My early experiences with shrooming were always followed by mornings wondering, “Did that really happen? It was just a dream, right? Wait, is it still happening?” After shrooming more often, though, I wondered if the dream started when I woke. The wonderland seemed more and more like the time and place I lived and the rest was what happened in between my waking moments. Who I was while shrooming was becoming who I was when I wasn’t.
I laid in bed for a long time looking at the ceiling. I had a hand behind my head, relaxed on the pillow. I didn’t think about anything verbally. I focused my awareness throughout my body and simply felt … good. I felt good. There was no reason to move. That was what other people did when they woke. Not me. I looked at the ceiling and felt the feel-good vibrations all over my naked body. Deep sighs, comfortable breathing, alert but without tension. I didn’t need to process what occurred while shrooming. I could feel it; it was still there.
I moved after a couple hours. Took a shower. Brushed teeth. Still no verbal thought. I was able to think “This feels better than thinking with words” without using words to think it. So much easier to relax without words, to remain present within sensation. Sensuality reigned. Every movement, every look, every touch felt sexual. Not sexy; sexual. I had a chest libido, a breathing sexuality that made my chest expand and contract. My hips moved whenever I did, but the most powerful sensations were in my chest and throat. I remembered this sensation existing previously, but the thought drifted from my consciousness as soon as it appeared. No thought could last long while breathing this steadily, this powerfully.
I peeled an orange and stood in the kitchen wearing only boxers. I poured a glass of water, took a drink, and ate the orange slices as I pulled them apart one by one. My fingers and chin were juicy and sticky, a smiling sensation. I looked out the window at the apartments across the way. The lighting of the building suggested overcast skies. Appropriate given my sensibility.
I washed my face and hands with a wet kitchen towel and went to the bedroom to dress. No rushed movements, no stress. I moved to the far couch, sat down, tuned the radio to a jazz station, and listened. I did nothing but breathe, listen, and enjoy the sensations flowing through my body. After an hour or more of simply sitting and breathing, I rose and cranked open the window. It wasn’t nearly as cold as it had been. My face smiled and I closed the window.
I packed my day bag with sketch pads, pens, and colored pencils then put on a jacket and winter hat. I grabbed my lighter, cigarettes, dugout, wallet, keys, and phone then left the apartment. I unlocked my bike and rode toward Bloem. Other than the one smile my facial expression hadn’t changed all day. No tension, nothing. My face felt more relaxed than relaxed; blank was a better description. None of these thoughts were verbal; observations that meant nothing more nor less than anything else. I had found a meadow somewhere on the other side of peace and I was lying in it, the only one of my kind present, my private paradise.
While lounging in my meadow, I passed women, men, and children on the streets. They walked, biked, scootered, skated, stood, sat, gathered, jumped, laughed, shouted, whistled, and spoke. I saw each one of them. The streets canals, buildings, and trees as well. I heard every sound within earshot, felt the wind blowing against me, my muscles flexing and contracting, my legs pedaling in constant motion. I breathed the crispness of the air. Still no expressions, no verbal thoughts. As I crossed Middenlaan on Plantage Kerklaan, I had the first verbalization of the day. I didn’t will it and I didn’t know why it occurred. The inner voice said, “What if every day could be like this?” I felt awe for a moment then took a deep breath and exhaled, another deep breath and exhaled. Back to inner silence, heightened sensory awareness. I briefly allowed myself to think, “Idiot,” then returned to observational silence.
I parked my bike on the rack outside Bloem then locked it. I stopped before going inside to smoke a cigarette, my first of the day even though it was mid-afternoon. Sensations, simply different sensations. Pleasant … mostly. Halfway through the cigarette the sensations became unpleasant so I put the cig in the bin before going inside.
