Don’t Pass Out In a Sex Club

This is the story of the weirdest night of my entire life.

I lead a pretty outrageous life, so believe the warning: shit gets weird in this post.

Additionally, please be aware that this description of events gets dangerously close to sexual assault.

Okay, here we go…

Oddly, this night followed a really weird day. I had just finished going out for lunch with my friends after a wild night of partying at Berghain. We were heading back to the friend who was hosting me in Berlin’s apartment to hang out; however, she had met a guy while we were at the club. This wouldn’t have been a problem, except for the fact that her apartment consisted only of her bedroom, her roommate’s bedrooms, and a tiny kitchen—no space to hang out in while they had some private time.

We made some dinner and then hung out together for a few hours. I tried to make myself scarce, but it wasn’t working. I decided I needed an excuse to leave for several hours.

It was a strange situation because although it was technically a Sunday, the Monday after was a national holiday so all weekend activities were still going strong.

The perfect excuse was to go to my favourite place ever, KitKat Club.

I put on the same outfit I wore to Berghain (a red lace bralette, garter belt, thigh-highs, and a black miniskirt), and headed out to the train.

The KitKat Klub is arguably the most popular sex club in Berlin, so it is extremely exclusive. I was worried about getting in, however when I got to the club the line was much shorter than it was the last time I was there. But again, it was a Sunday night.

I waited in line for about half an hour, and got into the club at around midnight.

After I got in, I stripped down to my underwear and checked all of my clothes at the coat check.

Evidently, the theme of the weekend was “sexedelic” so all the walls were cover is psychedelic fluorescent images of people fucking.

I danced on the dancefloor for a little while, but the vibe wasn’t as good as the last time because they were letting too many random people in who were fully dressed and ogling.

I went to one of the bars for a drink, then took my drink to the pool area. The pool at KitKat is unreal—it has a rainbow waterfall shower by the diving board and a swing hanging over the middle—but I soon discovered that it’s fucking freezing.

By now it’s around 2am, and I am starting to get tired. I had been up since the evening before, had spent all of the previous night clubbing, and then had hung out with friends all day.

The only reason I was still awake at all was because I had ingested some unsavoury party favours throughout this entire adventure.

I splashed some freezing pool water onto myself in a vain attempt to wake myself up, but it quickly became apparent that I was way too tired to function.

I needed to nap, ASAP. The only way to do that was to find somewhere quiet and secluded within the club. And if there is one thing sex clubs have a lot of it’s secluded spaces. And this particular sex club is gigantic, so there are infinite places where someone could potentially take a nap without being noticed.

Of course, in my desperation I settled for the first vacant area I found: a fairly small room that was open on both ends and furnished entirely with antique hospital furniture.

I took one look at the two dingy hospital beds with fake IVs set up next to them and knew I wasn’t desperate enough to touch them. However, there was also another piece of furniture that looked like it could have been used as an examination table or maybe a massage table. Either way, it was made of a plasticky material that seemed a lot more sanitary than the beds, so I opted to take my nap there.

I lay down on my stomach, resting my face on my arms, and closed my eyes to rest.

Minutes later, I hear someone come into the room. I am too tired to move, so I stay still and hope they leave. No such luck: I can sense that they are standing right next to me.

I open one eye and see a man in a full body cow costume (complete with a full cow head) staring down at me.

Then, I watched in silent horror as he undid a flap over his crotch and started jerking off with one hand while cupping my ass with his other hand.

I just wanted to take a nap, man.

A few minutes into this debacle, a group of people walked through the room. As they were walking, I attempted to make eye contact with them so I could get them to shoo the cow-man away without having to get up—Surprisingly, nobody wanted to make eye contact with the girl on the massage table being groped by a masturbating cow.

With that option out, I decided to just play dead. It’s no fun to have sexual relations with someone who is not participating, right?

Nope! This guy was super into in and was weirdly massaging my back regardless of my lack of response. Then, he throws a leg over the table so that he’s standing over me, straddling my knees.

Hand glued to his dick, he continues to crank it all the way to completion—leaving the remnants all over the back of my left thigh.

He puts his dick away, and scurries off into the depths of the club. I remained where I was for a few more minutes before summoning the energy to get up.

I took wiped the random cow-man’s jizz off my leg with my hand, and wiped in on the wall.

Lesson #1 of sex clubs: Assume everything is covered in bodily fluids, especially if it’s Sunday.

I somehow found my way back to the coat check. As I was pulling my skirt up, I felt a tap on my shoulder: I turned around to find myself face-to-face with the cow-man.

Only this time, his cow head was removed and tucked under his arm, so I could actually see his face. Oddly enough, he just looked like a normal dude in his mid-30’s and not like the neckbearded basement dweller I had imagined.

I just stared at him blankly while he smiled widely, waiting for me to introduce myself. I didn’t.

Not one to be dissuaded by a lack of participation, this dude puts out his hand for me to shake and introduces himself as John.

I continued to stare at him blankly because I had just seen where that hand had been and there was no way in Hell I was going anywhere near it.

He let his had hang in the air for a few seconds before using it to reach into his udder—yes, his udder— to grab something.

He then proceeded to casually hand me his business card and say “call me sometime”, before sauntering off back into the club.

I threw my coat on, put the business card in my pocket, and headed back to my friend’s apartment.

I still have that business card to this very day to remind me of the weirdest night ever.

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