"Seems like paradise to us," Rich Hutson said. He took a draw on the same spliff.
Shit, this shit was potent.
He coughed out some smoke before passing it on to his friend Shaun Laymon. They'd come over for a weekend trip to see the sights and more importantly sample the nightlife. Or rather sample the booze, drugs and hookers.
"Ah but you shee," the Irishman gave them a cunning glance. "All thish shit. The drugsh, the boozshe, the hookersh. It's jusht the whashemacallit... honey... to draw in the shuckersh."
Laymon and Hutson had spent the first two nights getting completely wasted. Tonight they were trying to pluck up enough courage to cross number three off the list.
"Look at thish plaish," the Irishman said with an expansive sweep of his arm. Laymon caught the empty pint glass before it hit the floor. "Yoo got all theshe coffee -- feckin' let'sh be honesht about it -- dope shopsh and where are they?"
The Irishman fixed them with a mad eye. Hutson sincerely hoped he wasn't about to throw up.
"Right nexsht to the canalsh that'sh where. Now who thought that wash a good idea? One too many drinksh and... shploosh..." The Irishman mimed a diving motion with his hand and nearly fell off his chair. "...down in the drink wi' yer. More than a few poor pisshed shoulsh gone out tha' way I tell yer."
Laymon and Hutson watched the man's antics in good humour. There were some right characters in these little bars.
"And the shtairs in these buildings. You need fecking mountain'ing gear to ger up 'em. I tell yer, one too many drinksh, few too many puffsh and urk."
The Irishman twisted his head to mime his neck snapping.
Hutson could sympathise with that view. The stairs at the cheap dive they were staying at were fucking lethal.
"And don' ge' me shtarted on the feckin' tramsh! Or the feckin' bikesh. A poor idjit off hish head on boozshe and dope ain't got a feckin' prayer in thish city."
Hutson stepped off his chair. The toilets were calling and he needed to offload some pints.
"It'sh th' plan," The Irishman called drunkenly after him. "They draw in all th' idjits from acrossh Europe, get 'em so washted they can' stand up an' then get rid o' them."
When Hutson came back the Irishman was face down on the table and snoring loudly. He looked at Laymon.
"Right, let's do it."
Laymon's first exposure to Amsterdam's fabled red light district had been on the Friday afternoon when they'd arrived in the city. It had been a real eye opener. They'd turned down a street and suddenly found themselves staring at girl standing behind a glass door wearing nothing but her underwear and a smile.
At that time of day the red light district was heaving. What surprised Laymon were the people he saw walking along the canals and down the narrow streets. He expected the sadsacks with the librarian glasses and furtive gaits; he expected the seedy looking businessmen; he expected the groups of beered up lads. What he didn't expect were the number of seemingly respectable looking tourists. There were plenty of people walking round who wouldn't have looked out of place at a museum or art gallery. There were even guided tours.
The other surprise had been just how many of the girls had been jaw-droppingly beautiful. Even Hutson, who'd come to Amsterdam primarily for the drugs, had been impressed.
"Wow, fuck me, I might be tempted for that," he'd said on seeing a particularly hot blonde.
Obviously there had been exceptions.
"What do you think?" Laymon asked. He had a slight thing for oriental girls, but often wished they weren't quite so flat-chested. This particular girl had no problems at all in the breast department.
"Uh dude, you... uh... know she's a he right?"
"What, no way." Laymon looked at her more carefully. She looked perfectly fuckable to him. "How can you tell?"
Hutson pointed to his own throat where his Adam's apple bobbed up and down.
Laymon looked back... and then quickly turned away, his face glowing as Hutson cracked up behind him.
There were all sorts of girls of all nationalities. Laymon and Hutson stopped in a street full of big-titted African girls. One of them, a regular big momma, tried to get their attention by tapping on the glass with a ring.
"Go on, ask her how much," Hutson nudged him.
The girl had big tits, but that was pretty much the par for the rest of her body. Her thighs looked like they could crack nuts. Grim, Laymon thought, how did they ever get any business? Then he saw a stag party throw an unwilling groom-to-be through the entrance two doors down.
"Go on," Hutson nudged again.
"You must be fucking joking," Laymon replied. He was scared if he opened the door she'd yank him inside and he'd never get out again.
A camera flash went off next to them and was immediately followed by a scream of abuse. A glass door slammed open. They watched as a sheet-white Japanese tourist hared off down the street with a big black woman in hot pursuit. She was yelling insults and waving a long steel dildo like a club.
