Chapter 1: Amsterdam

I hadn't yet begun medical school when I began to fuck Kitty and Sue (see Kitty's Pussy and A Busy Week, both by maryjane). If I had, in no way would I have been able to keep my job delivering pizza, which gave me some pocket change as well as the opportunity to nail some delicious cunt. Bored housewives, mostly, ready for the plucking. Or should I say ready for the fucking? The pocket change became secondary. Grandpa, the first brain surgeon in the family, in whose footsteps Dad had followed, left me a trust fund so that I didn't have to work, but the idea for the job came from Dad, because he had done the same thing to pick up cunt. He didn't call it that, though; he just said that it would give me a chance to meet a lot of girls. Well, in fact, by the time I started med school, I had already spent enough time inside pussies to pass the gynecology course. With honors! Or maybe even teach it.

But I already knew a lot about cunt before I got that job. It goes back to when I reached about twelve or so. Mom and Dad had taken me to Europe for a tour. We went with another couple and their daughter Carrie, also about my age and coincidentally my best friend. I mean, I had guy friends, but they didn't fall into the classification of my best friend. Carrie and her family lived next door to us. Each family had a suite in each city we visited. My parents, at least, knew me well enough not to trust me in a separate room, and I couldn't very well sleep on a rollaway in their room. Mom gave great pleasure to my eyes, one fine piece of ass, to me at least, and I knew from the noises at home at bedtime that my folks loved to fuck. Our family name, Barrett, sounds like rabbit, and the two of them acted more like rabbits than Barretts. That same concern, about leaving her alone, motivated Carrie's parents, hence the suites, though she and I never had anything going. Not that night, at least. Not that year, even.

Carrie: easy on the eyes, then - and now - a pretty girl. Her tits had just started to develop, and she knew it. By that, I mean that she knew how attractive she appeared and knew that boys would really be interested in her tits. I had occasionally had her face in my mind as I jerked off, but I had other, more regular fantasies. As next door neighbors for our entire lives, I thought of her more as a sister than as a female. Well, that didn't last forever.

Anyway, we had finally arrived in Amsterdam. The six of us had dinner and then the folks sent Carrie and I to our respective suites while they relaxed over some drinks. I went to my room, got undressed and dug out the magazine I had glommed from my father's stash. I really enjoyed this hard-core stuff, not the dainty poses of naked blondes showing tits but with one leg over the other, hiding the snatch. No, the magazine I held exhibited raw sex, with the blondes licking their lips and sitting there with legs spread, their hands holding pink cunts wide open, cum dripping off their faces. My cock hardened, hard as a rock, and I mentally prepared for some serious jerking-off.

I still remember my first jerk-off, sort of; it manifested itself more like a rub-off. I lay in bed, on my stomach, at the age of maybe nine or ten, thinking about some T & A program I had just seen on TV. All of a sudden, my cock started talking to me, telling me that I should rub it. When I did, it began to feel great, and I couldn't stop, until, oh shit, I'm peeing. Well, it didn't look like piss, nor feel like piss. It had more of a creamy consistency than that, but not much volume. But I felt so good and so tired, making it easy for me to fall asleep. But something about it made a serious impression on my subconscious, because I woke up early, wanting, needing to do it again. So I did.

When my mother came in to wake me up, I didn't think about it, just threw back the covers and hopped out of bed. She saw the wet spot.

"What caused that, Ned?"

I turned red, not knowing exactly what had happened, but knowing that I shouldn't have peed in bed.

"I dunno."

My supposed ignorance did nothing, because I soon learned that Mom had known exactly what had caused that wet spot. I knew because that precipitated Dad giving me 'THE TALK', all about birds and bees and boys and girls. I guess that Carrie and other girls get the same talk, not much about cocks and cum but mostly about sperm and eggs and having the rag on.

Don't misunderstand. I don't talk like that in real life, nor in med school. I don't say cock, I say penis. I say semen or sperm, not cum, labia rather than pussy lips, vagina in place of cunt, anus instead of asshole. I use the word breasts instead of tits, I say intercourse as a substitute for fuck, menstruation in lieu of having the rag on, masturbate, not jerk off. All those words exist in my writing only, because that's the way some of you like it.

Back to the story. All I learned in reality from the 'THE TALK' was that I should use a tissue to cum in when I jerked off. I didn't even learn that expression until I spoke to some of my friends, when I finally got up the nerve to talk to them about it. In retrospect now, I get funny memories thinking about it, how I thought I had been successfully hiding my jerk-off sessions from my parents. It had never occurred to me that they could figure out the long time spent in the bathroom, the long showers, etc. Well, what do kids know anyway?

