El Corruptor

Something nobody tells you when you are young is how much of adult life follows the same patterns you already know from high school. If we look back at our teens and the schools we went to, the experience was not particularly dreadful, but definitely not the golden years of self-discovery, parties, and sex that are the usual depiction of high school in the media. Our memory of that time is a long period of boredom, external duties, and unspoken social rules that you were expected to follow but never agreed to. Later in life, when you meet a new friend who is desperately seeking approval by constantly telling stories about how amazing their life is, you will think: high school. When a group of colleagues is clapping to every poor decision made by the manager and deciding who can have lunch with them, high school will come to mind. And when a group of clicky handsome gays set the mood of a whole party, you will grunt: high school.

For a while, we have been looking for a life drawing group where we can practice figure drawing with a model, a particularly hard skill that we are not good at.  So when we saw that Free Willie,  the latest addition to Amsterdam cruising clubs, has a clothing-optional life drawing event, we felt the call to go. The 18 euros admission fee covers 2 hours of drawing and materials,  including unlimited paper and charcoal bars, which is a great deal for Amsterdam. Most of the people were already on an assistance list, but you can get a bracelet at the entrance. Although it says clothing-optional, many people were naked, and we did not want to be rude, so we undressed jumping on one leg in the small corridor while hanging our clothes from the dick-shaped hook on the wall. 

The venue is small and nicely designed; you can see the attention to detail. The drawing session was on the dancefloor, next to the DJ booth, with people seated on stools, on top of the pool table -officially Free Willie is a naked pool bar-, and the sofa next to the entrance. The atmosphere was very friendly, with most participants in the 30+ age range. The model doubles as a host, leading the session. We started with 5 minutes “quick poses”, but soon realized he was not an experienced model. Do not get us wrong, he was an amazing host and made the whole experience very entertaining, but in terms of modeling, he only had one pose. After the short poses, we did some small challenges that people could win and get a paintbrush; the person with the most brushes would get the highest price of the night. 

“The next challenge is to make the most anatomically accurate drawing of my willie”. Kudos for the bravery of letting a group of gay guys trigger any new and old body dysmorphia issues you can have by looking and drawing your dick for 20 minutes. Until then, despite being part of a graphic gay project, we were failing miserably during the event, so we saw this chance as a way to redeem all those hours of looking and drawing strangers’ dicks from photos and finally win a paintbrush. Then, we tried some shading by smudging the charcoal. Yet, the result was disgusting. It was the model’s willie indeed… after skinny-dipping in a lake full of radioactive wastewater. 

We continue with some two model poses, imaginative drawings, and more small challenges. We felt sorry for the host, who was leading the session while skillfully navigating a drunk Dutch guy who was openly flirting with him and making jokes that nobody found funny. Let’s call it Dutch directness to what in other countries would be considered as being unable to read the room. For the final challenge, we made groups to draw the model -in the same initial pose- each focusing on a single body part. Our group consisted of a friendly couple wearing matching cock rings, a senior guy, and us. We had to draw the left arm, and our group ended up winning that challenge, but it was not enough to get the higher price of the night: a free entrance to the gay sauna.

Once the live drawing is over, the techno music is on, the venue is filled with smoke, and people are supposed to dance. But the place was half empty at 10 pm. We started a conversation with an Iranian guy who was very pleased with the latest bombing in Iran. We asked for a beer to the barman who replied “bottom or top?”. Confused, but not surprised by the sauciness of calling drinks in some gay bars, we answered “…bottom??”. The barman rolled his eyes, already feeling it was going to be a long night, and gave a drink. Later, we understood he asked “bottle or tap?”. More people arrive, some we’ve seen in Church or the sauna, many going to the dark area next to the bar, when we started noticing something we have repeatedly seen in Amsterdam: hot guys fucking between each other, and the rest of the people looking at them and not doing anything.   

