Behind The Window: Sex In The Amsterdam Red Light District
A woman’s perspective from the outside looking in
Approaching our hotel’s entrance, the man nervously clutched his takeaway bag while my friend and I smoked outside. He greeted us politely, struggling to find his keys, to which my friend pulled her door fob from her pocket and let him in.
We followed behind making polite conversation about the evening.
He was alone and feeling brave I candidly asked “have you been to see the girls?” to which he chirpily replied, “well err yes, I guess I’m what they would call a sex tourist.”
He went on to tell us that he visits two specific girls a few times a year. Describing how he saved up his money to have time with them, he seemed somewhat pleased to say that one, in particular, he stays in touch with when he’s at home in the UK.
He spoke with a sincere fondness for them, something you don’t often hear in general from a fella about his girlfriend, so how he spoke about them was slightly surprising.
He went on to describe his shyness when approaching women in general and said that this was an easier way for him to engage intimately.
I’ll be honest, I found his frankness slightly curious.
You see for us women, it’s a kind of weird conversation to have with a bloke. I’m not sure if it’s something that men discuss amongst themselves, but as women rarely have the need to pay for companionship, it’s not something we understand particularly well.
Why do men pay for sex?
Sex For Sale
The Red Light District in Amsterdam is a kaleidoscope of the illicit. Drugs are widely available, both legal and illegal.
The streets are peppered with coffee shops sending out salient smells reminding you exactly where you are, whilst the cobbled streets, beautiful bridges and tall wonky traditional buildings bustle with people for nearly 24 hours a day.
Tourists brush with death as endless bicycles dash speedily down the canals and past the haze of the red light windows where you’ll see rows of scantily clad women, some alluring, some not, waiting to be approached. Waiting to make their money.
“Prostitutes have very improperly been styled women of pleasure; they are women of pain, or sorrow, of grief, of bitter and continual repentance, without a hope of obtaining a pardon.” — Anonymous
While this unattributed quote describes the suffering of the women who chose to sell themselves, I found myself wondering in the hostel lobby that night….but what of the men who buy sex?
The Theatre Of Sex
My friends and I had been to a sex show. I’d been to see this display of theatrical lovemaking on numerous visits to Amsterdam before, but as my friends had not, it was fun to go along together.
It’s not particularly seedy but it is highly amusing to soak in the whole debacle.
A lot is happening. Both on the stage and in the audience too.
I sat and watched the faces of groups of young male tourists shocked at what they were seeing. What I would have done to be inside their minds, nervously comparing themselves to the giants on stage. And by giant, I don't mean tall.
Once the show comes full circle my friends and I leave to drink some more. We pass endless near-naked women in the windows as we move from bar to bar. It feels normal and they smile sweetly.
With Curiosity Come Answers
It was after 1 am and I’d had plenty to drink. I wasn't drunk but adequately oiled and felt audacious enough to make a move and get some answers.
The quote by James Cameron rang in my ears “Curiosity is the most powerful thing you own.” So I decided to be brave enough to talk to one of the girls in the window.
Getting a girl to open the door to me wasn't easy, they won't entertain women unless you’re with a man. They’re only happy for women to ‘watch’ — but since I didn’t fit into any of these categories and I wasn't looking for sex, it took a while to find a girl that would talk to me.
I offered to pay for 10 minutes of their time, but the girl that finally said she would give me her time did not want any money. She just said she was happy to have a break and invited me in.
Meeting Alena
A tall stool sat empty in the corner of the room. The tiled floor and walls felt sterile and I asked if I should sit on the chair. She shook her head saying it would be better to sit at the same eye level and beckoned me to the bed that had a fleece leopard print throw as a cover.
Alena was in her bra, knickers and suspenders, but she didn't have stockings on. Her straight long, overly dyed black extensions hung limply over her slight frame. Her face was deadpan and I noticed how her lip filler had migrated above her top lip.
She told me she was 34 years old, from Hungary and had been working in Amsterdam for just over a decade. She was single, had never married and had no children.
When I asked her about the kind of men that came to see her she sighed heavily.
“There are three basic types, but there are many more in between…but all of them are the reason why I will never have a man and will never marry.”
The Three Types According To Alena
First up the men that are driven by compulsion.
These men she described as frequenting prostitutes in various states of inebriation late into the night. They’re the usual characters, often who have partners back at home, who pertain to being in a perpetual state of frustration and exuding bravado in front of their male counterparts.
They’re embroiled in a kind of injurious masculine machine that churns and spits them out.
“It’s a cold exchange, I’m simply performing something physical. There’s a beginning, a middle and an end. It’s a formal agreement, but there’s no real intimacy.”
The second type she went on to describe was the men that find real relationships too exposed for a plethora of reasons, but mostly out of fear of authentic intimacy. For these individuals, she lamented, they chose to visit her regularly and don't usually see anyone else.
“It’s a fantasy relationship for them, unlike a real girlfriend or wife, I don’t demand anything emotional in return.”
Lastly, she described her third and final potential kind of customer. Those that hate women. For these hate-filled men, women are submissive and should be humiliated even in the process of purchasing sexual favours.
“I can tell when they’re this kind right from the start so I avoid letting them in.”
Wholesome Intimacy
She stands up and starts to potter around the room, adjusting her hair in the mirror. Whilst washing her hands she tells me that I now need to leave.
She dries her hands on a paper towel and flips the lid on a large stainless steel bin, I notice it’s full of used condoms and tissues. She’s obviously had a long night.
I stand up and in a moment of gratitude, I find myself asking if I can hug her. She agrees and there is a brief knowing silence while we embrace.
I break away, and out of nowhere she looks at me and tells me that no one has hugged her in years.
My heart sinks. I wasn't expecting it.
So I offer her another, to which she enthusiastically nods, smiling for the first time since we met. And so she and I enfold in each other’s arms again.
This time it feels real.
It was obvious that Alena had shut off from the possibilities of a real relationship. Who knows what things she has seen and why she even stays?
From what I gather, experts would say she is subject to abuse of many kinds and other factors like poverty, drug use and entrapment too. But she never told me that, so who knows if this is true for every girl in those windows.
I drew virtually no new conclusions, except maybe that the gentleman my friend and I met in the lobby of our hotel isn't such a bad guy. He has a resounding respect for the women he sleeps with. That can't be a bad thing.
But what I do know, is that it was worth taking the time to talk because it was the gateway to a different kind of intimacy.
An embrace that I know she needed.
And I know it meant a lot to her because it meant a lot to me too.
Gioia is a freelance journalist, documentary maker and writer specialising in sex, love and relationships.
Watch my award-winning short documentary here and connect with me via Twitter, Instagram. You can also read my personal blog on Medium here.