The View From My Window

The View from My Window

By westcountryboy

Author's Note

This is my first attempt at writing something for Literotica. It is a true story up to when I saw the two ladies outside my hotel for the second time. From that point on the story is sadly only wishful thinking. That said, I've little doubt that, had I taken advantage of the situation at the time, there's every chance that things might have worked out pretty much as described.

It is written in British English with British spelling (I am British after all) in which 'pavement' refers to what Americans would call the sidewalk.

Finally, enormous thanks to Bad Hobbit not only for his amazing editorial skills but also for his invaluable advice.

*****

A few years ago, not long before the Covid pandemic struck and put a stop to so many things, I was in Berlin for an academic conference and, not for the first time, had arranged to stay for a couple of days and nights extra after the conference had finished to have some time to myself in what is one of my favourite cities in all the world.

Not for the first time, I had booked myself into a medium-priced hotel on the Potsdamer Strasse, one of the busy main routes running southwest from the city centre and close to its junction with Kurfürstenstrasse, not to be confused with the much better known Kurfürstendamm. The latter is one of the most prestigious avenues in the upmarket Charlottenburg district with its expensive shops and other attractions. The former on the other hand is a quiet side street off Potsdamer Strasse, one of Berlin's main north-south arteries, in the decidedly down-market district of Kreuzberg. It is also notorious as one of Europe's busiest centres of street prostitution and of course my reason for choosing to stay nearby.

Friday was the last full day of the conference. The farewell dinner at a traditional German restaurant in the Tiergarten had ended shortly after ten o'clock and I was on my way back to my hotel. I had had a long day. I was tired, short of money and needed to sleep but, naturally, that didn't stop me from going by way of Kurfürstenstrasse, if only to see what action there might be there that night.

Although the street is very long, it is only the first four to five hundred yards from its junction with Potsdamer Strasse which is street-walking territory. The trashier - and cheaper - tarts tend to cluster at the further end near a set of advertising hoardings screening off a piece of unbuilt-on land while the better-quality merchandise is generally found nearer to the main avenue itself.

It was the rougher part I decided to check out first, teeming as it was with scantily clad cunt for sale that warm summer's evening.

There were so many to choose from. Most were in their early to mid-twenties, although there were a few older ones and practically all were wearing skimpy shorts or micro miniskirts with revealing tops. Several approached me hoping for business although none was in any way aggressive, and I was easily able to indicate that I wasn't interested.

One especially slutty girl took my attention. She appeared to be no more than 18 or 19 years old with waist-length blonde hair, sporting white shorts cut high on the hip, a red crop top, bare midriff, and white ankle boots. She was actually quite striking and for a split second, I thought - indeed I hoped - she was going to come over to speak to me. However, at the last moment, she veered away to accost a fifty-ish gent in work overalls.

Slightly disappointed, I watched her hold a brief conversation with the guy after which the two of them made a beeline through a gap in the advertising hoardings and disappeared.

The following morning in the cold light of day, the street newly washed and not a prostitute in sight, I ventured a look behind those hoardings. It was derelict land strewn with rubble, broken beer bottles, empty cans and assorted rubbish, together with a sea of used condoms. It was quite frankly disgusting and I cannot imagine how people could have had sex there. There was nowhere to lie down and I can only suppose that the girls did their business standing up and/or leaning against the back of the hoardings.

However, I didn't know any of that at the time.

Curiosity satisfied, I retraced my steps to sus out the available talent at the more upmarket end of the street. This was a considerable improvement. Although the offerings here were generally as blatantly and as provocatively dressed as their coworkers further along the street, they were undeniably more attractive and consequently able to command higher prices.

Some thirty or forty girls were plying their trade that evening along this part of Kurfürstenstrasse. Most were young, mid-to late-twenties at most, and were either lounging between parked cars or, more often, sauntering up and down, either on the pavement or in the road itself, doing their best to make themselves as visible and as enticing as possible.

Certainly, there were plenty who, I thought, were good-looking and sexy enough to warrant an inexpensive punt and one young woman in particular caught my eye.

