Introduction

I won't tell you my name, or where I live (OK OK... it's Amsterdam, hence A'dam). I won't tell you what I'm doing here, for the sake of privacy, even though you probably know me and you've probably heard or will hear the stories I have to tell anyway. What I will tell you though has to deal with the amazing, hot tranny mess that is my living situation. And some other craziness that involves life in Amsterdam.

I found the place I'm at with an online apartment advertising site. I had scheduled the interview for the day that I arrived, and due to some unfortunate, outstanding circumstances (ie my wallet getting stolen) I took the apartment and moved in immediately.

FAIL.

FAIL FAIL FAIL FAIL FAIL.

THERE WILL BE A SPECIAL PLACE IN HELL FOR THE PERSON WHO TOOK THAT WALLET!



Everything was fine at first... first meaning the first few hours I was there and not in the middle of REM sleep. The landlord and his roommate are older and have real jobs. The apartment is in a very nice neighborhood, it's close to the center, the apartment itself is also very nice - the digs is classy, I gotta say. I've got my own room, there's cable, Wi-Fi, a shared balcony, a nice big window, a rare Egyptian dog from Milan, and a kitchen full of appliances I've never seen before, nor do I know their purpose for existing. I thought evenings would be spent drinking a glass of wine and reading classic English literature under lamplight, or something equally refined. Surprise!!

The next morning my very gracious landlord said he would make dinner for me and invite his ex-boyfriend over, who he said was my age. I thought... OK, I can roll with that. That's not something I've never encountered before. My mind did not immediately scream, "DATING PROSPECT!!", and the good lord knows I need one, because my landlord is 43 years old. I am 25. I can roll with that yes, but that means when my landlord was 30, his ex-boyfriend was 12. And when he was 18, his ex was probably a bag of ambiguous stem cells floating around in his mother's babymaker, or simply nothing at all. It also definitely works in the other direction as well: While x was playing in sandboxes and soiling his Depends, not yet old enough to survive on his own without some sort of caregiver, he might have already had the hots for ll, who was probably having his quarter-life crisis at that time.

When x arrives, I'm a little shocked. Homeboy is tall, pale, blonde, lanky, and a bit childish in the way he looks and acts. I'm not that tall or blonde or pale, but we start looking pretty similar next to ll, who's very professional, put together, and African American. Later, reflecting on these facts made me feel a bit queesy.

So dinner is nice... ll prepares steaks, potatoes, and green beans, served with a decent bottle of wine (rose). Roommate is also present for this occasion. Convo is pleasant and adult like. For the first time in my life I feel like I've got one foot in adulthood. In reality I've got one foot in crazy town, and things are about to get a little insane.

I go to my room and unpack after dinner, and ll/x go to ll's room to listen to music and whatnot. Later ll, on his way back from pissing out his bottle of wine, checks up on my unpacking progress. I appreciate the effort of trying to make me feel included in his humble abode. I notice he's wearing different (see: gayer) clothing. He takes a look around my room, tries on my sunglasses, and remarks that I've got an interesting 'style', and that I have 'cute' underwear. OK, that's fine, it's not like I'm actually in them at the time, they're just lying on the floor. ll retreats to room again, and returns some time later asking me if I want to go to the 'city'. I'm not doing anything that can't be done later, and I'm feeling sociable, having just arrived in a new city which will be my home for the next 4 months.

When we get downstairs, I realize that ll is drunk. He's pretty toasted. x, however, is sober, fortunately. ll then declares that he wants to go to a tranny bar. At this point I say, "Ohhh it's a bit cold, I think I'll go back inside." Especially since it actually IS cold, and I really don't want to go to a tranny bar, and especially not on a Wednesday night. And probably not on any other night in fact, now that I think about it, and certainly not while employing the same mode of transport as wasted ll. I end up riding ll's bike while he sits on the back of x's bike. While we're riding, x says he's not going to the tranny bar. DANGER! DANGER! DANGER! That means it's me, wasted ll, 1 bicycle, on the path to 1 tranny bar. Bad news all around.

x goes home on the basis that he 'had to go to work in the morning'. ll also works every morning, but for lack of better judgment does not heed. I try to give ll a lift, who by this time is pretty fucking far gone. He's talking to people on other bikes, calling them beautiful, which is really awkward when we hit a red light. Letting him ride on the back doesn't really work, because I'm quite small and I've never defied the laws of physics in this way before. Eventually ll jumps off and runs towards a convenience store, and I proceed to follow him across a few lanes of traffic, praying that I don't get run down by a truck in the process. He buys a beer (great...) and a coke (why?). We end up sitting on a small pier, talking and drinking, and I'm actually fairly happy because there's a good chance he'll get tired and forget about his tranny bar 'projet'. Unfortunately he does not, and also reveals some high disturbing info about his truly.

Please tune in some other time (burp) for the continuation of 'First Encounter'.