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About Amsterdam

So, I’m sippin’ tea, thinkin’—this ain’t just a massage, it’s a bleedin’ conspiracy! Like Haneke’s film—“Who’s watching? Who’s hidin’?” I reckon some parlors are fronts—little known fact, yeah? Back in ‘98, this geezer in Soho got busted runnin’ a “massage” joint, but it was all happy endings, no legit physio! Coppers found ledgers—hundreds of punters, cash flowin’ like the Thames. Surprised me, that did—thought it was just pervs, not a whole racket!

Hartstreling

Erotic massage, Facesitting, Anal Sex (depends on the size), Blowjob without Condom for extra charge, Anal Sex (depends on the size).

We ended up walking down the Zandstraat, and I swear, every shop was having a sale. I got sucked into this vintage store. I found this ridiculous hat that looked like something a pirate would wear. I had to try it on, and Jan was dying laughing. I mean, I looked good, right?