Fleur IV: Amsterdam

It was early on Tuesday morning that Fleur found herself alone in the waiting room of Dr. Edward van Hovens, a renowned psychologist and professor at the University of Amsterdam. Even though her body was still sore from her ordeal at the club two nights ago, she had arrived early, as always. It was a habit she would never grow out of, one that was instilled in her by her mother from an early age.

After checking and re-checking her phone for emails and social media updates, she grew tired of the little screen and put her phone away in her Michael Kors purse. She looked around. The waiting room was small and sparsely furnished, but every object there was elegant.

Tall glass windows on the second floor of the stately canal house let in the bright morning sunlight. The wall across from the art deco couch she was sitting on featured a painting a dramatized sea battle with Dutch battle ships from the Golden age. It was a replica of “The Royal Prince and other vessels at Four Days Battle” by 17th century painter Abraham Storck. Next to it hung an ornamental mirror, which could have been as old as the painting, if the glass wasn’t as clear as it was. Fleur got up and checked her hair and face in it. She had purposely toned down her appearance for today. She wore no makeup and put her long ashen hair in a simple ponytail. Ever the classic beauty, she resembled those high-end fashion models do in their look book polaroids. Fleur straightened her cream-colored turtleneck sweater. She liked it for two reasons: it kept her warm in the cold and rainy Amsterdam winter and it enabled her to cover up any and all marks and bruises.

As soon as she wanted to sit down again, the door to Van Hovens’ office opened and the professor came out to invite her in.

Edward was a portly man of medium length with a jovial demeanor. At 66 years of age, he may have looked like he was well on his way to his retirement, but in reality he was still very active in teaching, research and publications and the thought of slowing down never even crossed his mind.

“You must be Fleur. Hi. I’m Edward. Welcome, please come in,” he muttered, slowly moving back into his office after shaking the hand of the young woman in his waiting room. “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Tea?”

Fleur settled for a glass of water and walked over to the couch in the middle of the large room that her host pointed her towards. She sat down on the left-hand side and put her jacket and purse next to her. The room was exactly like she had imagined an old professor’s study: large book cabinets filled to the brim lined two out of the four wood-paneled walls. Several lounge chairs were spread around the corners of the office, high curved lamps looming over them like predators over their prey. There were stacks of books everywhere. On small tables, on the floor, on his desk next to a laptop.

A big chandelier hung over the middle area that she was now seated in, a small glass table with a writing pad and a small recorder on it stood between her and another comfortable-looking brown leather lounge chair that was surely going to be Van Hovens’ seat in a few moments.

The natural light that came in from the back of the office wasn’t nearly as bright as the rays that had flooded the waiting room, even though the windows here behind his office desk seemed taller and wider. The barren branches of an old oak tree partly obstructed the view of the garden and courtyard behind the building. There seemed to be some kind of small hallway or pantry behind Fleur that the professor had disappeared in, but now returned from.

“Thank you for coming in and being on time,” Van Hovens started the conversation as he handed Fleur her glass of water. “I can’t say I’ve had that pleasure a lot lately.” He put down his own cup of coffee on the glass table, picked up the writing pad and the recorder and took a seat in his chair across from her.

“I think it’s rude not to be on time,” Fleur replied with a smile.

“It is, it is. Let’s get started quickly then.” He flipped his wring pad open and looked down at it while he started to write. “Did my secretary explain to you why I invited you here?”

“I was told that you’re doing research into sadomasochism, which is my professional career. Considering your background, I assumed it has something to do with the neuropsychological aspects of it.”

Van Hovens looked up and stared at the young woman on his couch. He tried to mask his surprise at her answer, which he had not expected.

“It does, it does,” he replied. “Sadomasochism has until recently been classified as a psychiatric affliction. I am aware of the stigma it had, and still has, for many people. Even though there has been more research on this subject, there is still much unknown about it. This is usually a very private subject, can you explain to me why you are here and willing to talk to me?”

Fleur had first told herself the only reason she went over to his office was the ridiculous amount of money she was getting paid to participate in the research and talk about her favorite subject, but there was a part of her which did want to find out more about the psychology behind her cravings. Ever since she received the invitation and had completed the introductory questionnaire, she had googled information about neuropsychology and has taken an interest in learning more about the field. She took a sip from her glass before answering him.

 “Didn’t some research say that ‘S&M practitioners are healthier and less neurotic than those with a tamer sex life’?”

“I believe those conclusions primarily apply to the dominant side of the equation,” Van Hovens replied. “That’s why my research now focuses on the masochistic side.”

“I’ve tried to surround myself with like-minded people for years now,” she started, “but I am not oblivious to the fact that what I do is considered to be abnormal behavior by many if not most people. Disgust, fear, rejection, moral judgement… it’s all been thrown my way. When I read on the subject, it is often, if not always, theorized that childhood trauma caused some kind of mental disorder that leads to sadomasochism. But let me tell you: I have always enjoyed sex and sought physical male attention from an early age. I never felt raped or taken advantage of, I have never tortured or killed animals, I come from loving parents who cared and care for me deeply. And many of my sadomasochistic friends are similar. If your research can help lift the stigma from what I love, and give me some insight into my brain… then that would be reason enough to do it.”

