Guest Blogger: Jaz Hartfield

One-Night-in-Amsterdam‘One Night in Amsterdam’ follows a stag and a hen party as the different individuals explore the city’s Red-Light District. The characters experience the hedonism full on, with most of them embracing the madness offered by the tolerant laws. They get increasingly drunk on both the lager they are consuming, and on the extremes of pleasure offered round every corner. I have visited Amsterdam on a stag weekend, and tried to make the setting an integral part of the story. Many visitors feel out of their comfort zone here and react in bizarre ways. Walking around the streets filled with prostitutes and sex shows forces you to consider your own values and priorities. Dean and Chloe, in particular, have their past, ‘safe’ lives thrown into turmoil.

Amsterdam is a weird and wonderful city, most famous for its Red-Light District (Rosseburt) and the 200 cannabis coffee shops scattered through it. But it is also the home of Philosopher Baruch Spinozer, Holocaust victim Anne Frank, and footballer Johan Cruyff.

In the 17th century, the Dutch capital (it is still constitutionally the capital of the Netherlands, although the government resides in The Hague) was an important world trading post, and the leading centre for finance and diamonds. The canals of Amsterdam are a world heritage site, whilst the Rijksmuseum and the Van Gogh Museum are two of the finest art galleries in the world. The city also boasts some of the best examples of Renaissance and baroque architecture.

Amsterdam is one of the most popular European destinations for tourists, mostly because of the 16 million day trippers who visit every year. De Wallen is the most famous part of the Red-Light District, where prostitution has been legalised. The network of alleys contains hundreds of cabins where sex-workers ply their trade, by standing behind glass doors in their underwear. The area also contains sex shops, theatres and peep shows.

There are three significant locations in ‘One Night in Amsterdam’. Firstly, The Bananenbar, or Banana Bar, is a place where naked women dance on the bars, doing surprising things with bananas and other objects. Secondly, the Cassa Rosso, is a 180 seat theatre running non-stop ‘live erotic entertainment’ with shows involving single dancers and couples – sometimes with audience interaction! And thirdly, the Sex Museum Venustempel, which is a hilarious journey through erotic art and inventions through the centuries, including a Marquis de Sade room filled with the sound of a steam engine hissing over the screams of a never-ending female orgasm.

When you’re sick of seeing naked bodies, and of puffing on spliffs or drinking frothy lager, you can seek culture in the museums mentioned earlier, or be inspired by walking through Anne Frank’s House. Doing so is a sobering experience.

Amsterdam is a city of bewildering contrasts, intriguing culture and challenging experiences. It was certainly a weekend I will never forget.



The three lads spent the first morning in Amsterdam laughing. The Sex Museum proved to be the most hilarious place they’d ever visited. Victorian photographs of gentlemen spanking their maids’ red-raw buttocks, and cartoons of plump Edwardian women enjoying various contraptions of self-pleasure had them gripping their stomachs; their mirth aided by an excessive intake of Dutch lager.

The museum had a Marquis de Sade room full of images from the Frenchman’s extreme writing, detailing every fetish and perversion under the sun. It became a bit much for Dean, turning his stomach slightly. He could see Conrad grimacing and Jamie’s startled eyes signalled the beginning of a bad trip.

“I wonder if this place has a restaurant,” Jamie said.

“Oh, God, no. They’ll have phallic pizzas or Marquis de Sade turd burgers or some such. No, I need to go somewhere very normal after this.”

The three lads laughed and returned to the city centre.

Dean felt happier tucking into his normal shaped pizza and glass of frothy lager.

“Plan of attack this afternoon, boys?” Dean asked.

“Coffee shops,” Jamie answered instantly.

“Right. Jamie has a planned rendezvous with his true love, Señorita Marie-Juana,” Conrad said, in a ridiculous Spanish accent. He and Conrad had happily shared a few draws and inhalations, but didn’t share Jamie’s immense appetite for being stoned.

“Right, that’s Jamie sorted out for the rest of the weekend,” Dean said with a chuckle.

“The only other thing to do round here is to ogle naked ladies. It seems churlish not to oblige them.” Conrad downed his beer and smacked his lips together dramatically.

Dean stood up. “Bloody genius.”

On a road called Oudezijds Voorburgwal, they found a number of bars. The third one they visited had a light airy ground floor cafe area, but Conrad led them downstairs to a dingy smaller room, dominated by a catwalk and semi-circular bar. There were only half a dozen black leather seats either side of the catwalk.

“Welcome, gentlemen,” said the cheerful barman. “Three beers?”

