Sexy Time

11 06 2011

Have you been to the Sex Museum in Amsterdam?  I recognize that Amsterdam’s Red Light District is basically one giant sex museum, but I’m talking about the actual Sex Museum.  If you’ve been to Amsterdam and didn’t go to the Sex Museum, shame on you.  If you haven’t been to Amsterdam, you need to go, particularly before this law gets passed.  And then you need to go to the Sex Museum.  A bit of advice before you go, however:  Don’t do what I did on one my and only visit.

For any pervy readers that haven’t been to the Sex Museum, allow me to disappoint you.  It isn’t a place designed to get you off.  It is exactly what it sounds like:  A museum of all things sex.  Sexual artifacts, statues of naked men and women (some boning down…yeah, that’s right, I said “boning down”), sexually explicit ancient drawings and photos, clips of early and more recent porn movies and any other sex-related article you can imagine (within reason, though some defy reason too)…OK, my apologies to the pervs out there, you may get off – just please clean up after yourself.

Is that what I think it is???! Yes. That, my friends, is a penis artifact…of sorts.

When I was in my mid-20’s, I travelled throughout Europe with two friends.  We began our trip in Amsterdam. Our first stop was the museum. We stepped to the back of the lengthy line to get inside (of course there was a line!  we’re talking about porn here, people!), giddy with anticipation of all things porn.  We were also thoroughly inebriated.  It was 11am. Don’t judge. That’s when three 70-something European women got in line behind us.  They giggled as they eyed us and smiled broadly. For a moment, I considered they might be propositioning us, which had the equivalent effect of a bucket of ice-water being poured on my crotch.  And then it suddenly dawned on me that this wasn’t going to be your typical “Watch-Where-You-Step, Don’t-Touch-Anything, Gross-I-Touched-Something-Sticky, I-Need-Some-Disinfectant-Or-At-Least-A-Wetnap” type of sex establishment. And sure enough, as I gazed through my haze of drunkenness at the other people patiently waiting in the queue (that’s Euro-talk for “line”), I noted that in addition to other American inebriates there were a number of families with children. Disturbing, but true. I made a mental note to keep my “Dude! I love porn!” comments to a strained whisper.

After a 30-minute wait we finally entered the museum and experienced a sex education that covered topics our 7th grade science teachers glaringly neglected.  After an hour of stifling immature comments about “tits and boners” (lest I be labeled the “Ugly American”), I was nearly bursting with inappropriateness.  That’s when, as I climbed the internal, spiral stairwell, I came across these:

Matching Loveseats


Penis chairs!  But wait, they were at least six feet tall!…GIANT PENIS CHAIRS!!!!!!!

I couldn’t contain myself anymore.  I ran to the railing, looked down at my friends as they made their way up the crowded stairwell and, without thinking, yelled:


It became Library-Quiet (or at least Sex Museum-Quiet).  My friends and the 30 or so strangers trudging up the stairs next to them stopped suddenly and, en masse, stared up at me, mouthes agape.

And then my brain caught up with my mouth.  Uhhhhhhhh, fuuuuuuck.  Did I just say that???  

What is the definition of “manly”? Not that.

My face immediately flushed and I quickly dropped to a crouch.  As laughter chased me from the stairway below, I made a head-down, beeline for the nearest emergency exit.  My friends eventually caught up with me at the nearest “cafe” where I was already two helpings deep into a plate of browniecakes – local recipe.  It would be about a day and a half before I was coherent enough to recall the painful episode – unfortunately, I failed in trying to erase it from my memory altogether.

So, good people, when you go to Amsterdam, do pay a visit to the Sex Museum.  You won’t be disappointed.  Just try to avoid embarrassing yourself with horrendously ill-timed, inappropriate shouts and shrieks.  As for me, the image of deceased generations of male Sick Puppies collectively rolling over in their graves remains burned in my brain…

Check out these dicks?  We’d rather not.




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