Our names are Charles and Tom this is our story of our weekend away with the boys to Amsterdam; it all started with our usual Friday night pub meet in the centre of Manchester without wife's or girlfriends; it was our night, free of ties.
We were having a heated discussion about nothing of importance, as one does on Friday nights. This time was what we would do if we could get away from wives and girlfriends for a weekend. Tom the youngest and quietest member of our debating society said. Let's all go to Amsterdam; he had a friend Paul, a travel agent, who could arrange it.
Ok we will was the unanimous reply, in the end only six out the group went. We all agreed who would share rooms. I won Tom, didn't really know him, he was in some sort of art job. Bit effeminate in looks and mannerisms.
Friday arrived we all boarded the afternoon flight to Schiphol; it was a good flight; few drinks and good banter on board. We all arrived in Amsterdam Centraal station. Walked in the direction of Dam Square, following the crowd, for about 15 minutes or so, our hotel was just off Dam Square. We found it, looked ok, and we all checked in without a hitch. We had three double rooms; problem, although they were all presentable all had small double beds; between six guys.
Tom the youngest and our travel arranger was sent down to sort it out with reception; no single bedded rooms, no call for it; he asked; do you normally have two guys sharing a bed. Yes always. Tom reported back; total silence; a lone voice piped up and you better not be thinking of that, looks were exchanged. I was to share with Tom, at least not with one of the two bears that had agreed to share together.
We all went out together that night and toured the red light areas, did the usual stuff British tourists do, visit a hemp café. We think; but were all more relaxed when we left. Found a bar with a 'on the floor sex show' which hyped us up again about our sleeping arrangements. A mixture of Dutch and Belgium beers helped relax us. It was about two in the morning when we left the bar; without a care in the world.
We went to our rooms. Tom got undressed, he said he slept naked was that a problem? Tom was actually quite a nice looking guy, smooth skin, well sculptured body, longish blond hair. I kept my designer micro bikini type underwear on, but could feel pressure building from within them; pop out was possible. We both lay on the bed, which was small, back to back, touching. Tom wriggled as he settled in; pop out was now a distinct possibility. We both drifted off quickly; latent effect of the evenings drinking.
Morning arrived, I woke up with someone, Tom, pressing up against my back which was wet with sweat; Tom was still sound asleep. Realising I was now naked got up; couldn't remember why; found my underwear, went and had a shower.
We all went down stairs for breakfast, a cross between a Dutch and English breakfast. The hotel manager came over and asked if we had a good night's sleep and were the double beds comfortable enough for us. A subdued yes was the answer. He gave a cross between a wink and a smile. Tom became engrossed scraping marmalade on to his toast.
We had already planned out what we were doing, four were going to a football match, Tom, our intellectual travel arranger, was going to see the Ann Franks, the Rijksmuseum and Van Gogh Museum. None of those were my thing; I would just tour the area on my own. Plan was we would all meet back at our hotel; if we didn't get lucky.
I started my tour of the red light district, ended up on a street I didn't know, or how to get back to the Hotel. It seemed to be a gay area, Hookerstraat or something like that, I just walked along, amazed and excited to see men openly kissing and intimately touching each other in the street. Walking embracing each other and hand in hand too. I've been bisexual all my life but in the closet for family and work reasons.
As I walked I didn't see a man step out of a café and almost knocked him over, apologising profusely to him. He just said it was ok with a hand gesture, no harm done and we laughed about it as we stood there. Their seemed to be some mutual chemistry between us, don't know how or what; there just was.
He introduced himself as Stefan and I told him I was Charles, he repeated my name checking its pronunciation. I was 44, Stefan was 63, and had lived near Amsterdam for 15 years; coming into the centre on Saturdays for lunch and a beer at the café he just came out off. I told him I had come from the UK, Manchester, with some friends and were staying at a hotel near Dam Square for a few nights to sample the Amsterdam night life.
He smiled and asked me if I would like to have a beer with him; he said he knew a very nice but small and quite bar not far away that served very good Dutch beer.
He guided me to this bar which was only a few streets away; not far. We got a couple of Dutch beers before sitting down. Stefan asked what I was doing on that street alone, I told him my friends had separated and gone to a football match and one to view some museums. I had got lost; he smiled and said you do realise it's a gay area you are in, I laughed, smiled with a guilty smile and said I didn't know it was; but soon found out.
Stefan was a very handsome, slim man with short grey hair and piercing blue eyes; just my type I realised, I'd always gone for older men.
We had a few more beers and talked at length about life in general until he surprised me by laying his hand gently on mine and looking into my eyes then saying. You might have wandered into the street where we met by accident, but I think we both know it's where you belong; I was flabbergasted and started to get aroused my tight underwear was in danger of bursting open which was adding to the thrill. But; I knew he was right.
He went on and said he thought I was very attractive and desirable. I then admitted I was bisexual and thought he was very handsome; all the while his hand was on mine. And I felt that sexual thrill and contentment you get from bodily contact build. He invited me back to his house, I just accepted that we were going to have sex and was very contented and discreetly excited about it. He must have known I was going to be receptive.
We drank up and Stefan led the way to his house which was a short tram ride, then just over a canal and around the next corner from the tram halt. I was worried in case any of my friends saw me with a strange man, I needn't have fretted, as Stefan kept his distance and made inane small talk as we walked. To any casual observer, we were just two friends out walking.
His apartment was on the fourth floor of one of these grand Old Dutch houses that you see on postcards of Holland. We went up the very steep stairs that Dutch houses seem to have, when an older couple passed us on the way down. They smiled at Stefan and greeted me; Welkom.