"Love this city," Hutson said as they both cracked up.
The red light district after midnight on a Sunday night was a different place to the red light district of a Friday afternoon. The tourists, and the crowds, had gone. The only people Hutson saw either tried to sell him drugs, were so wasted they could barely walk or wore the furtive looks of punters in a frantic inner battle with either their morality or cowardice.
Hutson wondered if they'd left it too late.
It was closing time, even for the red light district. Most of the doorways were curtained up, the lights switched off. The few girls remaining had a 'last chicken in the shop' feel about them.
There were still some good ones left though.
"She's not bad," Hutson said as they looked down some steps to where an elegant brunette lounged in a chair.
"Yeah," Laymon replied.
They stood at the top of the steps for a few moments, an awkward silence between them, both waiting for the other to do something. Finally they moved on.
They found a blonde with the pumped up lips and breasts of a porn star. She sat on a chair and looked thoroughly bored.
"Imagine those lips wrapped around your cock," Hutson said.
"Or those breasts in your face," Laymon said.
There was another awkward pause.
"You gonna?" Laymon asked.
Neither made a move.
"Let's check out the others," Hutson said, "we can always come back."
They moved on.
They found a girl they hadn't seen before in a small courtyard away from the main thoroughfares. She was in the corner, her glass door at the top of a small flight of steps. The lamp above her door shone with a green light rather than the UV blue of the other doors. It gave her long, silky blonde hair a greenish tinge. She was the only girl still working in the courtyard and her body looked good enough from a distance for them to climb the stairs for a closer look.
She looked even better close up. Coils of green metal, exotic jewellery, looped around the toned limbs of a dancer. She wore a gauzy white blouse over her plain white underwear but it hid nothing, only added soft focus to the flesh beneath. Her breasts weren't as large as the porn star blonde's they'd seen earlier, but her features seemed softer and more natural. Her face had high cheekbones and combined with the aloof way she held herself gave her an almost aristocratic bearing.
There was something about this girl the others didn't seem to have. The brunette had flashed them a forced come-hither smile while the blonde hadn't even acknowledged they were there. This girl neither ignored them nor tried to beckon them on. She watched them with a haughty indifference as if daring them to find the courage to approach her.
There was another awkward pause, each waiting to see if the other would do anything first.
They moved on.
They found their way back to the porn star blonde, stood outside the door for a few awkward moments and then moved on.
Hutson stopped Laymon after they walked around the corner. It was approaching three in the morning. The number of open windows was vastly outnumbered by the number of curtained off ones. If they didn't do anything soon they'd miss their chance.
"We split up," he said. "That way neither of us will know for sure if the other did or didn't do it."
"Meet back at the bar in an hour?" Laymon suggested.
"Yeah, see you then."
Now should he or shouldn't he, Laymon thought?
He had the euros. All he needed to do was knock on the door.
The prospect terrified him, but it was the pleasurable terror of a roller-coaster or horror movie. Mixed in was the excitement of what would happen once he crossed the threshold into the room.
Laymon leant against the railings by the canal feeling raging hormones mix with the drugs and alcohol surging through him. Beneath him the canal was pitch-black and silent. His mind wandered as he remembered the Irishman and he pictured old decomposed skeletons hiding down there in the dark depths.
There was still the stigma. Paying for it was like admitting you couldn't pick up girls normally.
He suspected Hutson had suggested they split up for his benefit. His friend was better looking than him and had more success with the girls. Hutson was just here for the drugs. Laymon reckoned he was already heading back to the bar to wait while his friend 'sorted himself out'.
So was he going to do it or chicken out?
He had the euros and Rich wouldn't know either way.
He already knew which girl he wanted.
Hutson walked up the steps. The girl with the shimmering blouse and green jewellery was still there. Her aloof expression softened to a smile as she saw him approach alone. He noticed her eyes were deep glittering emeralds. He didn't knock right away. He stood at the top of the stairs, fiddled with the wooden shark pendant around his neck and puffed out his chest. Then he reached out to knock.
She opened the door before his knuckles landed.
"How much?" he asked, trying to sound confident.
"Fifty euros, for everything," she replied. Hutson couldn't place her accent. It sounded exotic, and sexy.
"I'm Venus," she said as he walked through the door.
"Rich," he mumbled in reply.
The room was small and basic. All it contained was a raised mattress on a wooden shelf and a small sink.
