German Sex Clubs

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German Sex Clubs
6. But not getting involved is cool, too
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From Mike Myers doing "Sprockets" on SNL to that one scene in Super Troopers , American pop culture depicts German subculture as anywhere from kinky and intense to borderline frightening. But when you move to Berlin, you hear nada about how to get around the city's underbelly of public sex, and diverse turn-ons and orientations... all set to a techno soundtrack. No, everyone is more concerned with telling you where to get the good currywurst and that JFK wasn’t really going on about donuts .
So when I recently arrived at a German sex club (in Downtown Berlin, naturally), I had to figure things out for myself. It wasn't long before I gave myself over to the laser beams, crowds of glistening strangers in leather and lace, and thumping, heavy house music. I'm not anything close to a swinger or fetishist (though I have a shoe collection that begs to differ); but I learned enough to share with you eight tips for surviving a sex club of your own. 
Berlin nightclubs are infamous for strict door policies, and this famous sex club was no exception. To get in, there are two choices: dress up or dress down. And don’t take a half-assed approach to either.
That’s how I ended up with my whole ass hanging out of a see-through lace number (a first for outside my bedroom). At the door, the bouncer told me to ditch either my lingerie bodysuit or jeans. So, for the sake of good journalism, I took off my pants (sorry, mom and dad!)
Even now, I’m not totally sure what the "dress code" officially is. The website calls for latex, leather, costumes, uniforms, and glam evening wear. Maybe the denim was too casual? But I did see a few women in normal tops and pants. My boyfriend also got in wearing jeans and a shirt.
Basically, the sex club version of Darwin’s natural selection can be confusing. My best advice? If you're not comfortable getting down to your skivvies in front of strangers, come up with an elaborate costume (see Rule #2). And if you are cool with going au naturel, well, coat check is free.
Remember the classic public-speaking advice, in which you just imagine everyone around you is naked? Well this is kind of like that, except that everyone really is naked.
I felt self-conscious in the beginning, like I was stuck in one of those bad dreams where you forget to wear pants to school. But then, you realize nobody else is wearing pants. And after a few shots of Jägermeister and a constant procession of all kinds of wobbly bits, you start to feel pretty at ease.
There I was, just one of many semi-naked females in a sea of cavemen, schoolgirls, doctors, and sparkly fairies. I let go of every inhibition, and danced between a woman in a monkey onesie and a 6ft-tall alien superhero with jewels adorning her vagina.
It was the ultimate definition of fantasy and freedom. And, let's be honest: the best costume party I've been to since Halloween in seventh grade. 
If you ever need somewhere to just take a break from all that bizarreness and heavy petting, the bathroom shall be your savior. Unlike normal clubs there is no sex here, since there are way better places to do that basically everywhere else. There are even stickers on the bathroom doors with a group of dots and a strike-through (I'm guessing that means no orgies?)
By the way, this was one of the cleanest bathrooms I've ever seen in a Berlin nightclub. Seriously, it was amazing.  
There will be plenty of surprises throughout the evening. Don't stay in one place -- roam around and see it all.
I ran into all kinds of delightful, unsavory characters by walking around, like an Amazonian in red latex who handcuffed a man to a cage. She made a huge deal out of slowly, painstakingly attaching various whips to her leather belt before smacking him in time to the bassline.
I've been to sex shows before, but this was something else -- not just a stage performance, but the real deal.
You're in a sex club. So why don’t you go and have sex somewhere!? In this situation, there’s no such thing as being an eager beaver (sorry, just had to). There are plenty of dark corners and couches, but all the prime real estate does tend to get staked out fast.
And seriously, bring your boyfriend or girlfriend to the sex club. There were plenty of couples, from 20-somethings to people in their mid-40s, being totally in love (OK, lust), roving around with eyes only for each other. You could see that the setting was putting a heavy dose of spice into the relationship.
Maybe this is creepy, but that was actually kind of touching.
Herein lies the beauty of Berlin: this is a city renowned for people doing whatever they want, without being judged. If you don't feel comfortable having sex in public, it’s no biggie. Hit the dance floor, hang out by the pool, and -- at the risk of sounding like your mother during a "birds-and-bees" talk -- do what feels right.
A little ogling at couples (or groups!) is totally fine. In fact, it can help getting the engine started for Rule #5.
But whatever you do, don’t make a big Broadway production of it. Don't be like that couple that sat right next to me (when there were plenty of other spots around, might I add) who started grunting, screaming, hair-flipping, and nudging me in the side throughout their ride toward climax.
It only lasted five minutes. But hey, nobody likes a showoff.
This evening spent alongside copulating couples, furry sympathizers, and masked avengers was one of my best clubbing experiences ever. That’s because mostly everyone seemed to mind their own dangling P’s and Q's. That lack of judgment, mixed with carefree hysteria, has made me look back on my night at a sex club fondly.
Well, that... and my boyfriend and I did have a lot of fun.
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Barbara Woolsey is a Berlin-based writer who’s going back to the sex club next time in a monkey onesie. Follow her lewd adventures around Europe on Facebook and Twitter .

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A Visit to One of Germany's All-You-Can-Fuck Brothels
The King George Brothel in Berlin opens at 4 PM, Monday through Sunday, excluding the Christmas holidays. For $135, you can stay there until dawn, drinking and fucking as much as you can handle.
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The King George Brothel in Berlin opens at 4 PM, Monday through Sunday, excluding the Christmas Holidays. For €99 ($135) you can stay there until dawn, when the first street cleaners are passing, and drink as much as you like and have sex as much as you like with Klaudia, Katja, Petronella, Alina, Barby, and whichever of the 27 staff members are perched on the velvet stools or the leather booths beneath the many red lights next to the bar.
