Chapter 12
It was fabulous being back in Amsterdam, really great. It has always been one of my favorite European cities, among other peoples. The canals, the trees, the pace of the city, the quality of life-everything so unhurried and safe and clean ... so unlike New York.
We arrived mid-afternoon and were very lucky to get there at all. Vic and the rest of the people didn't arrive back from the sex commune until dawn and it was a rush from that time till the time we finally got on the plane. From there it was smooth sailing ... or flying ... from there on in. Poor Vic slept all the way. In a way I felt sorry for him, not having helped him take the tour to the commune or even taken them myself. It was irresponsible of me, but when I looked at the situation clearly, I knew that I just couldn't make it, even if someone had carried me. Now he was the one who needed to be carried.
When we reached the hotel he headed straight for bed, and when I left him he was snoring loudly. Our planned expedition was to the porn shops along one of the canals was carried out in bright sunlight. I felt almost drunk on the warm air and the lively feelings of this lovely city, so drunk in fact that I didn't even realize that in one of the shops George Grossell was standing behind me, his chin on my shoulder.
I continued to turn the pages of a glossy men's magazine, marvelling that pubic hairs were now being shown on women. In my day they covered them up with cloth or even inked them out so that all you saw was a smudge on the crotch. At worst they "flesh-toned" them, making women look like those nude mannequins that you sometimes see in shop windows. I used to get a laugh out of those.
"Nice looking women," he commented. "Especially the fair-haired ones. Maybe they're Scandanavi-an, but I wouldn't know. Never met any in my life."
I turned around and smiled at him and he smiled back at me in a friendly sort of way. Then I turned back to the magazines and opened up another one. I flicked through some of the pages and saw that there were a number of them that showed men and women, both of them nude. Ordinarily you don't see very many males in men's magazines ... strange isn't it?
One man caught my eye. To be precise he was a boy, not older than twenty I suspected. He was posed very artfully with a young girl on sand dunes and they seemed, at first glance, to be part and parcel of their surroundings. Curves melting into curves. It was very beautiful and very serene. And very young.
"Do you like that one?" asked George almost wistfully.
"Yes, yes I do. There's something very real about it and yet at the same time it seems like someone's dream of what love and sex should be like. Warm and nice."
"I know.... I know," he said, putting his hand over mine and pressing it affectionately.
It was almost time to leave. We had scheduled a few hours of free time and in a way I was very glad for it. As I walked towards the door I heard George call to me. In seconds he was by my side and he shepherded me out, his hand on my elbow. Suddenly he presented me with a plain envelope. I looked at it curiously and then I opened it. Inside was the magazine that had the picture of the young boy and girl. I thanked him and continued to walk on, feeling, for some reason, extraordinarily happy.
I wanted to ask him where his wife was, but I didn't. It would have completely spoiled the mood and we both knew it. All at once he let go of my arm and took my hand. I didn't pull back-I didn't want to. My hand felt suddenly small, much smaller than I thought it was, or maybe it was just that he suddenly seemed so large and protective, but not all fatherly.
We walked along one of the canals and then along another, talking, mostly about himself and his job. Not once did he mention his wife; he seemed in fact to be greatly relieved that she wasn't with us. He bought me some flowers, bright yellow flowers, and then he suggested we return to the hotel. He'd bring a bottle of wine and some bread and cheese. I said yes, thinking that it was a long way to walk and that I'd enjoy the stroll.
On we walked, on and on, and in what seemed like seconds we reached the entrance of the hotel. It was dusk and the romanticism of the city seemed to encircle us, bind us together in some way. I wanted to hold onto it just a little longer, and while I leaned against the wall, he ran across the street and brought back, a few minutes later, a large loaf of bread wrapped in paper, a mound of cheese, a bottle of red wine, and a knife and an opener.
His hotel room, even for the short time he'd been there, was in disarray. Clothes were strewn everywhere, littering the chairs, table, and bed. He scooped everything up and put it in a pile on the floor, apologizing profusely. His wife, he said, was ordinarily a very neat woman, but the rush.,..
We sat together on the bed, me with my legs together and out straight and he with his dangling over the edge. I felt as though I was being courted in some old-fashioned way. Each of his words and actions were extremely considerate and his whole manner was warm and loving. I hadn't eaten for many hours and the wine on my empty stomach made me feel a little lightheaded. Even the bread and cheese, which were delicious, didn't fill me up, and after a while I only nibbled on them.
He asked me, really asked me, if he could make love to me. It was a truly beautiful gesture, some- thing which HI remember for the rest of my life. I nodded my head and began to undress, but he stopped me, saying that he wanted to do it.
With each article he took off he gave me a lass and by the time I was completely naked I felt bathed in sweetness and light. I stood there, feeling very young and innocent, like those people in the picture. I watched him undress. He fumbled and I thought I saw his hands shake slightly. When he too was naked I looked at him fully, and for just one moment I saw the handsome man he once was-tall, with a broad chest and slim hips, strong legs-and the way he now was-greying, a little stooped in the shoulders, sagging a bit in the stomach.
He took me in his arms and hugged me. I could hear his sad sighs and feel his lips on my shoulders. He kissed me lightly, just a few times, and then he led me proudly over to the bed.
We lay down next to each other, exploring each other's bodies as though we were new lovers. His hands brushed my breasts, encircled them, and then he kissed them, but all so gently and sincerely that a sob almost rose in me. I wanted him, I truly did, but not out of compassion and sympathy. Out of love. The kind of love in which brevity is the most poignant quality.
His hands explored me further, running down the length of my body then up again to my breasts and my neck. He seemed almost hesitant about going any further and I encouraged him by taking his hand and bringing it down again to my pussy. I knew I was moist, and I knew this would please him, and I was happy.
He patted my thighs, kissing me on the neck, a*nd then he sought my moistness. He touched me, then hesitated, then touched me again. His gentleness was lovely and it excited me tremendously. I began to moan when he ran his fingers over my lower lips, opening my legs to give him easier access. At the same time I reached down for him and brought my hand between his legs, running it again and again from his anus to his balls to his stem, resting, for a second, at his tip. He moaned and sighed, murmuring that I was beautiful, that I had made him very happy, that he hoped he could please me. I kissed him fully on the lips, my tongue lingering on his, as if to say thank you but I was certain he would.
1 love you for what you're giving to me now, for what you've given back to me. I do love you for this, for this."
I moved closer to him, warmed by his words, and for a long time we lay there caressing each other in silent passion. He was hard and I was very ready, and we came together in the most simple way, smoothly and yet without any subtleties. I lay on my back and he lay on top of me and his prick moved in and out of me gently.
I heard myself moan and I hugged him to me even more tightly. I was rising, growing numb, but it was a sweet numbness, a delight. His movements echoed my desire and he began to plunge into me. I could feel his uncertainty and my heart rushed out to him. I took his face in my hands and kissed him and by this one, small, meaningful action he was buoyed. He steadied himself and plunged into me, again and again, The only sounds in the room were our soft cries, and the smack of our bodies hitting each other. I do not know how long we continued that way, it seemed like an eternity, but the type of eternity that is the best. Suddenly he heaved heavily and gasped. It was time, his and mine, and we rose to it. I moved my hips upwards towards his own, faster and faster. It was good, it was wonderful, and we were so very fine. Again and again we met, rising, rising still higher, still higher.
. I felt him explode within me and then I answered it with my own. There were no words to arouse us, no commands, no exclamations ... only sad-happy sighs of two people brought as close as any people could ever be by the height of love.
When we were fully spent he continued to lay on top of me, his head on my shoulder, his arm dangling over the side of the bed. I stared up at the ceiling, totally calm.