I stood at the back of the line to the club, shifting my weight between my right and left leg as I took a slow drag on my cigarette. I was alone - a couple of friends I had made in the hostel who were going to come with me had canceled at the last minute after their flight home got rescheduled. I had almost chickened out, but they talked me into going, reassuring me that it was totally normal to go to clubs in Berlin solo, and insisting that I wouldn't regret it. Besides, after the stress of my final exams, I needed to let loose - this was the final leg of my two month-long backpacking trip across Europe, and the last gasp of carefree student life, before the dull monotony of a 9-to-5 and loan repayments set in.
So here I was, standing in line alone at a Berlin 'sex positive club', eager yet nervous. They had told me about the club's strict door policy of 'no street clothes,' and encouraged me to buy a pair of tight black underwear that only partially covered my ass, a mesh tank-top and a steel choker from a kink shop in Kreuzberg, which I wore under jeans and a track jacket in the cool late-August breeze. I would have never been caught dead in this back home - while I had my fair share of hookups in university, even a couple with other guys over the years, my scene was more 'calculators and textbooks' than 'latex and leather.'
Since I had been in Berlin, however, the city's atmosphere of sexual liberation had worked its way under my skin. I began to feel more comfortable in my skin. Seeing how queerness was celebrated here was making me rethink how I identified myself as well. I knew I was more attracted to women, and had always chalked my couple of sexual encounters with men up to drunken horniness - I hadn't discussed them with my friends, and certainly didn't identify as bisexual. However, over the past week I had begun to question myself more, and had begun to fantasize about expressing my sexuality in a more open way.
The line was long, but it was moving steadily, and there was a quiet buzz building. As I neared the front, I discretely popped the MDMA pill I had tucked into my pocket and washed it down with my final sip of beer. I winced slightly, bracing myself for a nerve-racking nerve wracking interaction with the bouncers, a burly tattooed man and a butch lesbian woman, who called people up one by one to the booth in front of the door.
The man gestured me forward with his finger.
"Kennen Sie die Kleiderordnung?" he asked.
"Sorry, um... Sprache du English?
He sighed. "Are you wearing the sexy clothes?"
I nodded sheepishly and pulled down my jeans slightly, exposing my tight black underwear.
"OK, good," he said, and gestured to the door behind him with his meaty bald head.
As I pushed aside the heavy velvet curtains guarding the entrance, I entered into a narrow, red-lit hallway, and followed it to the coat check. I felt a lump in my stomach as I mentally prepared myself to lose my street clothes, but found comfort in the small crowd around me that was doing the same, uncovering the lace and leather hidden beneath their wool and polyester. I pulled off my jeans and coat, and handed them to the older woman at the booth, who wordlessly handed me a numbered ticket.
I slowly walked toward the pumping bass, still slightly self conscious at how exposed I felt, with my ass hanging out of my underwear, and my nipples, still hard from the cool air outside, poking through my top. As I surveyed the room, however, I began to feel more at ease. Everyone seemed... normal? Sexy, nearly naked, but normal. Friends lounged on leather couches, sipping their drinks with breasts spilling out of corsets and cocks bulging through thongs.
I decided to buy myself a bit of time to get adjusted before hitting the dancefloor, so I joined the bathroom queue snaking out of the door on the left side of the lounge area. While in line, msy eyes drifted downward and focused on two perfect, round ass cheeks in front of me. On them, 'Bisex ual Sl ut' was written, the words bifurcated by a faux leather thong like a team's name on a baseball jersey. I felt a catch in my throat as I gazed longingly at them, imagining what it might feel like to feel that perfect ass pressed against my crotch.
I felt the unmistakable sensation of being watched, and raised my gaze to meet two large, brown eyes, made even larger by sweeps of turquoise eyeshadow, and larger still by wide pupils that seemed to drink me in. Beneath those eyes lay a prominent, yet elegant nose, dusted with glitter which reflected off a steel nose ring, and full, pink lips formed into a cheeky half smile. Shaggy, dark brown hair lay in a quasi-mullet on her head.
"I.... I like the writing" I stuttered, offering a lame explanation for my obviously lewd stare.
"Me too, that's why I put it there," she half-laughed.
Her voice was husky, yet melodic, and cut easily through the pounding bass that was barely muffled by the thin drywall and cheap tile.
I felt the lightness of my impending come-up. I was breathing harder than I needed to, and the walls felt close.
"I'm a bisexual slut too, so I guess we have something in common", I responded.
I surprised myself a bit - normally I wasn't so forward. Maybe the drugs had made their way deeper into my system than I realized.
Her mouth softened into a fuller smile, genuine and charming. I realized I had been tensing my shoulders and relaxed them, standing up straight.
"The beauty of writing it is that everyone knows, so I don't need to tell anyone."
Everything else had disappeared around us. She was standing closer than I remembered, and I could feel the heat of her breath, which fell just below the small chain that encircled my neck.
"Let me help you let everyone know", she said as she gestured for my hand. I followed her eyes to the open bathroom stall in front of us, suddenly realizing we were at the front of the line. Wordlessly, she took my hand in hers, her long slim finger tracing the veins inside my wrist.
Once inside the stall, we pressed our bodies close to close the door, her pierced nipple gently grazing my chest through her sheer bra top, and her flat stomach radiating heat against me. We lingered for a moment, wordlessly savoring the accidental yet inevitable contact. She turned around, lifted one long, pale leg over the toilet seat, and sat on it, looking up to face me. After producing a black sharpie from her tiny leather handbag, she nodded and told me to bend over, which I did without a second thought.
She held onto my right ass cheek for support as she leaned over and began to write on my left. I felt the fabric tip of the marker catch on the fine fuzzy hairs, as she slowly and deliberately completed her work. She moved onto my left, switching her support-hand correspondingly, and I felt the faintest graze over my ass crack as she shifted her palm. With my head below my knees, I felt blood rushing to my brain.
"All done. How does it feel?"
I thought about it for a second. "Perfect."
My head rush was intensifying, and not just from standing up. My skin was gooseflesh, and every rustle of the mesh fabric against my skin sent ripples across my body. As she stood up from the toilet, I felt my body moving toward her as if she had a gravitational pull. As I entered her orbit, she looked up at me as she lightly dragged her nail across my chest, sending tingles across my skin. Her eyes locked mine, her dilated pupils like eclipse moons - I couldn't look away. Her soft lips were half open, breathing heavily, and her small breasts rose and fell in cycle with each breath.
"Do you know what bisexual sluts do?" she asked.
"You tell me", I replied.
"They kiss girls... and.... boys at the club." She punctuated each word with a light scratch of my chest, each one eliciting a soft, moan from my throat.
I returned the gesture, stroking her soft yet toned stomach with my index finger, just inches from the inviting gap between her hips and panties.
"I think I'd like to start with kissing girls tonight", I breathed.
She parted her lips as I lowered my mouth to hers. We savoured the first kiss, tracing circles on each others' skin while dragging our lips across each other. I closed my eyes and let the feeling wash over me as I opened my mouth which she promptly entered with her small, soft tongue. Our tongues swirled over one another as our passion increased, and I found her prominent hips and pulled her close to me. Soon we were savaging each others' mouths, biting lips, hands in hair, moans in our throats, urgent with need, lost in our own universe and held together by druggy lust.
