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I live next door to a brothel. When I say it that way, plain and simple, I'm sure all sorts of images come to your mind. You probably think I live in some terrible neighbourhood, squatting in a rundown hellhole of a share house. In reality, I live in one of the nicest houses in the city, and that city happens to be Amsterdam; where prostitution is legal and regulated, and entire areas wouldn't exist if it wasn't for the city's rich history of horny drunken sailors visiting its shores, reports news.
Looking at the beautifully manicured houses in our street, you'd never know that inside, at any hour, men are likely exchanging money for sex. But sure enough, my house shares a wall with one of the only real gentlemen's clubs in the city. This is no red light district hole in the wall — it's a proper, high class establishment, where men pay vast sums of money for sex and conversation.
How do I know this? Because like the good neighbours that they are, the owners of the club invited me and my house mates to come over during one of their infamous parties with a hand-delivered invitation, I might add.
On the night of the party, my housemates and I were a mixture of giggles and nerves as we walked next door. We really didn't know what to expect. What would the owners be like? What about the girls, and the clients? What if we see things on the other side of the wall that simply can't be unseen? Well … to be honest, the weirdest thing was finding out literally every guest room had a hot tub. I spent an irrational amount of time thinking about whether this causes mould, and how annoying it must be to clean them all the time.
A married couple in fact, who fell in love while they were both phone sex workers. They come here because they're looking for more than sex — they want to talk with the girls, have a drink, maybe do things they're too scared to ask their wife to do.