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As I walked into the city on the main street, Damrak, leading directly from Amsterdam's central train station, I nervously fingered the folded e-mail I'd been carrying tucked in my wallet for the past month and a half. Damrak changed into Rokin, and at the end of canal off the Amstel River, I made a right onto Heiligeweg.

I had thought of this possibility on and off for the whole cruise down the Rhine from Mainz to Amsterdam, but I hadn't really taken the chance it would work out as having the whisper of a prayer. We were at the end of our cruise and—magically—the opportunity had just clicked into place. We had a free afternoon in Amsterdam; our ship was docked right next to the Central Station, well within walking distance of the center of the city; and my wife had declared that she was off on a shopping spree with other women from the cruise and that I jolly well could find something to entertain myself for the afternoon.

Little did she know just how right she was.

I hadn't had an encounter with another man the entire two weeks of the voyage, and I was pent up with confused urges—I wanted to take someone and at the same time I also wanted to be taken. I'd been cooped up on a luxury river boat with a gaggle of aging widows too long. I needed release. And now all of the opportunities had fallen into place.

I passed the Bloemen Markt—the area of the morning wholesale flower ...

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