She was a pretty brunette of about twenty-two or three and stood out because of the pale lilac matching wraparound linen miniskirt and open bolero jacket she was wearing. The effect was both smart and sexy at the same time and, instead of tottering around in the sky-scraping fuck-me high heels favoured by many of her colleagues, she wore a simple pair of white canvas shoes, allowing her to appear both more comfortable and more relaxed than most of the competition.

She walked slowly towards me in the middle of the road and I moved to intercept her.

"Hello," I said. "Do you speak English?"

"Yes, of course," she replied. "Do you want to come with me?"

"How much?"

"Twenty euros for a suck and forty for a fuck."

This was incredibly cheap but, as I was to read later, the norm for Kurfürstenstrasse, due no doubt to oversupply in what was self-evidently a buyers' market.

"Where would we go?" I asked.

"Over there, behind the sex shop. They have private booths. It costs five euros to get in."

That's something else I read about subsequently. It seems that the normal sex-video-cum-wanking booths underneath what is one of the largest sex shops in Berlin are accessed at night through a turnstile opened by inserting five euros into a slot.

"I don't have any money at the moment," I told her, "Will you be here tomorrow?"

"Yes, but not on Sunday. I'm going home to Hungary then but I'll be back next month."

I thanked her. She smiled nicely and wandered off in search of better pickings while I returned to my hotel a few minutes away

I thought she was very pretty. She had a good figure and nice legs, shown to perfection under her miniskirt. I both liked and fancied her and resolved to go back the next night to pay to have sex with her.

The hotel I had chosen was only a few minutes away on Potsdamer Strasse itself and when I arrived back there, I was surprised to see two obvious prostitutes waiting for customers directly in front of the building. As I approached the entrance with my electronic key card in my hand (the hotel reception was closed at night) they looked at me curiously but neither said anything, although I did nod pleasantly at them by way of acknowledgement.

As I let myself into my room, I realised that the two women must be standing on the pavement immediately below my bedroom window, so the first thing I did when I got into the room was to check. And it was true. The street outside was brilliantly lit, both girls were there directly below me, and from my vantage point two floors up, l could see them clearly.

I hadn't properly noticed them before, but now I could see that they were surprisingly similar. They were both in their late thirties or perhaps early forties, of medium height, reasonably slim with good figures and both were wearing indecently short skirts, showing a lot of leg. The dark-haired one's red skirt tightly encasing her bottom matched her fuck-me type shoes and was paired with a well-filled frilly white blouse, while the blonde was in a bright green skirt - again a shade too tight - with a lowcut, off-the-shoulder black top and yellow high-heeled shoes.

Both women had bags slung over their shoulders and the overall impression (which was the intention of course) was that they were tarts, albeit not unattractive ones. I didn't particularly fancy either of them myself but plenty of other men would have done.

All thought of sleep now gone, I turned off the light so that they wouldn't be able to see me should either of them look up (although they never did), drew back the curtains and, pulling a chair close to the window, settled down to watch what if anything was to happen.

And happen it did.

Within minutes, a car with two men in the front drew up alongside Frilly Blouse who was directly

underneath my window (Yellow Shoes was a little off to the right) and she went to talk to them. Evidently the negotiation was successful since, after a brief conversation, she got into the back of the car and they drove off.

Seconds later a man in another car stopped to call out something to Yellow Shoes who, obviously not liking what she heard, turned away disdainfully, clearly indicating that she wasn't interested.

But this was the exception. Almost every other car that stopped, usually with a single man in it but sometimes two or three - and there seemed to be one every few minutes or so - resulted in at least a conversation. It wasn't long before an agreement was made and she too was driven away to consummate the deal.

By now Frilly Blouse had returned from having presumably consummated her own earlier deal, only to be almost immediately snapped up by another punter and whisked off to whatever convenient spot ladies like her went to provide the service her customers were paying for.

Business was pretty steady for the next couple of hours or so, although Frilly Blouse did seem to be the more popular, even, on one occasion, going off with four men in the same car. She was away much longer than usual so I could only suppose she earned her money that time. Perhaps she gave them a discount for quantity.