I saw Nina at the table nearest the side door. My table. She was sitting with a woman who appeared to be in her early-30s or maybe mid-thirties. She was very pretty, but Nina’s jaw-dropping gorgeous sexiness overshadowed her. Then again, Nina’s looks overshadowed most women’s. Somehow she was sexy without arousing my desire. I think it was because of the way we met. She laughed so much that first night and was filled with wide-eyed wonder and the excitement of eternal youth. The ventriloquist, the jokes, and the way she looked at me expectantly as I listened. Adorable. I didn’t have a little sister, but I felt that way about her. It was easy for me to be with her because of the way we met. The same with Daniel and Anabel, though Anabel was more openly sensual and affectionate. Nina was … Nina. Sweet on one hand, but, as Daniel and Anabel had joked, she was also the “angry lesbian.” I never saw her angry except when they called her the “angry lesbian." She would get angry on cue whenever called that. Made me laugh. She was more complex than that, too. Worldly and mysterious while being blunt and cocksure. She could be kind and considerate; she was incredibly intelligent and well-informed but never intellectual and sometimes even naïve. She was complex even though she was still so young. I wondered about who she might become.
My curious verbal thought had returned, not in full force, but enough to remove me from the fullness of my senses. Nina smiled at me, rose to her feet, and kissed my cheeks. “Sit with us. This is my friend, Paulette. Paulette, this is Michael, the American.” As I sat, Paulette leaned over to kiss a cheek. “I wasn’t expecting to see you today, Nina. I don’t think I’ve seen you since Anabel’s party.” Nina said, “I think you’re right. That was a fun night.” I sat quietly, allowing my thoughts to lose words so I could feel my breathing and enjoy the space. Nina pulled out her phone and said, “I received an email from Anabel. She met a hot dancer while taking classes.” I laughed. “That sounds about right.” I paused and said, “How do you handle Anabel’s sex life? I know you’re in love with her.” I was teasing, but Nina looked at me fiercely. “It’s true, I do love her.” She softened and said, “But she’s my best friend. Always has been. And she’s always been the way she is, falling in love, full of romance, making everyone swoon.” She smiled then softened into a brief sadness. “I miss her.”
Isa walked over and said hello. “Hey, Isa, how are you?” He was towering a thousand feet above me. “Good, good. You want something to eat or drink?” I ordered a beer and Isa went back behind the bar. Bloem was crowded. Daniel and another fellow I didn’t know were busy working upstairs and down.
I turned back to Nina and said, “So, are you seeing anyone?” I looked back and forth between Nina and Paulette, raising my eyebrows, nodding my head slightly, barely curling the corners of my mouth upward. Nina leaned back in her seat and smiled. She looked at Paulette who leaned a little closer to the table, smiling ever-so-slightly. She continued to look at Nina, her eyes fixed as she said, “I don’t know. Nina?” I saw Nina smile wryly. Nina blushed for the shortest of moments before her expression relaxed and became casual again. She picked up her glass of red wine, swirled it in front of her, and lifted her eyes from the glass to me while nonchalantly but bluntly saying, “I’m trying to get her into bed, but she’s making me work for it.”
My eyes widened and I looked at Paulette. Paulette sat back a little and opened her mouth into a grin with a tickle of exasperation. “Oh, you’re being dramatic. I’m not ‘making you work for it.’” Paulette lifted her glass, also red wine, and said, “We’ll see what happens.” I was intrigued being in the middle of this as a neutral observer. I was internally rooting for Nina, “You seduce that older woman, you horny little sexpot! Just curl your hair with a finger and lick your lips a little more often while … looking at her exactly the way you are right now!” Nina’s eyes glistened with sex. Even I was getting turned on and she was my little sister! Shit, when she gave a look like that there was bound to be collateral damage.
Paulette, meanwhile, continued shifting in her seat, bringing the wine to her lips to sip more and more frequently. She was bathing in Nina’s gaze. I was sitting closer to her and across from Nina so when Paulette uncrossed her legs leaning forward and then leaned back to cross them the other way I saw the entirety of her body language, the deliriously deliberate way she moved her legs and hips, the way her silky and clingy mid-thigh skirt rose as she crossed her legs, the tautness of her quads and the shapeliness of her calves beneath her sheer hosiery, the delicate shifting of her wine glass twisting as it moved from one hand to the other, the bend of her waist then the smooth slide of her buttocks further toward the front of the seat, the shoulders beneath her loosely fitting but stylish crystal opal button-down long-sleeve shirt first rising and falling then rising and falling in a more pronounced way as her breathing became otherwise imperceptibly heavier, and lastly her hair falling over the side of her face as she tilted her head, all of which created an exquisite demonstration of her mature sexuality.