Perhaps, we are asking too much of a venue. Or perhaps, we do not know our place in the hierarchies that determine who fucks or not in some cruising places. But we cannot help but find extremely boring the common dynamics where hot people fuck between them, while all the others look and do nothing all night. “I like to see handsome people fuck” says the Iranian guy, “they have the pretty privilege”. We saw the drunk Dutch guy, who was annoying everyone during the drawing club, fucking a handsome guy on a sofa, and we noticed that, despite not being attractive, he was very popular, which brought an uncomfortable feeling: how in some cruising places in Amsterdam, the idea of beauty is linked to whiteness. And we know that, in a moment when social media has flattened everything to the most simplistic definitions, talking about whiteness as a uniform concept is not helpful, because even within the concept white there are differences. But in our experience in Amsterdam, if you are a tall, younger-than-50, lean white guy, even if you are not attractive, you would do well. If you are not white, then you need features that compensate for such as muscles, a beard, youth, height, a big dick…

Let us be clear here, this is not a diatribe against smoking hot white guys; they can fuck whoever they want. This is a call to everyone to start enjoying their sexuality without wishfully waiting for the popular kids’ validation by noticing them. Or even further, to break the unfounded belief that linked the idea of beauty with enjoyable sex. Sexuality is a connection, and a chiseled body doesn’t guarantee that. “Do you know a place a bit more active?” asked a guy from Lebanon we had sucked before. We looked around, an empty dancefloor framed by naked guys holding their beers. “Anywhere” was the only answer we could give. We tried to approach the friendly couple wearing matching cockrings who were part of our drawing group, but they were in cruising mood, and we were not cool enough to relate to them. 

It was 12:00 a.m., and the palace was getting emptier and emptier. We entertained ourselves for a while watching an old daddy covered in geometric tattoos dance alone at his own party, unconcerned with the lack of party around him. Guess we also wishfully look at people in these cruising clubs. When he left, it was our call too. We saw a new wave of hot guys getting undressed in the corridor: big pecs, round asses, 190 cm, flat bellies, perfect skin. Amsterdam always has beautiful people hanging out together. While walking to the central station, we remembered the first time we saw a naked guy was at a life drawing class in Bogota when we were teens, which was a whole different experience from our routine at school. Maybe we should start our own life drawing club in Schiedam. We thought about the popular kids in high school and wondered if they had an Elite sex life, or if it was as unsexy as ours, a time we wouldn’t go back to.

I’ve been waiting for ten minutes in front of the police building for Pepi to arrive. It is a bit cold, and I have been walking around the city visiting art galleries. I am not in the mood to be standing waiting for things to happen anymore, but she likes to do the putivuelta together and insisted that I linger while she comes from work. It is 7 pm. “Sorry, the gossips at the after-work drinks were good this week.” She is already happy. We walked up the square to the Cuckoo’s Nest, nobody was outside.

“Uuu, the bald guy convention!” says Pepi as soon as we enter. The first floor is packed mostly with older men, some groups of friends, two girls -that’s new-, and some young guys standing holding their beer. The atmosphere is talkative. We sat at the bar next to a couple in their 30s who were not the usual type of clientele of this establishment. They were conventionally handsome, more the type of guys you see at a circuit party than an old darkroom in the center of Amsterdam. We ordered our beer (4.40 each) and immediately headed downstairs to the darkroom. Freed from Desire was blasting on the speakers.

With Pepi, there’s a strict pathway while doing the putivuelta in Cuckoo’s darkroom. First, we walk to the left corridor with the cabins. When we reach the wooden seat, we peek into the darkroom, and if the cabin in front of it is closed, we check what’s happening inside through the glass wall of the next box. Then, we continue to what Pepi likes to call the predatory corner, a section with a group of cabins under a bulb, where you can barely see the people inside the boxes, but they have a clear view of you. We continue through a dark section with two cabins and an open space with a stool, and then to the corridor back to the stairs, where there are two more cabins, a screen, and a rectangular brick pen.

