The many fans of past column “Dildo Takes a Vacation,” April 21, 2011 (which chronicled my short-lived quest to bring my dildo to South America), know that I’m no stranger to packing it in abroad. Earlier this summer, embarking on a shorter quest to Europe, the lady and I decided to travel a little lighter, sans dildo. Without a silicone friend in tow, we were simply forced to make our own European fun… with our own hands and maybe some other body parts. Here’s what we learned from it:
Amsterdam’s Red Light District is no place for a non-working lady. Never Amsterdam’s famous sex-worker district is easy to accidentally stumble upon. No signs. No warnings. Just blatant offers and (surprisingly beautiful) naked ladies behind glass doors. While my modest wife quickly pretended to be “lost” with her face hidden behind a map, my first reaction was, of course, to smile and say hello. We both make a living slinging sex in some way, we’re both women struggling in a man’s world, right?
Not really.
Turns out, being a non-working female in the Red Light is kind of complicated. The soliciting men found us to be overdressed, the working women were angry with the assumption that we wouldn’t be purchasing much, and then things just got plain awkward when a sex worker coming out for her smoke break caught me striking my best “Red Light” pose in front of a mural of breast-baring babes.
(Stop goofing off and support sex workers by going on the Prostitute Information Centre walking tour that benefits sex workers finding new work; pic-amsterdam.com.)
Like a chain of kinky Cumberland Farms, most European cities seemed determined to make sex toy buying a friendly, 24-hour convenience. Though you’ll still find lots of seedy junk, it’s also refreshingly easy to find high-end sex toys in a clean and polished environment. Don’t go too crazy on your sexy spree as U.S. Customs forbids any “obscene objects” from passing through. Re-read “Dildo Takes a Vacation” for ways to sneak in your new pair of vibrating Dutch clogs.
Forget beach bums! It’s all about beach boobs! Like most American women, I’ve forever been told that my boobs should be bigger, perkier, constantly fondled and yet, contradictorily, kept under wraps to avoid “sluttiness.” Maybe this is why I was borderline creepily excited to see such a variation of bods and breasts out and about at every European beach. Everyone’s twins were on vacation—eating beach picnics, swimming, even playing volleyball!
Like Mrs. Perverson I was so happy to see so much breast-pride, I couldn’t stop scanning the sand for areola, though no one else seemed to notice—little kids, kindly grandmas, even the same teenage boys who catcalled me at the Vatican (of all places!) didn’t look twice at this beachfront breast-fest.
Condoms are like candy! From pharmacies to libraries, condom vending machines were everywhere. I’m sure that in the U.S. these genius machines would be rapidly condemned (“They encourage kids to not only have sex but equate sex with treats!?!”) and they’d be shut down quicker than Planned Parenthood.
At least Europeans know that condom availability doesn’t equal persuasion to have sex and that there are worse associations than linking safer sex with sugary sweetness. Besides, those European trains can be awfully long and those Italian men rather charming, so thank goodness these things are everywhere.
Finally, if you can’t find a good lesbian bar, stalk some lesbians. It can be hard to find reliable information on where all the GLBT hotties go on Friday night. It can be difficult to muster up the bravery to ask a lesbian-looking stranger in a foreign language where a good lesbian dance club is. It’s just so much easier to find a pair of good-looking lesbians who are dressed for a night on the town, follow them for five blocks while casually ducking behind trees when they look back, until they go into a packed, awesome nightclub. So I’m told, anyway.
Dildo may not have gone on vacation this time, but I have a feeling he’d have fit right in.