The professor nodded. “I’m interested in building a basic personal profile of you. Background, experiences, preferences, habits, those kinds of things. It’s stuff that was also covered in the survey you completed, but we will go into a little more detail now. If we get those down today, that will be great. The rest will come later. I would like to remind you that everything you share with me is completely confidential and data collected for the research will be anonymized. I hope you feel like you can be completely honest.”

“I understand,” Fleur replied. “And I will tell you everything honestly. I think your research is important, so I want your information to be correct. I won’t get in trouble if I tell you about stuff that might be illegal?”

“I have no interest in getting you in trouble,” the professor replied. “Like I said, everything is confidential, that means I will not share your personal information with anyone.”


“Would you be willing to say it at the start of the interview?” Fleur asked.

“Sure, if that makes you feel more comfortable, that’s no problem. Are you ready?” the professor asked with excitement in his voice. He held up the recorder and asked Fleur if she was okay with the interview to start.

Fleur nodded.

“Okay, then let’s start with the basics.” He started the voice recorder and paused for a second. Then he started the interview: “Interview One with respondent sixteen. All information discussed will be treated with full confidentiality. For starters, how old are you?”

“I’m 20.”

“And as which gender do you identify?”

“Identify?” Fleur laughed, “isn’t that determined by biology?”

“Not for everyone,” Van Hovens replied with a serious expression on his face. “Not anymore,” he added in a quiet mutter.
Fleur wanted to ask the professor how many people he’d had on his couch recently who ‘identified’ differently from their biological sex, but she bit her tongue. She wasn’t going to hold back on her own opinion on the matter, though, and replied: “I was born with female parts and last time I checked, I still had them.”

“So, Female then?”

“Yes.”

“Sexual orientation?”

“Bisexual. I think.”

“Please elaborate.”

“I’m now in something that could become a long-term relationship with a woman, which is something I haven’t experienced before, but I have had sex with both men and women and enjoyed it.”

“How old are your parents?”

“My mom will turn 60 this summer. My dad is 57.”

“I see. Can you tell me a little about your youth and growing up?”

“I’m an only child. My parents had me when they were already a bit older. They always spent a lot of time with family and friends, so I always had older kids around me when I was growing up. My parents are self-employed and were very successful in their business and investment ventures. We traveled a lot. We were often away on trips to warmer countries. Italy, France, Greece, but mostly Spain. Even though they will always deny it, I think they raised me like their little princess. I guess it was their way of making me feel good.”

“Why would they deny it?”

“Because they like to tell themselves and others that they raised me proper instead of spoiled. But then again they always gave me everything I ever wanted and even stuff I didn’t understand at the time was so privileged.”

“Can you give me some examples?”

“10 new sets of bikinis every year. A basically limitless credit card. I went to a private high school. My own white BMW Z4 for my fourteenth birthday, teasing me cause I was still years away from a driver’s license. I still don’t have one, haha. I thought those things were normal, until I moved out.”

“When did that happen?”

“When I was 15. I had skipped a grade in elementary school and went through a fast-track program in private school after that, so I was quite young compared to my classmates when I started my MBO. I had finished my first year and was tired of the small town life and shit going on at home. I’d had my eye on other branches of the same private school that operated in Utrecht and Amsterdam. I asked my parents if I could move in with a daughter of friends of theirs here in Amsterdam to continue my school here.”

“Did your parents support it?”

“They agreed to my surprise and delight. They weren’t really paying attention, though. They had been having problems of their own to focus on, so I wasn’t a priority.”

“Can you tell me more about that?”

“My mom is an alcoholic. Has been for as long as I can remember. Her episodes with wine caused more and more tension between them. They split up eventually, but never divorced.”

“How would you like to describe your relationship with them now?”

“Distant. They live far away and we don’t put any effort into seeing each other more than once or twice a year.”

“Any contact with other relatives?”

“I keep in touch with two of my cousins through social media. They’re a few years younger than me and they are just the greatest boys ever. My other cousins aren’t allowed to be in touch with me after their mom found out what I do for a living. My grandparents have passed away.”

Fleur took another sip from her water and waited for the professor to continue his questionnaire. He was steadily making notes on his writing pad as she shared selected details about her young life.

“Any childhood friends?”

“I’m not in touch with any of them anymore. They all seemed to get other priorities after high school, boyfriends, girlfriends, jobs. They always seemed to put those interests first. And I guess I pursued other things as well.”

“I see. So back to your growing up. Do you remember when you got your first menstrual cycle?”

“When I was 11. It was in my first year of middle school.”

“And how long have you been sexually active?”

“I’ve always been a physical being. Just messing around with boys. Some from my school, some were sons of my parents’ friends.”
“Any actual intercourse?”