She hooked a finger around Hutson's trousers and sat back on the bed. He allowed her to pull him forward by his jeans.
It was hot in here, Hutson noticed, although he couldn't work out whether that was from the heating or his own lust steaming through his veins.
Fuck, Laymon thought. He arrived at the small courtyard just in time to see his friend walk through the door into the girl's room.
He'd left it too late. They'd both had the same idea he realised, only Rich had come straight here while he'd dithered and faffed.
There was always the porn star blonde or the brunette.
But he didn't want them, he realised. It had been the girl with the green jewellery or no one and his friend had got here first.
Jammy bastard, Laymon thought. He'd wait for him back at the bar and make up some story about banging the porn star blonde.
Then he noticed that although the girl had swished the red curtain across, she hadn't pulled it the whole way. There was a gap.
Knowing he really shouldn't, but powerless to stop himself anyway, Laymon crept up the steps and put his eye to the crack. Inside the girl was sitting on the bed and Hutson was standing in front of her. His shirt was unbuttoned and his trousers and boxers were down around his ankles. Laymon watched as the girl tore open a silver packet, put the condom in her mouth and then expertly applied it to Hutson's erect cock with her lips.
Wow, some show, Laymon thought, feeling his own cock stiffen in his trousers.
"Yeah bitch! Suck it!" Hutson said as her head bobbed up and down on his cock. He grabbed the back of her head and began to thrust into her.
"Suck it all down!" Man, she was good. She slurped noisily as her tongue flicked and teased his cock to full hardness.
Then she stopped.
What? She was his ho. She didn't stop until he told her to stop. He looked down at her angrily.
She put a finger on Hutson's cock. "You get a fuck as well as a suck."
Hutson's anger vanished as he watched her unhook her bra to reveal two luscious ripe breasts. She slid her white panties down her legs and then lay back on the bed. She used her legs to corral Hutson forwards towards her inviting shaved pussy. He noticed the bed was at a perfect height for him to enter her.
"Are you going to stand there staring or fuck me," the girl challenged, that haughty expression on her face again.
It reminded Hutson of that stuck-up bitch Amy. She had long blonde hair as well. She'd completely blown him out when he'd asked her for a date. Been a right bitch about it too.
This girl was his though. His ho. He'd paid for her so she was his and he was going to fucking bang the shit out of her.
Hutson rammed his cock into her with a satisfied grunt.
"Take it bitch!"
Wow she was tight, Hutson thought. He expected all prozzies to be like buckets what with all the fucking. He grabbed her thighs and held her in place as he thrust back and forth into her.
"Fucking take it ho!" Hutson snarled, slamming his cock into her again and again. He'd never dare to be this rough with a real girl, but she was his ho. He could do whatever the fuck he liked.
Laymon watched her gorgeous breasts quiver as Richie banged her.
It could have been him. Stupid dumbass chickenshit waste-time moralising moron.
Motion on the bed caught his eye. Laymon wondered if the drugs were starting to make him trip out because he was seeing her jewellery come alive and creep across the rumpled white sheets like a vine.
Fucking drugs. What was he going to see next, fucking mouldy old skeletons climbing out of the canal?
No, her pussy lips swelling out into two great Venus Flytrap leaves.
What the fuck?
Dumbass chickenshit waste-time moralising tripping off your fucking head moron.
He watched her pussy lips open out like a flower and then start to stretch and widen. Like a clam-shell, he first thought. No, leaves, he amended. Spiky prongs appeared at the edges and curved inwards like teeth.
You're tripping off your head.
He was watching two great Venus Flytrap leaves grow out of her cunt.
Tripping off your fucking head.
Hutson hadn't even noticed. His eyes were shut and his wooden shark pendant bounced against his chest as he thrust into her. The leaves were bigger than him now and he was standing right between them.
Where had they come from, Hutson thought?
There were two pink fleshy walls on either side of him and they seemed to be getting closer. Each surface was lined with pulsing veins.
Were the drugs fucking with his mind, making him see things?
The girl's pussy was sopping wet with her juices. The air was full of a sickly sweet scent, like freshly mown grass, only much stronger. Hutson felt a little light-headed. It was hard to think. He tried to take a step backwards but something long and sinuous coiled around his legs, holding him in place.
Hutson put out his hands. The walls were soft and pleasant to touch. The fleshy surface rippled beneath his fingers.
His field of vision was now a slowly shrinking bar. Through it he saw the naked girl lying back on the bed. She propped herself up on her elbows and stared at him with clear green eyes.
