Amsterdam nightlife? Insane.
Every bar looked like a sex dungeon and a laser tag arena had a baby. Half the girls looked like they belonged on magazine covers. The other half looked like they’d ruin your life in the best way possible.
We stepped into this club—strobe lights, wall-to-wall bodies, bass so deep it rearranged my guts. David looked around like he’d just entered heaven.
“I’m gonna die here,” he whispered, eyes wide. “And I’m okay with that.”
We hit the bar immediately. Shots first. Vodka? Tequila? Who the hell knows. It burned like bad decisions and made our chests feel invincible. That was our warm-up.
Strike One.
David spotted a redhead dancing solo and beelined over like a horny homing missile. I followed, sipping my drink like a sidekick.
He leaned in with full swagger. “Hey. Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk by again?”
She blinked once. “You should walk into traffic.”
I cackled so hard I nearly dropped my drink.
Strike Two.
I tried my luck with a brunette at the bar. She had thigh-high boots, smoky eyes, and the kind of cleavage that made me forget how vowels worked.
I leaned in smooth. “What’s a girl like you doing in a club like—”
“No.”
“I didn’t even—”
“No.”
She turned back to her drink like I was a YouTube ad. Cold-blooded.
Strike Three.
David got curved by a Swedish model who said she “doesn’t date guys with American flags on their socks.” (Fair.)
We kept drinking. It felt like the cure. Or maybe the problem. Either way, we were fully committed. Shots. Beers. Mystery cocktails. I think I ate a lime off someone’s shoulder at one point. David tried to order “absinthe” and accidentally bought a twelve-euro soda.
And just when we were about to throw in the towel and go home to cry into our pillows—
They appeared.
Two girls. Late twenties. One with a nose ring and evil eyes. The other with blue hair and a grin that said I’ve seen things. Hot in a “you’ll regret this tomorrow but love it tonight” kind of way.
Blue Hair leaned in, locking eyes with me. “You boys look like you’re ready to party.”
David and I exchanged a look. We were sweaty. We were swaying. One of us probably reeked of Red Bull and disappointment.
I gave the stupidest grin of my life. “We were born ready.”
Nose Ring giggled and pulled something from her bra—two pills. Shiny like candy, evil like sin.
“Then here,” she said, slipping one into each of our hands. “For the ride.”
David raised an eyebrow, squinting like it might bite. “What's it do?”
She smirked. “Makes the night... longer.”
Now, a smart person would have asked questions. Googled stuff. Consulted a pharmacist. But we were drunk, horny, and in a country where weed's legal and everyone bikes everywhere like it’s Narnia. We popped the pills like Tic Tacs. Our standards had left the building hours ago.
We toasted with another shot, clinked our glasses, and suddenly we were invincible gods again. Lights got hotter. Girls got blurrier. Everything pulsed with some weird rhythm—especially in my pants.
They cheered. We drank more. The lights got brighter. The music got sexier. Everything felt loose—our bodies, our thoughts, our last three brain cells.
At some point, the girls helped us into a cab. I was laughing at absolutely nothing. David was trying to kiss his own reflection in the window.
Blue Hair giggled. “We’ll get in after you, promise.”
“Yeah, don’t take too long,” I slurred. “We’re both—like—so ready to make out with someone. Like, aggressively.”
Nose Ring leaned into the cab window, her perfume hitting like a goddamn drug itself. “What hotel are you guys staying at again?”
David told her. I think. Maybe he sang it. Maybe he slurred it while licking the seatbelt. Either way, she winked.
“Perfect. We’ll be right behind you.”
Spoiler: they weren’t.
The cab drove off and I barely noticed we were moving. My head felt like a balloon on a string. Everything was funny. My hands felt like they had extra fingers. My dick was alive, like it had its own heartbeat.
We pulled up at the hotel. The same receptionist was still at the desk, judging the hell out of us as we stumbled through the lobby.
David waved. “Heyyy, miss... sexy... Netherlands.”
She didn’t even blink. “Security’s on speed dial.”
A busboy appeared outta nowhere. Skinny guy. Ponytail. Name tag said “Lars.” He looked like he hated his life and everyone in it.
“Room 207?” he asked.
I nodded. Or tried to. I might’ve headbutted him a little by accident.
He grabbed our shoulders and guided us toward the elevator like we were injured puppies.
“Lars,” I whispered. “Bro. We’re so horny right now.”
David leaned into him. “Like—so horny. Dangerously. You don’t even know.”
Lars stared ahead like he was disassociating. “I am just here to help.”
The ride up was a blur of giggles, muttering, and me trying to figure out how pants worked. At the room, Lars opened the door, shoved us in gently, and noped the hell outta there like his soul depended on it.
Door clicked shut behind us.
We were alone.
And still very, very high.
And very, very horny.
We stumbled into the hotel room like a couple of drunk frat zombies. The hallway spun behind us, the door slammed shut, and I immediately started peeling my shirt off like it was the reason my life sucked.
“I can’t believe they played us,” I muttered, dropping onto my bed like a corpse.
David groaned, dramatically collapsing onto his. “They didn’t play us. We just... got pre-gamed and redirected.”
I turned my head, glaring across the small gap between our twin beds. “That’s just the pretty way of saying we got ditched.”
He pointed at me from where he lay, shirtless, jeans halfway undone. “Glass half full, man. I’m just sayin’, we could’ve ended up duct-taped in a basement somewhere. Instead, we’re back in a hotel with mini soaps and erections that could pierce metal.”
He wasn’t wrong. My jeans were about to pop like a Pillsbury can.
I sat up with a groan and unzipped, sighing with relief as I kicked them off. My boxers were doing nothing to hide the tent I was pitching. I looked over — David had stripped down to his Calvin Kleins too, the outline of his situation looking straight-up pornographic.
I blinked. “Jesus, bro.”
He smirked. “What? You’ve seen it before.”
“I don’t remember it looking like it could rob a bank.”
David waggled his eyebrows. “It does have criminal intentions tonight.”
I snorted, lying back. “Dude, we’re way too horny for this.”
“Well, we could always cuddle,” he said innocently, folding his arms behind his head like he was posing for a Firefighter Calendar.
“Don’t tempt me.”
He shot me a look. “No promises. But for real—just crank one out and sleep it off. It’s either that or hump the mattress.”
“I mean...”
“You mean yes.” He grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. Within seconds, the screen filled with two blondes licking each other like they were sampling gelato. Soft moans echoed through the room, all breathy and ridiculous.
I hesitated. My heart was pounding, and it wasn’t just the alcohol. I could still feel the pill buzzing through me, sending jolts straight to my groin.
David, meanwhile, had already slipped his hand under his waistband. “Welcome to the Amsterdam Afterparty.”
I laughed, because what else could I do? I kicked off my boxers, pulling the blanket over me as casually as I could while my hard-on nearly smacked me in the face.
David didn’t bother with the blanket.
He just kicked off his boxers and let them hit the floor like he was home alone. There he was—my best friend since fifth grade—laid out on the twin bed beside mine, completely naked, his hand wrapped around his cock like it was just another Tuesday.
I started slow, trying to focus on the screen.
But... it wasn’t doing it.
The girls on screen were hot, sure. But they felt far away. Fake. Like a weird dream I was only half awake in.
What was real?
David.
Right there. In the bed across from me.
And holy hell, he looked good.
The kind of good that made your chest tight and your thoughts disgusting.
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