Feel The Magic

Even porn gets boring after a while, especially when you’re surrounded by it. I’d been working in a sex shop in the red light district of Amsterdam for six months, and feeling like I never wanted to see a close up insertion again as long as I lived, when my boss started telling me about a show that I “had to see.”

He spoke about it in whispers, refusing to give me any details, only that it was “something special” and he knew I would be interested.

“Come on, Ray,” I sighed. “I had my fill of live sex shows when I moved out here. These days I’d be happier with a Val Kilmer movie.”

“No, no, it is nothing like that,” he said, smiling. “Just go along.”

I looked him in the eye suspiciously. “It’s not midgets again, is it?”

The smile disappeared and he shook his head vehemently. “I tell you it is nothing like that!”

“What, then? Amputees? Animals? Auto-fellatio?” I was mentally debating whether to try and come up with another perverse act starting with A, or move on to B, when Ray slammed his hand down on the counter.

“Stop making the jokes! It is nothing like that! Not a sex show! You should go! I am telling you to go!”

I backed away from the counter slightly. It was rare to see Ray get this excited about anything. “Okay, I’ll go. When is it?”

He grinned at me “Next show is tonight.”


After I finished my shift, I walked round the corner to a small side street, and knocked on the unmarked door that Ray had described to me. The door opened slightly and a young Algerian man peered out. “Yes?”

I coughed and said, “Ray sent me.” He stepped back from the door and allowed me in, then led me down a corridor to a small room with a stage at one side. There was an audience of around thirty and a few more empty chairs. I sat in one near the back, away from the stage.

The Algerian asked me if I wanted anything to drink. When I asked for a beer he shook his head and said “I’m afraid there is no alcohol served here, but we do have a fine selection of milkshakes.” He listed a variety of exotic flavours ranging from peanut butter to espresso, but I was too confused to make a choice and asked for a glass of water, which he brought out to me five minutes later.

Suddenly the lights dimmed and I realised that the show was about to start. I turned my attention to the stage. By now I was beginning to feel slightly queasy. The curtains pulled back and revealed a man stood in the middle of the stage. He was wearing a skimpy blue costume, and had some kind of weird cat makeup on. I started worrying that it was going to be some kind of animal fetish show, but then the man on stage pulled out a sword with a glowing red emblem at the hilt and I realised who he was meant to be.

It was Lion-o from the ThunderCats. Suddenly the theme song from the cartoon started playing, and he was joined on stage by Tygra, Panthro and Cheetara. Over the next hour and a half, these four actors, and several more, acted out an epic tale of the ThunderCats and their conflict against the evil Mumm-Ra. It was amazing. This show, that I had not seen for almost twenty years, but had been such a huge part of my childhood, had suddenly come alive in front of me, in the most wonderful manner. I was overcome with nostalgia, and felt my eyes begin to well up.


Later, as I was leaving, the Algerian took me aside. “We must stay quiet about this, yes? For legal reasons.” He looked around quickly, then back to me. “Otherwise, there may be cease and desist letters!” I assured him I would remain silent about it and made my way out onto the street.

Outside everything seemed different. The air seemed fresher, the lights brighter. I had been feeling run down lately, getting bored of Amsterdam, of the red light district, and even of life, but now everything seemed better.

“ThunderCats – Ho!”

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