Her colleague saw quite a bit of action too, although she twice returned from an assignation on foot carrying her high heels in her hand, presumably having been unceremoniously dumped rather than having been brought back by car in a civilised manner. In fact, from time to time I had seen both girls slip off their shoes in quiet periods to be more comfortable in bare feet, only quickly to put them back on again whenever they sensed a potential customer coming.

I watched all this for more than two hours during which time Yellow Shoes got into five or six different cars and Frilly Blouse rather more. I didn't know what they were charging. I guessed it would be a bit more than the K'strasse norm of forty euros, but whatever it was it must have been profitable.

By now things had quietened down. There were fewer cars and even fewer with serious potential customers, and more often now with two or three drunken young men who just slowed to get a good look at the two women before driving on without stopping.

In short, it was time for me to go to bed, although I found it difficult to get off to sleep, excited as I was, not only by what I had seen from my window but also by the thought of the young Hungarian woman and what I hoped to do with and to her when - hopefully - I saw her again the next evening.

The conference ended at lunchtime the following day and, while other participants departed for their homes, stations or to the airport, I returned to my hotel to have a nap, change into more comfortable clothes, and hit the town determined to make the most of the upcoming weekend in Berlin.

I spent most of the afternoon and early evening wandering about the big city visiting old haunts, finishing with a really good meal of sausage and sauerkraut (which I love) in a Bavarian restaurant I knew washed down with a couple of steins of excellent German beer.

It was a little after nine when I left the restaurant, which gave me plenty of time to walk to Kurfürstenstrasse to look for the Hungarian girl. I didn't want to get there too early since I knew from previous visits that, although it was a 24-hour operation, things didn't get going properly there much before ten in the evening. While earlier in the day there might be as few as a dozen girls working, at nighttime and especially at weekends, there could often be as many as a hundred.

Certainly, there were plenty of pickings that particular evening, several of whom on another occasion I would find quite acceptable but I was set on finding - and fucking - the Hungarian lady I had met the previous day. However, I couldn't see her anywhere so, supposing either that she hadn't yet arrived or was perhaps servicing some lucky guy in one of the booths behind the sex shop, I decided to kill the time by strolling up and down the road in the hope that she might in due course appear.

As I wandered the length of Kurfürstenstrasse, naturally I approached, or was approached by, several of the ladies working the street. Most were friendly enough and happy to exchange a few words although some were a bit aggressive when they realised that I wasn't interested. Their prices were uniformly the same and cheap enough at twenty euros for a blowjob and forty for full sex either in one of the sex shop booths or behind the advertising hoarding at the other end of the street.

But I wanted the Hungarian girl so I retraced my steps back to where I had first seen her near the junction with Potsdamer Strasse.

About halfway back, a woman old enough to be my mother - she wouldn't have been a day under sixty, maybe older - deliberately stepped in front of me, forcing me to stop. She said something to me in German, obviously offering me sex, to which I politely replied "Nein danke" and made to move around her. She immediately side-stepped me, again preventing me from walking on, and repeating her offer which once again I declined, albeit rather more forcefully this time.

But she was having none of it and, still blocking my way, reached for my crotch and through the fabric of my thin summer trousers took a firm hold of my testicles. I shouted 'NEIN!' loud enough for half the street to hear while trying to pull her hand away. For some moments she resisted but then, with an evil look and what I took to be an angry and probably insulting comment, not to mention a final squeeze of my balls, I was released.

The altercation had drawn several amused and sympathetic looks from a number of other ladies in the street. A bit shaken, I crossed the road for a restorative coffee at the little café opposite the sex shop. I found an unoccupied table next to one with two pretty young whores in shorts and skimpy tops obviously on a break. Smiling, the one nearest to me raised her eyebrows by way of enquiry but I declined with a polite shake of my head. In other circumstances, I might have been tempted but my balls were still tender after my recent encounter, and in any case, I preferred to continue keeping a lookout for the lady from Hungary.