The King George is Germany's first flat-rate brothel. It's the sex industry's answer to the global recession. In Berlin there are about half a dozen of them. The brothels themselves prefer calling it "all-inclusive" rather than flat-rate. As owner Sascha Erben says, "This is sex after all; it's not text messaging or long-distance calls."
Alina works the door. She's wearing this pink tube dress. It covers her body like a bun covers a hot dog. When she gets up from her chair, the dress zips up over her ass until she jigs it down again with her fingers. The rest of the girls wear the same dress in different grades of pink. It's like a house uniform. Zipping up and down, flashing bare bum and bits of crotch as they walk around on stilettos that make them look like those fishermen's houses built on stilts—the ones that don't outlast storms or oil slicks. They all smoke cigarettes. Marlboros or Chesterfields with health warnings written in Cyrillic. And everything inside, from the drink in your hand to the seat you lean on, smells like cotton candy.
As soon as I tell them I'm just writing a story, they take out their phones, start eating pizza, and pluck stray hairs from their bikini lines—the same things they would have done if I'd told them I was gay, I guess.
The layout of the building is an homage to the penis itself: A long narrow bar leads into two tight networks of small rooms with wipe-clean beds and showers and lighting that you'd never want to read a book under. Europop plays from tiny speakers, hidden high up in the shadows. I've never been to a nightclub in Dubai, but I imagine that beyond the mirrored dance floors, the Swarowski glasses, and the $5,000 table reservations, the DJ's got the same bad collection as the King George.
"Do you like the music?" I ask Alina.
The majority of the women are from Eastern Europe. Klaudia is from Austria, and she's something of a celebrity in Berlin. Men request her for €200 ($270) an hour. Alina says she's from Napoli and that she misses the sea and her home. But Alina, I, and her accent know her home isn't Italy. It's probably Romania. The same goes for the girls speaking Spanish, like Petronella and Barby. They learn it growing up in Romania watching Spanish telenovelas, and they speak it because it's fun, she says. And it is fun pretending to be Spanish, but in Germany, where being Romanian is the only thing that makes people as mad as kiddie fiddling, it's good sense too.
Obviously they lie about their age. Someone who looks in her 40s is allegedly in her 30s, and the 30-year-olds are all 19. But I guess that's just a symptom of the dishonest premise brothels are built on. The women act like the men are interesting and desirable, and the men convince themselves they actually are.
The men start arriving as the factories and shops close for the day. They're in uniform too: steel-toe boots, Snickers work pants with some gray T-shirt tucked in so best to highlight the arch of their gut.
Erben knows his clientele well. "We cater for taxi-drivers, the unemployed, guys who aren't making much more than €1,500 [$2,040] a month."
Erben bought the King George more than six years ago. It was a strip club before that. He grew up in East Germany, where his first taste of the oldest job in the world was renting out apartments by the hour for a family friend. When the Wall came down, Erben moved south to Bavaria before deciding on a return to Berlin. "A smile is the most important thing in a prostitute," he says. "They don't have to be pretty; in fact it's often better if they're not. What you want is the sort of girl who can still turn on some charm after 12 hours sitting down with nothing to do."
Erben comes across as likable. The girls support the argument. Klaudia tells me he's too kind. He loans the girls money. He bought her a €300 ($410) handbag. But you can't tell the other girls that.
But does he fuck them too? "No," Erben says. "The minute you do that, you're not respecting them as an employee. And it can cause problems between the girls."
But whom does he fuck then? "I do have a girlfriend, but finding someone to build a family with me, considering my business, is hard."
The girls have families, though. Klaudia has a 17-year-old daughter. She picks her up from work at night, and they go eat kebabs together. Klaudia is also a nurse. She's useful to have in the brothel, but less so in the real world, where she only earns €1300 ($1,770) a month. A good night at the King George gets her €600 ($815). She does OK as a prostitute. She holidays in Ibiza in summer, the Alps in winter.
"A lot of the money isn't even from sex. The men just want to talk or share a bottle of champagne with me," she says. "I'll often have three of them here at once, sitting in the jacuzzi and laughing."
It isn't just about sex. Erben's got it all worked out. The average flat-rate customer fucks 2.7 girls. The rest of that time, he's drinking at the bar, feeding coins into the poker machine, maybe even having a lie-down in one of the rooms on his own.
"Traditional brothels," Erben explains, "are uncomfortable for a lot of men. They rush you in and out, and some guys get nervous and can't perform. Here, a customer can treat it like his own pub, and they have time to talk to the girls."
The King George is open seven days a week, but the girls are allowed to work a maximum of five days a week. "To regenerate," Erben says, "mentally and physically."
A woman might have sex 20 times in a night. I can't and won't ever begin to imagine how a person regenerates mentally from that.
The girls leave and come back. Katja from Hungary has two children and is a qualified care worker who can't find work right now, so she's back at the King George for the moment.
Does she like it? "Sometimes, but not really. You're not supposed to like work, though," she says.
Erben doesn't have a problem hiring. Some days there are even lines outside. "In other brothels a girl might not even make her cab fare," he says.
There are more red lights inside the King George than all the junctions in Germany. On a bad night, a girl will come away with €100 ($135). For every euro that a customer spends, the woman make 50 cents. Extras—like blowjobs without condoms, anal, kissing—earn her extra. Because it's Germany and prostitution is not illegal, they will pay tax on that, and their contribution will go to building schools, hospitals, bridges, boots for German soldiers in Afghanistan. Hydra, an organization that fights for prostitutes' rights in Germany, estimates there are close to half a million sex workers in Germany. Two thirds of them are not German. Klaudia the Austrian is as close as it gets. She has a weathered tattoo on her shoulder. It was her first one as a teenager, and it says "Love."
Follow Conor Creighton on Twitter .
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