Conrad handed him a fifty Euro note. “Keep ‘em coming, my good man, and, um, something extra for my friend on his stag party. You know what I’m saying?”

The barman nodded and looked pleased with the money. He brought over a jug and three glasses, disappeared behind some curtains, before returning with his smile back in place.

“Enjoy the show.”

Dean high-fived Conrad and nudged Jamie who was drifting in and out of consciousness. Dean had lost count of how many spliffs Jamie had smoked already.

The barman pressed a button on the wall behind the bar, triggering music over a hissing announcement.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” said the disembodied voice, “prepare to be titillated by the terrific, tantalising Tatiana.”

The three boys clapped dutifully. Dean leaned back into his chair; Conrad sipped nonchalantly on his drink and Jamie stared unblinkingly at the flashing, coloured lights.

Tatiana had short blue hair, perfectly shaped breasts and a Brazilian. Dean clapped instinctively to show his appreciation.

“God, she’s nice,” Conrad whispered.

“Perfect,” Dean said out the side of his mouth as she cavorted and writhed in front of them. “Do you reckon they’re natural?”

“Who cares?” Conrad said, watching them bounce six inches from his face.

Tatiana seemed to realise they were enjoying her performance and she began to finger herself and writhe around, shuddering in ecstasy. She sat a few feet in front of them with her legs out in the splits, stroking her pierced labia. Dean nodded approvingly. All three carefully inspected her most private regions. The barman threw her a gigantic vibrator, which she pushed straight into her vagina and continued writhing melodramatically until Dean looked at Conrad with a confused expression.

“Do you think she’s okay?” he whispered.

“She might like a bit of help,” Conrad replied.

Tatiana was beckoning him to come onto the stage. At first, Dean shook his head and stayed put. Conrad gave him a nudge.

“It’s my present to you. Your final bit of fun before being bogged down with domestic drudgery. Get up there, you twat. It bloody cost enough.”

It was too late for Dean to back out now. Tatiana pulled him up on the catwalk with surprising strength and pressed his face firmly into her cleavage. His nose squashed uncomfortably against her chest bone.

He felt stupid standing there and hoped the bulge in his trousers wasn’t too obvious. Tatiana pushed him down onto his knees, which squashed his testicles painfully in his tight jeans. He wondered what humiliation was in store for him. The barman threw her something else, which she expertly caught: an aerosol can. She sprayed white foam over her nipples, and then wobbled her boobs right in his face. Before he could react, she grabbed his cheeks and stuffed a nipple in his mouth.

Whipped cream. Nice.

She then put a foot on his shoulder and forced him to lie back. Tatiana straddled him and started bouncing on his groin with some force. It hurt a great deal. She continued grinding and causing him pain within his tight jeans and mangled boxer shorts.

The stripper put more cream on her breasts and held his hands down firmly as she slapped his cheeks with her heavy bosoms. He felt like a clown with a white greasepaint face. The cream stung his eyes.

Then she let go of his arms and cupped his groin in one hand. Looking up, she nodded and squeezed it in a powerful grip. He gasped out his pain and heard shrieks of laughter. Tatiana was definitely in control here.



Chloe organizes Jo’s hen weekend in Amsterdam, glad to get away from the usual boring or married men that she sleeps with. Perhaps she’ll meet some cool guys up for a bit of fun. If not, at least she’ll make sure her best friend gets very drunk while they all party in style.

Dean is getting married to Tamsin, but having serious doubts. His mates take him to Amsterdam for one last weekend of debauchery before settling down for the rest of his life. But is Tamsin the right woman for him?

When Chloe and Dean meet in Amsterdam’s red-light district, they are immediately attracted to each other. Dean tries to justify one last fling before marrying Tamsin. Chloe feels bad about having sex with someone else’s intended. Yet, a night of amazing sex is exactly what both of them want. So, why shouldn’t they just enjoy one night of fantastic, guilt-free sex?

Available from: Amazon UK | Amazon US | Smashwords

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JazH005Author Bio:

Jaz Hartfield is a writer and actor who loves travelling. He’s always looking for his next thrill, having tried bungee-jumping, parachuting, white-water rafting, pot-holing and deep sea diving. Jaz has lived in many different places; his favourite parts of the world include New Zealand, Kenya, Ireland and the Lake District in England. Having been on a stag weekend in Amsterdam, Jaz is unwilling to admit whether this story has elements of the truth in it or not.

Jaz on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100005224159430&fref=ts

One Response to "Guest Blogger: Jaz Hartfield"

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  1. Jaz Hartfield

    November 6, 2014 at 11:13 am

    Thanks for hosting me, Lucy. Best of luck with all your own projects.