If I’m going to tell you about what happened ‘out of hours’ on the stag weekend, I need to tell you more about Florida Boy.
You see - and you know me well enough to realise that this isn’t something I say lightly – I’m kind of off casual sex at the moment. I know, it’s stunning right?
See, the thing is this – I really like Florida Boy. Really like him. And I think it’s changing my perspective a bit. It’s definitely making me think about what I’m doing going on endless dates.
Me and FB talk every day online and then again every evening by telephone. In fact he just called as I'm typing this. He makes me laugh, he’s funny, handsome and dirty.
So it’s kind of weird, because he’s so far away, but I know that deep down I don’t want to get involved with anyone until after I’ve seen him in August - and until I’ve decided whether he’s what I think he is or not.
Then, you’ll understand that it was pure curiosity that led me to leave the stag party behind at 2am and head to the Cockring, the infamous Amsterdam gay club.
"Where are you off to?" said the groom.
"I’m kind of straight-barred out," I said. "I’m going to find something else. You’ll be ok without me, right?"
The groom was, at this stage, barely able to speak and propped up against the bar in an awful Irish pub just of Dam Square. We’d been there for what seemed like hours and hours. Football was being repeated on the big screen. It was so not my scene.
"You off then, mate?" this was the Lost Phone Boy, less drunk than the night before, but equally obnoxious.
"Yeah, thought I’d go find somewhere a bit livelier".
"I’ll come with you – where are you going?"
"I’ll maybe just stay here a bit longer." And with that he skulked back over to the bar.
So I got to the Cockring and it was crowded. And it was small. And hot. And smelly. The place was full of good-looking guys though, so that helped my mood. I did a bit of a tour and ended up standing with my beer at the edge of the dancefloor, admiring the moves of a rather bear-ish Dutchman.
The dancefloor in the Cockring isn’t large, and there was a tiny stage at one side. As I wondered what on earth it could be used for, my question was answered in the shape of two handsome young men. One was blond, short and hairy, and was wearing a leather kilt. The other tall, dark and muscled and wearing a pair of, well, a pair of see-through underpants.
It doesn’t really matter what they were wearing though, as both were naked within minutes and brandishing their ‘weapons’ at the crowded dancefloor. They waved their bits at the crowd and then at each other. Then they started to wave each other's bits at the crowd....
What was the most stunning thing about this, however, wasn’t the show itself – let’s face it, we’ve all seen men with erections dancing naked on tables, right – but more the fact that nobody was watching.
Everyone was dancing and dancing hard to some Katy Perry remix. She’s hot and she’s cold, apparently.
And then I saw why everyone was dancing. There was a guy dealing. No, wait, there were lots of guys dealing. Seems ecstasy was going round the room faster than a dose of herpes. No wonder the boys just wanted to dance.
Well, I know you’d be disappointed to hear that I stood back and watched. That I didn’t participate fully. So with the spirit of my youth pushing me forward, I scored, I swallowed and I danced.
So let's get this clear. I was feeling great, in a happy, lovely, dancing, fabulous mood, as were the rest of the boys in the room. The bar was full of handsome, friendly guys who were out for a good time. I even chatted to a guy or two, and got bought a drink by a handsome Mexican.
So despite all of this, nothing happened.
No kissing, no snogging, no heavy petting. No 'come back to mine', no 'let's go to the darkroom', no 'there's a sauna round the corner you know...'. Nothing.
All of the above could easily have happened, but it didn't. I didn't want it to happen. I shied away. I just wanted to dance, smile and generally have fun.
I'm a bit worried, to be honest.
Do you think that maybe there is something wrong with me?
Please don't tell me it's love, because, quite frankly, that's ridiculous.