Amster-damn Hot!
Copyright© 2026 by Sage Monroe
Chapter 9: The New New Plan
Romance Sex Story: Chapter 9: The New New Plan - Two Best Friends. One Wild Vacation. Zero limits.
Caution: This Romance Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Ma Consensual Romantic Gay BiSexual Fiction Humor Anal Sex Exhibitionism First Oral Sex Voyeurism AI Generated
Inside the club, everything went a little ... feral.
The bass was heavier now, the air thicker, the lights darker in a way that felt intentional, like the room itself was trying to lower everyone’s standards. David thrived in it. I did too, apparently, because the second we were back on the floor, we both cranked the dial past confident and straight into aggressively available.
Too available.
Like, spiritually shirtless.
We spotted two girls near the bar. Tall. Cute. One with glitter on her cheekbones, the other in a leather jacket that screamed I will ruin your life and your sleep schedule.
David leaned in first, all charm and volume. “Okay, real question,” he shouted over the music, “are you guys local or just unfairly hot tourists?”
They laughed. A good sign. The glitter girl touched his arm.
I slid in smoothly. Or what I thought was smoothly. “Because we’re doing research,” I added. “Cultural exchange. Very important.”
Leather Jacket smirked. “You Americans are intense.”
“In a good way,” David said quickly. Too quickly. “Like, passionate. We’re very passionate people.”
I nodded along. “Extremely passionate. Possibly too much.”
That might have been where it started going downhill.
We stayed. Hovered. Leaned in too close. Laughed too hard. Complimented too specifically. The music dropped, and David shouted something about bodies and chemistry that absolutely did not need to be shouted.
Glitter Girl’s smile tightened.
Leather Jacket glanced at her friend. They exchanged a look. The universal one. The we-should-go one.
“Bathroom break,” Glitter Girl said, already backing away.
“Totally,” I said. “Take your time.”
They did not take their time. They vanished into the crowd and did not return.
David watched them go, hands on his hips. “Okay. That was ... weird.”
I took a sip of my drink. “We might’ve come on a little strong.”
“A little?” He scoffed. “I was restrained.”
“You said the phrase ‘primal energy’ unironically.”
“It felt right in the moment.”
We tried again. Different corner. Different group. Same outcome. Initial interest. Smiles. Dancing. Then subtle distancing. Excuses. Disappearing acts worthy of a magician.
At one point, a girl literally pretended to get a phone call from her mom.
“It’s midnight,” David muttered. “What kind of emergency is that?”
“An American one,” I said.
By the time we spilled back out onto the street, both of us were sweaty, buzzed, and deeply offended.
David leaned against the wall, running a hand through his hair. “Okay. No. This is not how tonight ends.”
I laughed, breathless. “Rough crowd.”
“No,” he said, serious now. “We need to get laid.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Inspirational.”
“I mean it,” he went on, pacing a little. “Tonight cannot end with ... that.” He gestured vaguely between us, then seemed to realize what that implied and corrected fast. “Our last fuck cannot be our bro.”
I choked on a laugh. “Wow. When you put it like that.”
He shot me a look. “You know what I mean.”
“Yeah,” I said, softer than intended. “I do.”
There was a beat. The street hummed around us. Bikes zipped past. Laughter spilled from somewhere nearby.
“Okay,” I said, clearing my throat. “We have options.”
“Please tell me you have options.”
“The girls from the café,” I said. “They were into it. That felt real.”
David snapped his fingers. “Yes. Café girls. See? I told you that place was lucky.”
He pulled out his phone immediately, scrolling. “Alright. Moment of truth.”
He put it on speaker. The phone rang once. Twice.
Then a cheerful automated voice chirped something in Dutch that I did not understand but somehow immediately knew was bad.
David frowned. Hung up. Tried again.
Same voice.
He stared at the screen. “That’s ... weird.”
I felt something sink in my stomach. “Let me try mine.”
I dialed. It rang. For half a second, hope flared.
Then the same cheerful Dutch rejection.
“Oh my god,” I said. “They gave us fake numbers.”
David’s jaw dropped. “Both of them?”
“Both of them.”
He let out a bark of laughter, half-disbelief, half-pain. “We got scammed by politeness.”
“I think they enjoyed the conversation,” I said. “Just not enough to ever see us again.”
David leaned his head back against the wall. “Unbelievable.”
We stood there for a moment, absorbing the loss. The silence felt different than earlier. Less charged. More ... exposed.
Then David straightened, resolve snapping back into place. “Nope. We’re not ending on this note.”
I smiled despite myself. “Round three?”
“Round three,” he said. “We go back in. We tone it down. We act normal. Chill. Mysterious.”
“Mysterious,” I repeated. “You?”
“Okay,” he said. “Mysterious-ish.”
We headed back toward the club entrance. At the door, the bouncer waved us through like he’d been expecting us to come to our senses.
Inside, the music hit again, familiar and grounding.
David leaned close so I could hear him. “This time, we pace ourselves.”
“Agreed,” I said. “No talk of primal energy.”
“No promises,” he said, grinning.
We scanned the room. New faces. Fresh potential. Hope, once again, stubborn as hell.
As we stepped back onto the floor, our shoulders brushed. Just a little.
Neither of us commented.
Tonight wasn’t over yet.
The club kept getting louder, or maybe we were just getting worse at existing inside it.
Music pounded through my chest like it was trying to knock something loose. Lights cut across the room in frantic colors, turning everyone into fragments. Faces. Smiles. Teeth. Hands in the air. Alcohol did that thing where it smoothed the edges of my nerves but sharpened everything else. Every sound was louder. Every touch landed harder. Every thought took a weird scenic route before arriving.
David was glowing in that way people do when they’re drunk enough to feel invincible but not drunk enough to fall over. His cheeks were flushed. His eyes were bright. He kept talking with his hands, knocking into me every few seconds.
“Okay,” he yelled into my ear, “new plan.”
I leaned in. Too close. “You’ve said that four times.”
“This one’s solid,” he insisted. “We just vibe.”
“Vibe how?”
“Like ... chill.” He made a vague smoothing gesture. “Less horny.”
I snorted. “You literally told a girl five minutes ago that her necklace made you think about biting her.”
“It was a compliment!”
“It was alarming.”
We tried anyway. Again.
Different group. Two girls dancing near the edge of the floor. One with short hair, one with bangs that looked very intentional. They smiled when we approached. Hope flickered. Dangerous thing, hope.
“Hey,” David said, leaning against the wall beside them. “You guys look like you know how to survive this place.”
Short Hair laughed. “Barely.”
I jumped in. “We’re tourists. Emotionally fragile.”
That got another laugh. Good start.
We danced. Sort of. The music was too loud for talking, so it was all smiles and nods and exaggerated reactions. David spun Short Hair once. She seemed into it. Bangs danced with me for about thirty seconds before her attention drifted somewhere over my shoulder.
I followed her gaze and realized she was watching David.
Which was fair. David had that energy right now. Loose. Magnetic. Too much.
He leaned in to say something to Short Hair and instead shouted, “THIS IS MY BOYFRIEND.”
Time slowed.
I turned to him, brain sloshing. “What?”