surprise Claire didn't seem quite as horrified as I expected.
"You mean they're sitting in the windows even at this time of day?" Claire asked, surprised at quite how twenty-four hour Amsterdam is as a sex city.
"Yep, but it's going to be pretty quiet until late afternoon."
"I'd like to have a look at it," said Claire thoughtfully, "but it doesn't mean I approve."
"Fine. I don't think much of it but if you really want to..."
We wandered hand-in-hand through the narrow streets, some tourists staring at the sad prostitutes in the few windows that were occupied at eleven in the morning. I couldn't get over the feeling that the women were working out their shopping lists in their heads, or wondering if they needed to get a plumber in, or any number of things that took them away from the fact that they looked like exhibits in a freak show or a zoo. Claire, on the other hand, was fascinated.
"Do you think it arouses them to be on show like this?" she asked me, as she looked at one particular large woman in a black and red corset.
"I think it's probably just an unfortunate but necessary part of the job for them."
I started to pull Claire further along, wanting to get out and breathe some cleaner air. Don't get me wrong; I'm no puritan, but I can never stop myself speculating about the hard choices that these women have probably had forced on them. I feel the same when I see streetwalkers. It's one of the reasons why I can never bring myself to pay for sex.
I found myself wanting some high culture again but Claire hadn't finished looking around, and a young mixed-race prostitute now enthralled her. The woman was obviously uninterested in anything except the conversation in her head, her white underwear and stockings almost blue in the UV light as she stared into the middle distance.
"I might get a little aroused being looked at. You know, desired," said Claire, and it felt to me that she was thinking out loud.
"Well, it might be fine for a few minutes but what when a bunch of drunk morons start leering?"
"Hmm, you might be right," said Claire.
We spent a few more minutes walking around, and I was starting to get the glooms from the resolutely un-sexy atmosphere. It turns out that the place was having the opposite effect on Claire.
She suddenly pulled me along another street and stopped outside a porn cinema.
"Come on, let's have a look," said Claire enthusiastically.
"Are you serious?"
"Where's your sense of fun?"
To the best of my knowledge Claire had never seen pornography in her thirty-one years and I doubted that she knew what to expect. I tried to talk her out of it, certain that she was going to get outraged after a couple of minutes and not wanting to have a long discourse on the evils of men. Claire was not to be denied, though, telling me to buy two tickets while she went to the toilet.
Five minutes later we walked into a smallish auditorium. We were immediately struck by the sight and sound of the woman on screen. She was on all fours, with a man taking her from behind and another in her mouth. Claire was standing stock still in the aisle by the door, her lips parted as she stared fixedly at the images and I was waiting for the explosion of righteous anger followed by a swift about turn. But instead of writing off twenty euros Claire turned to me and nodded to a couple of seats in the corner of the penultimate row.
The cinema was basically empty. A couple of other male patrons were sitting in corners of the auditorium and didn't even notice our entry. We went along the row and Claire took the seat next to the wall with me on her left. She could hardly tear her eyes off the screen as we negotiated our way to the seats and as soon as we sat down she leant over to me.