God, I wanted Paulette. If she would breathed on me that moment I would have ripped her shirt open and sent buttons scattering everywhere, diving into her lips so hard that her seat would have toppled. Fortunately, that didn’t happen--we would have crashed through the window behind her seat. To distract myself I looked over at Nina and as I did I thought, “That’s not a fucking distraction, man! Fuck, you’re just making it worse.” Nina was—fuck! She was fucking twirling her hair with a finger and biting down on her lower lip. Jesus fucking fuck, that’s what I thought she should do, for crissakes, but now I was caught up in their jungle heat, two sex bombs with short fuses sure to obliterate Bloem if their lips met. I didn’t know whether to run, look away, keep watching, or dive in the middle begging them to take me with them on their magic carpet ride.
Isa, Bloem’s sex bomb squad expert, walked over, placing a coaster on the table and setting my beer on top of it. In one fell swoop, he cut the red wire and the bombs stopped ticking. I looked up at Isa, desperately trying to control my rage, and thanked him for the beer. “No problem.” He turned and walked off as I shot daggers into his back with my eyes. Fuck. I looked back at Nina and Paulette. They looked as if nothing had ever happened between them. They hadn’t exactly become asexual, but the heat had dissipated enough that I could breathe again. I really didn’t care that much about breathing that moment, though.
The whole salacious scene transpired in less than half a minute, including Isa’s impeccably bad timing. I took a deep breath then a very large drink of beer, more than half the glass. Paulette joked, “Thirsty, Michael?” Without moving my head, I shifted my eyes to her. “You have no idea, Paulette. No idea.” Nina laughed when she realized what had happened. “That got you going, didn’t it?” I shifted my eyes toward the ceiling and opened my mouth, but not a word came out. Finally, I stuttered, “I-I-I-” causing both Nina and Paulette to laugh. I let out a sigh and laughed a little, too. “All I can say is that was the one of the hottest half minutes I’ve ever experienced without any physical contact or attention directed toward me.” More laughter from the sex bombs. “Nina, you’re young and sweet. You’re not supposed to do things like that around me. I’m a delicate flower.”
Nina guffawed. “You? You’re the one who went out with the wild nineteen-year old Romanian!” What?! I never mentioned Vanessa to her. Did I? “How do you know about that?” Nina rolled her eyes. “At Anabel’s party. When I asked you about your love life you said you had been seeing a Romanian girl. I told you to find someone your own age.” What?! “Hey, what’s that supposed to mean? I don’t remember talking about any of this with you.” Nina nodded her head emphatically. “I know. You were hammered.” Huh. “And I told you about Vanessa?” She nodded her head more casually. I looked over at Paulette who had an eyebrow raised. It appeared I was suddenly much more interesting. I shook my head and looked back at Nina. “Wait a minute. You told me to go out with women my own age? Well, isn't that the pot calling the kettle black.” Nina frowned in disgust. “What does race have to do with this?”
I just about fell off my chair laughing. I could barely get the words out. “It’s an expression, Nina. It’s a saying.” I collected myself and Paulette stepped in to help. “What he means is: Why aren’t you going after women your own age instead of me.” Uh oh. “Now, hold on. I didn’t mean that exactly. You're young and beautiful, Paulette—and sexy as all hell, believe me. I almost fainted earlier. Nevertheless, you are older than Nina. That doesn’t make you old. Nina’s really young. Still, if you and Nina got together you’d break all the fire codes in the city. You’d burn down whatever building you were inside by giving off so much heat. It's fucking insane how sexual the two of you are.”