So there I killed time, sitting buck naked on my bed in the hotel in Amsterdam, looking at pictures of some lucky guy standing over some slut with his cock in his hand, shooting cum all over her tits, me getting ready to explode — I didn't even bother with a tissue because the hotel supplied a housekeeping department to wash the sheets — when guess who opens the door and stands there, looking at me. Looking at my cock, actually, which shriveled up like a dog's cock when you spray cold water on him. I didn't know whether to shit or go blind.

"Get dressed, Ned, and come out to the sitting area."

"OK, Mom." It came out as a squeak.

I started to get dressed, expecting and dreading some kind of serious trouble. Soooooo, while I dressed, I listened at the door to her conversation with my Dad.

"Its time, dear. Take him for a walk and get it done. And while you're there, you may as well get yourself taken care of; I think I've had too much to drink tonight anyway."

"Are you sure, Tina?"

"Definitely. Do you have enough Euros for the two of you?" The smile in her voice when she said that last thing indicated her approval of whatever plan they had cooked up.

'Get it done? Are they going to have me killed? Nah, that doesn't make any sense, not just for jerking off. But what are they talking about?

I went out to the sitting room, my face crimson. Two faces gazed at me; I tried to read their minds but was unsuccessful. Dad spoke.

"Let's go for a walk, Ned."

"Where to, Dad?"

"You'll see."

DON'T LAUGH AT ME. Remember, only twelve years old, and not sophisticated at all, I knew nothing about the real world. I listened to what my Dad had said and only the Bible class came to mind, the Old Testament, where Abraham takes his son Isaac to sacrifice him. My mouth dropped open, my gut started to growl and I thought I would shit my pants.

OK, the idea left my mind immediately, but trust me, I went through a terrifying few seconds before I convinced myself that I need not expect to be sacrificed. But still, my stomach churned, as nervous as a whore in church on Sunday as we left the suite.

Have you ever traveled to Amsterdam? Have you heard about it? It has a famous section known as the Red Light District. I had heard about it, but had no idea what the name meant. I could only imagine that it had something to do with traffic. Which we all know represents the truth, but a different kind of traffic.

As we walked, it seemed that Dad did not know our destination exactly.

"Where are we going, Dad?"

"To the Red Light District, son."

"H uh?"

"You'll see."

That same answer again, but at least I was no longer worried about being sacrificed.

We finally came to an area of four story buildings with many front windows. In a number of those windows we saw raised shades and a scantily clad woman sitting, backlit by a lamp with a red bulb. We walked slowly. Occasionally, a man would hold a hand gesture conversation with one of the women, who would then pull down the shade as the man entered the building. The concept gradually dawned on me, without any help from Dad; these were whores and their customers.

Dad stopped before one first floor window. A very pretty woman, though somewhat overweight, gestured with her head for us to approach. Dad thought for a moment and then shook his head politely.

"I love tits, but not on a cow."

Tits?

I knew the word, of course, but had never heard it from Dad's mouth. Sure, I knew he loved them. He and Mom had no qualms about Dad grabbing her from behind, squeezing her tits with me in the room. I later learned that Mom was a 36C. Back then I learned that she had super looking tits, and that whenever I saw Dad do that, it would be Mom in my fantasy as I next jerked off. Oh yes, even at a young age, I knew that I had one of the sexiest mothers in the neighborhood.

My cock pressed against my zipper as we walked some more. I rapidly convinced myself that I would probably soon get laid, to sacrifice not my body but my boy cherry to some goddess of cunt. I mindlessly began to rub the front of my jeans but Dad saw it and took my hand away, holding it like a protective mother.

We walked further until Dad stopped below a second story window. The woman there had a harder looking face than the first, but a much nicer body. She looked down at us, not needing a gesture to get our attention. Dad pointed at me and she nodded. Then he pointed at himself and she smiled. Her arm went up to pull down the shade and we walked up the front stoop and opened the door.

We got to her floor and she opened the door to her flat.

"Welcome to Amsterdam. Nicole, at your service."

"Ned, and my son, also Ned."

"Pleased to meet you, Ned and Ned. What can I do for you?"

I shivered with anticipation. I knew I would soon get laid, but I had expected my first time to be with one of the girls from school, not with a grown up whore. I sort of doubted that I would know what to do. And the idea of my father being there with me blew my mind.

"You see before you a young man with no experience of this nature. Perhaps a blow job to start, then take care of me, and then show him how to fuck a woman."

Fuck? Another new word from Dad, that genteel man who wouldn't say shit if he had a mouthful of it.

They began to haggle, I didn't know that you could bargain with a whore, and finally my father began to count out some Euros. She took my hand and led me toward a bedroom.