"You've had your suck and your fuck, now enjoy the ultimate pleasure as you bathe in my juices my little fly," she said.
The walls closed around him.
You're tripping out of your skull, Laymon thought.
Two great fleshy leaves had grown out of the girl's cunt and snapped shut around Richie Hutson. Laymon could just about make out the shape of a human figure as it struggled between the two leaves.
Tripping out of your fucking skull.
It was dark and Hutson was trapped between two fleshy walls. They were soft, warm and felt very comfortable against his naked flesh. It felt a little like being wedged between two gigantic cushions.
There wasn't much air in here, he thought, panicking.
He tried to push out but his hands, and body, kept slipping on the slick, rippling surface. His limbs were allowed some degree of movement, but he couldn't get enough purchase against the soft, yielding surface to move his body.
The walls pulsed and a warm sticky liquid splashed into Hutson's lap.
Ohhhhhhhh. The touch of the liquid against his skin was heavenly. It sank into his flesh and sent pleasurable sparks shooting through his nerves. Somewhere Hutson's cock had lost the condom and as the liquid dripped onto its naked skin he felt it jerk back to attention in a full erection.
Hutson was trapped and slowly suffocating, but at that moment all of his fears were replaced by the urge to grip his cock and rub the wonderful liquid into his erection.
Another pulse passed through the walls and a giant spurt of liquid gushed in. The sensation of his cock being deluged by the thick, sticky fluid was mind-blowing. Hutson's body erupted with a monstrous orgasm as he spurted his own fluids into the juices surrounding him.
The walls convulsed again and more of her juice flooded in.
Aaaahhhhhh. Hutson was lost in the sensation as the fluids drowned his balls in warm, sticky pleasure and sent trails of ecstasy running down his legs. Hutson came again, even more powerfully than before, his whole body shuddering with bliss.
The walls pulsed again and again as Venus spurted more of her euphoric juices into her pleasurable trap.
Laymon watched the girl thrash on the bed. She was in the throes of orgasm, he realised. He'd seen it in porn movies but never before in real life.
She wasn't just cumming, she was gushing. She rocked back and forth and with each flex of her hips she gasped and pumped another load of liquid between her meaty leaves. The narrow join where the leaves grew out of her cunt bulged as each jet of liquid flowed into the trap.
She kept gasping and pumping and the leaves started to puff up as more and more liquid gushed into them. They were fully swollen now. A small dribble of sticky yellow liquid oozed out from between the edges and dripped onto the floor.
Laymon could no longer make out the shape of a human figure within them.
Hutson was in heaven. He floated weightlessly in a warm fluid. A pleasurable buzz sparkled through his flesh. Around him the fleshy walls slowly rippled and contracted, gently massaging the wonderful sensation deeper into his body.
Completely relaxed he closed his eyes and let himself drift away on the luxuriating waves into a deep, unending sleep.
The girl lay back, not sleeping but basking in the glow of deep contentment as her great fleshy leaves languorously pulsed and rippled.
Laymon wasn't sure how long she stayed like that. It might have been an hour, maybe longer. His feet were rooted to the floor. He couldn't move or look away.
Finally she opened her mouth in a blissful sigh. The leaves slowly deflated in on themselves. They began to shrink, getting smaller and smaller as they retracted into her body until they were once again the naked labia of her pussy.
Of Richie Hutson there was no sign.
He was gone. She'd closed her mantrap leaves around him and digested him away to nothingness.
Suddenly the girl turned and looked straight at Laymon. She smiled and gave him a lascivious wink.
Finally he ran.
She'd known he was watching the whole time and didn't care.
Tell who you like, that last look had said to him. This is Amsterdam. You're just another idiot who's taken more illicit substances than his body can handle. They won't believe you. They'll say it's the drugs talking.
And if you push it they'll lock you away for good in a nuthouse, Laymon thought.
Rich Hutson was gone. There was nothing Laymon could do to bring him back. If he tried to tell the truth he'd only be throwing his life away to a lifetime of institutions, treatments, psychiatrists and padded cells.
He told no one.
There was a search. No one was entirely surprised when they failed to find Richard Hutson. Plenty of young people, drawn by the reputation, tried to take on Amsterdam and ultimately found it too much for them.
Laymon told no one.
He knew the real reason. She lurked in that tangled warren of narrow streets and stinking canals, deadly beautiful as she drew unsuspecting men into her sticky jaws, the Venus of the red lights.