This temporarily allowed me to avoid the catastrophe I had nearly created. Nina, though, said, “Michael, it’s not the same thing at all. Your girlfriend was nineteen. I’m twenty-three.” Girlfriend? Damn, what the hell did I tell her that night? I wasn’t sure if there was any logic to her response or not. “Are you saying I should go out with women in their early-to-mid twenties?” Nina gasped and leaned forward, her hands by her head. “No, a woman in her thirties!” I looked at Paulette and raised my eyebrows. She smiled, but shook her head. I shrugged, a nonverbal, “You can’t blame a guy for trying.” Nina said, “You are such a man.” I leaned forward and said, “Nina, that’s not true at all and you know it. I would love to meet a woman in her thirties or even her forties if there was a connection between us. That hasn’t happened for a while. In fact, it’s been over a year since I went out with a woman over thirty.” Nina sighed. “Well, you do what you want.” I laughed. “Thank you for giving me permission.”
Nina looked over at Paulette then back to me. She was serious now and her voice, always so beautiful and resonant, sang, “Michael, I’m only saying these things because I want you to be happy. Nineteen? That would never work. A one-night stand? Of course! It would be better to have a relationship with a woman your own age, though.” Really? “How do you know?” Nina shrugged. “I can just tell.” I looked at Paulette. “What do you think?” She shrugged. “I’m not invested. Do what you want.”
I finished my beer and waved at Isa. Daniel hadn’t stopped by once, but he had waved a couple times. Isa filled a beer and brought it over. I thanked him then broke the silence at the table. “You know, it is refreshing to talk so openly about sex, with a woman I’d never before met,” as I gestured toward Paulette, “and with the younger generation,” as I motioned to Nina. “I can’t imagine a similar openness in the U.S. between different ages, different sexes, and different sexual orientations. It’s so easy, so natural, so enlivening. Is it common in Amsterdam for everyone to be so open about their sexuality, to share it with strangers or those with different sexual identities, ages, and backgrounds?”
Paulette nodded her head, “Yes, this is normal. Sex is common, you know. Everyone has sex so why would it be something to hide, something that makes anyone uncomfortable? I don’t understand Americans, why they are prudes. Not you, Michael, but it does seem many Americans are uncomfortable with sex, talking about it, showing it, sharing it. It’s human to be sexual so why should it be hidden in public spaces?” She was preaching to the choir. “I agree wholeheartedly. You’re used to this, which is the way it should be, but other than larger urban areas and certain cultures within those cities, Americans are mostly squeamish about sex when out in public--unless they're drunk. The idea of a young person with a Goth identity talking sex with a middle-aged grocery store manager at a local cafe or bar, though? That just doesn't happen in the U.S. Maybe it has happened, but it’s not commonplace, that’s for damn sure.”
Paulette said, “I don’t know how often the scenario you described happens here, but I think it’s mostly because the two hang out in different places. I don’t know, though. Your example is interesting. I haven’t thought about it quite like that.” I liked Paulette more and more as we talked. As a whole, I found Dutch women and the women living in Amsterdam substantive and balanced. Confident without being arrogant, strong without being dominant, intelligent, knowledgeable, insightful, sensual and sexual, witty, free-spirited, playful, and creative. I wasn’t sure if I was simply getting lucky meeting great women or if Amsterdam was just jam-packed with them. I said as much to Nina and Paulette.
Paulette looked at me skeptically, but Nina said, “This is why I like Michael, why we all do. His appreciation and affection is genuine. He’s in love with Amsterdam. With life. It's refreshing.” I felt my heart warm as I smiled at Nina. “See, you are sweet, Nina. That was beautiful.” I shifted gears and said, “Okay, since we are talking openly about sexuality ... I know you’re a lesbian Nina, but when did you know?” Nina looked up diagonally as she thought. “I was young. Maybe nine or ten years old.” Wow! “Really? That young?” She nodded. “You’ve never been with a guy then.” She shook her head casually, “No, I’ve had sex with guys.” What? “Wait a minute. If you realized you were a lesbian when you were ten years old then why did you have sex with guys?”