“Not even to sell kidneys in the black market we have material tonight!” I laughed, but I get what Pepi means. The truth is, in Cuckoo’s Nest, some patrons rather than loyal costumers are more part of the bar’s inventory. The old guy seated on the wooden stool, the bald guy who fucks everything that moves, the Brazilian guy who never interacts with other people, the arab guy who plays hard to get. No matter the day or time, you will always find them there. A sure sign of a good darkroom is seeing people you cannot imagine having a life outside of it. Does the desi guy always flashing his big cock at the predatory corner stand in line to get his statiegeld and have long Zoom meetings for work? Unthinkable! This darkroom has plenty of those cases. 

It is no coincidence that Cuckoo’s have achieved breeding such a rich native fauna. Its darkroom is very well designed. For me, it should be declared a national monument of the Netherlands. People do not design darkrooms like that anymore. The spacious cabins, with lights that can be turned off, hangers for your clothes, long metal shelves for drinks, and solid wood walls with gloryholes, are a testament to other times. Yet, it is a pity that in such an inviting space, there is not much sex happening tonight.  Well, at least for most of us, Pepi is already on her knees sucking a naked guy covering his face with his hair. I will never understand how she does it. “Just go for it, be yourself!” she told me once at the naked beach in The Hague. But for me, cruising is more of a telepathy game than being comfortable in your own skin. I don’t speak cruising, and unless the other person is giving clear, almost physical cues, I don’t get the hint

Often, if sex is off the table, you can easily talk with someone you wouldn’t meet anywhere else. I tried to start a conversation with the guy seated next to me on the bench in front of the darkroom, but I only got back smiles from him. It took me a while to realize he was deaf. Suddenly, a chubby guy decided to start sensually dancing for me to the rhythm of Leigh Howlett’s remix of Holding on by Michael Watford. He opened his mouth and moved his tongue side to side while walking backwards until disappearing into the darkroom. Although flamboyant, I guess that’s the type of signs I get. I could barely decide if I was amazed or horrified when I heard a voice with a thick Spanish accent saying “Not my type…. Not my type….. Not my type!”. It came from a tall guy holding a beer while pointing to everybody who crossed his path. My deaf fella was moaning somewhere in a cabin, and I envy that he couldn’t hear the comments of the entitled pricks that seem to be invading gay spaces lately. 

I decided to walk again. I saw a shirtless Pepi stealing a dick that someone else was sucking. The couple of handsome guys we saw at the bar upstairs were now in an open box, putting on a show for everybody to see. Thick beards, toned bodies, Calvin Klein briefs, perfectly shaved pubes. Unfortunately, there was not much to see. Soon, I made friends with a Romanian guy who showed me a handwritten sign in one of the cabins’ ceilings: SUGE PULA, suck dick. Did someone bring paint and brushes into the darkroom? Eventually, I managed to hook up wth an indian guy. “It’s my first time here. Why is everybody walking?” “It’s the putivuelta” I answered. He looked at me confused, and I explained to him that most people were expecting the fuck of their life to come walking down the stairs next. “You are bad at sucking dick” he said after he came. “I am sorry, I am not the fuck of your life!” When I went to the bathroom to freshen up, I realized that he not only insulted my skills but also gave me a hickey. I guess it’s dickhead night at the Cuckoo’s Nest.

I went looking for Pepi to say goodbye. The same people we saw when we arrived were in the same formation, still not interacting with each other. I finally found her being the Lucky Pierre of the hot circuit couple. I pushed myself between her audience and waved goodbye to her. She sent me kisses with her right hand while keeping up the show. What a blessing to have extrovert sluts like Pepi in this world, or we wouldn’t have anything to comment on from the darkrooms. When I was leaving, I saw a DJ at the bar playing for an audience of 5 people. It is almost eleven, and the other sleazier and more naked bars in the city are opening, triggering a migration of all the guys who are still looking for the fuck of their life, that one that would make all the time waiting, all the steps walked, worth it.