I was visiting Amsterdam a short time back. A girl's weekend, two friends and I. After a lovely dinner, they wisely decided to call it a night. I, however, ventured out to the city's famous Red Light District…alone.
The canals were electric, alive and glowing from the reflection of the bright neon marquess advertising live sex shows and private dances. The narrow cobblestone streets were lit by red lights casting a glow above the shop windows. That was where the girls were and my real purpose that night.
Some of the girls were more overt, obvious. You know, the ones you'd imagine dressed in black lingerie, heavily contoured cheeks and spiked, shiny boots. A couple had a Britney Spears Oops I've Did It Again feel, with super short pleated kilts and blouses tied high just below their heaving breasts. A few looked more academic, the sexy librarian type with messy up-dos and reading glasses teetering on the edge of their noses. There was even one woman who had to be in her sixties, looking so very, very tired and worn. She stood out from the rest.
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