Isa came by with a couple glasses of wine for Nina and Paulette and removed their empties. Nina thanked Isa then swirled her glass, tilted it over her nose as she inhaled, and took a drink. Paulette was doing the same and after taking a drink herself she suggested a toast. “To sex” Nina smiled, open-mouthed, and exclaimed with enthusiasm, “Yes, to sex!” I laughed and nodded in agreement, the three of us raising our glasses then drinking. Nina put down her glass and looked me dead in the eye, pausing and staring, not with any intensity; in fact, quite casually but amicably. “You asked why I had sex with guys.” I nodded. She picked up her glass and took another drink. She placed her glass back on the table then looked at me again.
“I like cock.” I almost spit out the beer I had been drinking. “Wait a minute, wait a minute, wait a minute. Let me get this straight: You’re a lesbian … and you like cock?” Nina said, “Yes. Why is that so surprising?” I gestured animatedly, absolutely exasperated, “It’s surprising because you told me you’re a lesbian! If you like dick, doesn’t that make you bisexual?” She forcefully throttled, “No, not at all! Without question, I am a lesbian.” I shook my head and tried to make sense of what she was saying. I laughed. Hard. I couldn’t help it. I looked at Paulette and she just shrugged. After I calmed down I said, “You know what? That’s cool. I don’t understand, but if that’s your identity and that’s what you like then … hey, that’s awesome. I just … I’ve never heard of such a thing before.” Nina flippantly said, “I never gave it a thought.” She yawned then picked up her glass and drank her wine. Fuck, if she wanted to be a lesbian who likes cock who was I to argue?
Identity is a strange thing and its stranger still when it comes to sexuality. I was just learning about transgendered identities and as I did I realized that I fit somewhere in that category much more than being a “heterosexual male.” I was only sexually attracted to women, but I didn’t always identify my gender as being a man. I could feel feminine and womanly identities within me, possibly androgynous, or perhaps another expression of “the way I was.” Years later I identified as a pan-gendered alpha (fe)male. At other times, I thought Third Gender captured my identity more accurately. I thought of gender identity as an exceptionally personal affair, so personal that no category adequately contained the nuances of a person’s self-conception. Who can define what it means to be a self in terms of identity? Identity is certainly not a static quality, but a process that develops and changes over time. LGBT has become LGBTQQICSEBCC (lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer, questioning, intersex, cis, straight, emerging, becoming, changing, choosing). There could easily be more added, but then again these are categories without rigid boundaries. Nina was reinforcing that truth.
Paulette volunteered. "I’m bisexual. Most of the time, I prefer men, but … it shifts, especially if I feel a spark with another woman." She winked at Nina. As we continued talking, Nina asked me what was in my bag. I pulled out my sketch book and Nina leafed through it. “Wow, these are great. I didn’t know you were an artist, Michael.” I didn’t consider myself an artist, but I nodded yes anyway. Nina handed the book to Paulette and she looked at it with a seriousness that frightened me. At one point she looked up, an eyebrow raised with a disturbed look in her eyes. She asked, "Were you molested as a child?" What? The questions from these women. Geesh. “No. Why would you ask that?” She responded, “Well, some of the sketches are … extremely angry.”
I took a look at the one she was viewing and it was chaotic. It was a surrealist sketch of a woman with a cubist head, a disjointed and ragged body, and a single breast sagging from the middle of her chest. Her nipple protruded downward. It was red and the redness bled beyond the outline of her nipple, a circle of red with her nipple centered in the middle of it. It was the only color in the sketch and the effect was striking because of it. I remembered how I created it. I held a red felt-tip pen in the center of the nipple with the intention of allowing it to color part of the nipple before delicately filling in areas that hadn’t been colored. The ink, though, ran well beyond the nipple in all directions, the pen more explosive than I had realized. The quality of the paper played a role as well.
