In 1976, I was working at the main office of a public school society, the “Vereniging van Openbaar Onderwijs” on the Jan Luykenstraat. After the Christmas drink, I decided to go into town for a while. I was entirely dressed in black, wearing my black cowboy boots. And under my jacket, I was wearing a very shiny golden waistcoat. At the Amstel Taveerne, I met Rob, a guy from Rotterdam.
We started talking. “I would like to visit the Argos bar. I heard they have a sling,” Rob said. And after several more beers, we decided to go to the Warmoesstraat. When I entered the Argos, bright and shiny, I heard a bored English leather queen say to his boyfriend: “O, o, there comes the Christmas tree.”
Rob and I ordered a bottle of beer. Under the penis shaped lights, we walked towards the staircase and went into the basement. It was extremely crowded. A lot of men kept the cubicles busy. We waited for the moment the cubicle with the sling was available again. “I’m not sure if I’m ready for this,” Rob said. “But promise you’ll stay with me, ok?”
Finally, two men left the cubicle, and we quickly went in. Rob completely undressed. I helped him into the sling, and placed his feet in the straps. “If someone enters, I’ll close the door and stand in front of it. Ok?” I said. One after another, three men went into the sling cubicle. I heard them growling, and I heard Rob moaning. In the dark, Rob signaled that this was enough. “Would you please help me out of the sling?” he whispered.
“That’s what you think, bad boy,” I said. I dropped my pants down to my knees and quickly sneaked inside of him. Rob started laughing and wanted to push me away. But when I started thrusting, his face changed. While I came inside of him, I jerked him off. On our way to Central Station, Rob said: “Did I really do that? Did I really dare?” “Yes,” I said: “You were a wonderful slut!” We kissed each other. Rob headed for Rotterdam, and I went to the Zaanstreek. I had a lot to tell my boyfriend that evening.
At twenty-eight, I treated myself to twelve days in New York. I was staying at the YMCA in a dingy room. Oh well, with some pictures of my boyfriend Lefert and Queen Juliana, it quickly became cosy. During this holiday, I really got into slings myself. A fifteen minute walk from the hotel, there was a large sex shop. In the back of the shop was a dark room, but I couldn’t get in.
Suddenly, I heard a big queen at the cash desk say: “Sweetheart, when you wanna visit our darkroom, you pay me first one dollar, ok?” At the time, one dollar was three guilders forty. So I quickly paid him. And he opened the gate to this exciting room. I walked through the dark corridors. Cubicles with just mirrors. A space with a pillory. Glory holes. But I was interested in a secluded space with a sling. Now I wanted to experience it myself. There was loud music. I undressed and, swaying rather clumsily, climbed into the leather swing. The chains were making a lot of noise. I placed my legs in the straps. With my legs wide, I was lying there, tense and ready for use.
A big man kept looking while standing in the doorway. I nodded and he entered. The door closed. He also undressed and had poppers on him. It was a big, butch, hairy guy. I could hardly see his face. I was fucked to the beat of “You can ring my bell” by Anita Ward.
The night is young and full of possibilities
well come on and let yourself be free
my love for you, so long than, I’ve been savin’
Tonight was made for me and you
You can ring my be-e-ell
Ring my bell
You can ring my be-e-ell
Ring my bell
My friend Lex from the Zaanstreek also got himself a sling on the Internet. He bought the chains at the Gamma hardware store. The sling was inaugurated by an American guy who had been looking for a dominant top. I called Lex later that afternoon. “And... How was it?,” I asked. “Reijer, I’ll call you back later. I’m going to take a little nap now. I was busy for two hours with that boy,” Lex replied.
And my friends from Alkmaar, Jan-Willem and Rob, bought a sling as well. Rob’s parent from Bergen came for a visit. The sling had been stored under the bed, and hanging plants were placed on the hooks over their bed. “Henry, look... the boys have plants hanging over their bed!,” Rob’s mother Wilma shouted. “You see. That is really healthy. Plants produce oxygen.”
In the evening, the plants were on the balcony, and Rob’s friend was gloriously giving it to him in the sling.
And in their bungalow in Bergen, Wilma firmly held the ladder on which her husband was standing. Henry was drilling holes in the ceiling above their bed.