I guess I stayed there with my coffee for the better part of half an hour during which the two girls returned to their beat with a friendly nod in my direction but there was still no sign of the Hungarian girl. Given that it was now around midnight and she still hadn't made an appearance, I realised that I had no choice but to give it up as a bad job and return to my hotel disappointed. At least, I thought, I would have the compensation of being able to watch the two prostitutes again from my window. Always assuming they were still there, of course.

They were.

Frilly Blouse and Yellow Shoes. Right in front of my hotel entrance exactly as I had last seen them. They were even wearing the same outfits as before.

They were friendlier than last time though, Frilly Blouse saying "Hallo," and Yellow Shoes "guten Abend," as I let myself in through the door.

Once back in my room, still disappointed that I had missed out on the pretty Hungarian girl, I briefly considered going back to Kurfürstenstrasse to try my luck with someone else.

But then it struck me. There was no need to do any such thing. In a blinding glimpse of the obvious, as my old professor used to say, I suddenly realised that only feet away there were two perfectly good sex workers and that it would only be a matter of a minute to ask one to have sex with me. I simply didn't know why it hadn't occurred to me before.

There being no time like the present, and after a quick glance around the room to make sure that everything was in order, I took the lift to the ground floor and let myself out into the street.

Frilly Blouse was clearly surprised to see me and even more surprised when I went up to speak to her. Yellow Shoes too was surprised and looked on curiously as I opened the conversation with her colleague.

"Hello," I said. "Do you speak English?"

"Yes, a little, aber mein Deutsch ist besser."

"Um..." I said suddenly nervous, "Do you, can you, I mean..."

'Just come straight out with it,' my inner voice told me.

"How much for sex? Wie viel für Sex?"

"Thirty euro for suck, sixty für fuck, ein hundert für Anal," said she half in broken English (although she pronounced it "Aaanal"), about half as much again as around the corner in K"strasse but a bargain nonetheless.

"How much for one hour? Eine Stunde, in my hotel Zimmer?" My German was as bad as her English.

She seemed thoroughly nonplussed at that. I guess she wasn't used to one-hour bookings let alone indoor ones. A quick fifteen minutes in the back of a car or up against a tree in a secluded park would more likely have been the norm for her.

"I'll give you a hundred and fifty," I said, repeating for emphasis, "Hundert fünzig euro für eine Stunde."

"OK," she said (that at least is international).

In the lift on the way up to my floor, I looked at her more closely. She was younger than I had previously thought, maybe 33 or 36, certainly not in her forties, and passably pretty and I began to think that at 150 euros I had a bargain. At the same time, it occurred to me that if I was going to have sex with her, we ought to be officially introduced.

"I'm David from England," I said, pointing to myself.

"Klara. Bulgaaaria" (that long "aaaa" again), extending her hand to shake mine formally.

"I've been to Bulgaria on holiday," I informed her, but she didn't understand.

I opened the door to my room and, ever the gentleman, stood back to let her go first and with a quick apology she made directly for the bathroom. I guess she needed to pee.

A couple of minutes later she was out again extending her hand. "Money, please." I counted out three fifty-euro bank notes which she put in her shoulder bag and we were in business.

As Klara, smiling, came to stand in front of me I was encouraged by the fact that, while in the bathroom, she had undone most of her blouse buttons, allowing it to fall open sufficiently for me to see not only that she had no bra, but partially to expose her breasts themselves. Taking this as an invitation, I drew her toward me with one hand behind her back while slipping the other inside her half-open blouse to plant it on her right breast and squeeze gently.

She appreciated this and hugged me more closely so I made to kiss her and was shocked when she immediately pulled away saying firmly, "No! No kiss! I don't like."

This was a blow. Kissing is important to me and sex without it is always second-rate. I tried remonstrating with her but to no avail. She was adamant. There was to be no kissing.

And then I had an idea. Retrieving my wallet from my trousers pocket, I withdrew another fifty euro note and holding it just out of her reach, I said firmly "For kissing". Without a word, she took the proffered banknote, stashed it safely away in her bag, and began kissing me open-mouthed with passion and lots of tongue.