“Not until my 13th birthday. I had kind of a boyfriend who was the same age as me. He quickly pushed it in and pulled it back out. I don’t even know if you could call that ‘intercourse’, haha.”

“How many sexual partners have you had since then?”

Fleur chuckled. “I honestly don’t know.”

“If you had to estimate? 5? 10? 25? 50? 100?”

“More than that. More than double that at least if you count gang bangs and escort work as ‘partners’. There was a big party last year where I was tied up on a table with another girl and guys were encouraged to stick a needle into our breasts after they had fucked our ass. I ended up with 43 needles or something like that and I know these guys stopped sticking those pins in at some point because there was hardly any space anymore to put them. And that was neither my first nor my last gang bang. And I have had a lot of one-off partners in the last few weeks.”

“Was that party last year the first time you engaged in intercourse with multiple sexual partners?”

“No, I had done that quite a few times before. It was not by choice at first.”

 “What do you mean by ‘not by choice’? You said you weren’t raped?” Van Hovens continued scribbling frantically.

“I was drugged by this guy I hooked up with. He then let others do whatever they wanted with me as long as they paid him. I don’t think it was ever just one person. Always between two to four. Mostly guys, sometimes girls. One night ended with a soccer team from the U.K. They were so drunk and wasted that some of them couldn’t get it up anymore, haha.”

Fleur took another sip from her water and finished her drink. She put the empty glass down on the table in front of her.

“Why did you say ‘at first’”?

“This all happened when I was on my first vacation in Spain with a friend, without my parents. They thought her parents would look after us, but they were too busy with themselves to notice we were gone night after night. At first I felt dirty and used, but I soon realized it was not the sex that made me feel that way. It was the fact that the guy drugged me behind my back and felt the need to blackmail me. I resented him for it for a while, but also wanted to take advantage of the situation. I was a dirty little slut far away from everyone who knew me and he had the network that allowed me to be anonymous and experiment sexually. I just wanted to fuck and be fucked. Eventually I felt like I was using him instead of the other way around. My only worry was that it would end after a few weeks. I was trying to figure out how to continue this arrangement back home.”

The professor had already filled two pages of his writing pad. He flipped the second page to the next and continued writing for a good twenty seconds. Fleur watched him write. She enjoyed this little trip down memory lane.

“Did you pick up any STDs that you’re aware of?” he continued.

“Yeah, of course. Chlamydia and HPV.”

“And did you continue this after you got back home?”

“It took me a few months to set it up, but yeah. It quickly ended up being bondage and light S&M while on drugs.”

“Drugs?”

“There was this girl who also had been around in Spain when it all began. Let’s call her Megan now. She took me under her wing when he prioritized a new girl he had found. Megan became my new best friend. She knew all these guys who were active in the gay S&M scene and they were always high on drugs. Coke, meth, mexxy, tina. You name it, they had it. We were constantly high on pot and continued using coke to be able to stay up as long as needed. Sundays were so hard. I had to be back home before 9pm. I always headed straight for bed for days after I got out of school. It was increasingly hard for me to mask what I was doing. There were times where I couldn’t even walk straight or sit on my ass. I think I had a permanent bladder infection.”

“How long did that go on?”

“For months. Amsterdam was fresh soil. I liked it there in the beginning, because it was new and exciting and liberating and nobody knew me there at the start. I was still so naïve and did some things without thinking them through. It got me into some situations that very quickly got me from dabbling in a bit of bondage and discipline to harder S&M.”

“Was there a specific event that led you to cross from what you’d call ‘soft’ activities to ‘harder’?”

“There definitely was. I accidentally ended up in the wrong room at a party and a lot of things happened from there. It was the first time where I really had no control over anything. I came back so bruised that Megan freaked out, but it was very liberating for me. I enjoyed it very much, even though I was barely able to conceal what happened that weekend. I was used and degraded in new ways compared to before.”

“How was the degradation different than before? We haven’t really talked about that yet.”

“I find that degradation is mostly in your head,” Fleur explained. “I mean, is there really a difference between licking the hole someone pees from and licking the hole someone poops from? I have learned over time that there’s like ‘levels’ of degradation that I wasn’t aware of at the time. The first blowjob I ever gave, you know, I didn’t know what I was doing, I just copied what I saw the girls do on the porn I watched, this guy was really into it, so I just included extended rimming of assholes in my blowjob routine. I didn’t know it was anything special until a guy called one of his buddies after we had sex and I was in the shower and heard him talk at length about me, describing all the details and calling me the nastiest slut he’d ever seen for rimming him.”

“So how was this party different from before?”

“It was, like, the first time that I ended up somewhere without knowing anyone who was there. Megan wasn’t there. All the people I was with thought I was some experienced pain slut and treated me as such, while most of the stuff they did was new to me. Not knowing anyone there gave me the chance to just go with the flow and see what happened.”  

The professor looked up from his writing pad and flipped the last page he wrote on. “Let’s take a five minute break,” he said. “When we continue, you can tell me all about this party where you ended up in the wrong room.”