Surrounding the woman was a chaos of geometrical shapes and whips of lines. There was certainly a sadomasochistic quality to it, but it was unintentional, simply my normal style of drawing with the added flourish of an unintended effect using a colored pen. Art interpretation is as complicated as gender identity and I thought it was incredibly interesting that Paulette considered the piece to be purposefully disturbing and violent. I had no thought one way or the other about the woman in the sketch other than that she was fascinating in construction, her look bizarre and starkly odd in relation to the rest of the sketch. I hadn’t intended to draw a woman at all, but through the course of my drawing of whipped lines, flares, circles, angles, and the like, a head took shape in a strange way and I saw that I could create something very unusual if I changed my approach somewhat by focusing on that area while using different techniques. I consciously worked the rest of her face and body, still allowing some wild abandon but with much more control and intention than I usually used. Still, I was merely creating a surreal and distorted figure rather than a conceptual message about women, sexuality, or violence. The viewer created those interpretations; Paulette was proof.
Paulette finished leafing through the sketch book. “The sketches are violent and frenzied, but they’re also very good. Do you show your work?” I responded, “No, it’s a creative outlet, a release, a chance to let my mind relax and take a break from thinking about things.” Paulette nodded and said, “You should continue working. I think you could exhibit in time.” Shortly thereafter, Paulette and Nina got up to leave. I gave Paulette a kiss on each cheek and Nina gave me a big hug. “Ciao!” they said as they left. The two of them walked out holding hands and I wished, for a moment, that they had invited me to join them on their possible sexcapade.
Daniel had been gone from Bloem for some time while Isa, Fleur, and a guy I didn’t know worked. The place was in constant flux with people coming and going, a few tables like ours had been occupied by couples or small groups hanging out longer. There were several people upstairs. I heard voices from above me now and then. I ordered a salad and another beer from Isa. He said, “Sounded like an interesting conversation.” I laughed as I continued looking up at him. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it. It was definitely interesting. Fun, too.” And hot. Fuck, they were hot together.
Daniel returned through the side door and put his arm on my shoulder. “How’s it going?” I said, “Great. It was fun talking with Nina and Paulette.” Daniel said, “That’s her name? I was too busy to talk much. They looked like they were together, anyway, so I didn’t want to interrupt.” I shrugged my shoulders. “Neither did I, but Nina invited me to sit down. And, yes, I think they’re together. For a fling? Maybe. I don’t know. There was definitely heat, though.” Daniel laughed and got up. “I need to get to work, see what needs to be done. Looks just as busy as it did when I left.” I said, “Yeah, it’s been like this since I arrived.”
Daniel went behind the bar to talk with the guy I didn’t know. My food came and I ate while skimming my sketch pad. When I was finished eating, I moved the dinnerware out of the way and grabbed a pen from my bag. While I sketched, I thought about what Paulette had said. “If my sketches are so angry then why am I so satisfied by drawing them?” Artist and viewer, two radically different perspectives. After a half hour, I put my sketch book away. It was around seven. Daniel was washing glasses in the bar sink and the other fellow was wiping off tables. I asked Daniel who his helper was. Daniel said, “That’s Frederic. He’s new. Well, he’s not new today, but in the past month.” Daniel introduced me and we exchanged pleasantries before Frederic went back to work. He seemed shy, kind of like Fleur. His English was a little choppy.
I ordered a beer from Daniel and he suggested a Tripple. “You liked the Dubble. I think you’ll really like this one. It’s new for us on tap. Strong, almost 10 percent.” Holy crap, that’s a strong beer. It tasted somewhat bitter, but it had a smooth, thick liquidy texture. I let it sit after I swallowed and waited. “Oh, man. That is really good. Three of those would be enough for me.” As we were talking, I mentioned to Daniel what Nina had said about being a lesbian and liking cock. He laughed. “Nina’s Nina. Why not?” Indeed. Why not? I asked Daniel if he was seeing anyone. “Not now. No one seriously.” I didn’t push it beyond that. Daniel kept his private life more private than most. I learned little bits about him that dribbled out in conversation now and then. I learned more and more each time I visited Bloem. I knew he was American yet had been in Amsterdam for ten years. That was a story I wanted to hear. Perhaps another night.
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