Little did I know that the color I chose to wear to the erotic party was symbolic to the firy experience that the night ahead of me offered. It was a clear autumn Thursday night, the warmest day of the week, but I held together my trench coat to hide my cut out fishnet stockings. I took a deep breath of gratitude as I crossed the Treptower bridge gazing at the bright moon and feeling the ripples of the dark water down below. The Wilde Renate is one of those clubs in East Berlin that gives off postindustrial punk vibes. It's an old building with several dancefloors and bars on different floors and oddly decorated rooms with a nice outside yard area. One can definitely find a place to recharge away from the madness at any point of the night. A refreshing break from the commercialized clubbing venues. My only complaints are the freaking bathrooms!!!! But I will come to that later.
The House of Red Doors was open again after a 2 month hiatus!!! The wonderfully perverted souls, as they like to call themselves, invited us all to BE ICONIC💥 To have the chance to live, breathe and be our most adored icons for a night. My outfit choice was a mix of inspirations , from the sensual goddess herself Bad Gyal Riri to African tribal aesthetics. I had absolutely no idea what i was doing, and at the last minute I tapped into this dormant creative energy within and alas, it worked! I ditched the trench at coatcheck and glided around the venue head high, butt cheeks out, feeling like I had the power to command soft cocks to attention and warm nipples rock hard.
After my first smoke and beer number 2, I went out to get some fresh air much to my delight. In the direction I was walking toward, on the bench facing the outdoor bar, was this girl wearing nothing save for a head accessory with her thighs spread apart. A dark haired guy stood in front of her, though giving enough distance for show, with his finger ramming in and out of her pink pussy lips. A lady friend of theirs stood next to the guy filling the air with whatever words she deemed appropriate for the occassion. I plopped my exposed ass right next to them for the action and then watched some Lady Gaga mimic and her friends spoil the moment by walking up to them and attempting to make convo. Uggh! Change of scene.
Fuck!! The performances. How could I forget the most alluring part of the night?! I ran back inside right on time to catch the end of the opening ceremony. The room was packed! Sweaty bodies crammed together for the show. Tall ass people in my way. I couldn't see shit! It was almost as if someone sensed my frustrations because in that moment, my thighs were grabbed tightly from behind and I was held up in the air. By a stranger!!!! Who was a GIRL!!! And, who lifted me up for about 5/6/7 minutes. To be quite honest, her efforts had been futile as there was nothing of the show that I saw. My mind was too busy trying to comprehend what was going on and how incredibly hot the moment was, how my butthole was within proximity of her lips and how I would thank her. How the hell would I say thanks? Should I grab her face and kiss her? Give her butt a quick tight squeeze? Maybe bite her ear? Way too much? SHIT! But look around you dammit. You're surrounded by lustful pairs of eyes watching naked women do artistic shit with their bodies! SIGH. I was too much in my head that I did simply did not savour that moment. All I did was sink my nails into her arm while in the air, and muttered a sorry ass thank you when she finally put me down. She had pink glitter on her face though I had no idea how her face looked like. She could have been a one- eyed ogre and I wouldn't have realized due to how nervous I was when I noticed her friends giving me awkward looks. Such a wuss!! UGH. CHANGE OF SCENE.
It was that point of the night when your mind has registered a handful of faces at least thrice and I was starting to really feel alone. I climbed up some dodgy small stairs to chill on a couch when this shirtless cutie offered me some keta. Ahh why the hell not?! He prepared a thick line for himself and a thinner one for me, then proceeded to borrow a note to sniff with! YO! I was confussseed. How can you be at a sex party...with drugs to share, and consumers of these drugs all around , and not even have a 5 euro note to sniff with??? But what are priorities! He invited the other stranger on the next couch and we all took a hit, in turns😩 In that moment, I figured that I enjoyed having tequila shots, not because I liked Tequila but because it was a collective activity. You make a toast together.. to life , love or sex and you bottoms up that disgusting shit down your throat. You feel the burn togetherr! You make ugly shot faces togetherrrr! You get shit faced together Goddammit!!! Sio kupitisha pitisha pesa like street junkies. CHANGE OF SCENE!!!!!!!
To the bar I went for drink number 3. Where the flirty cute bartender in a laboratory coat eyefucked me while serving my beer. It was all part of the act I assumed , because the bar chemistry between him and his faithful lady assistant with Double Dees spilling out of her white low cut dress was seamless. It didn't matter how many people were leaning on the counter waiting to order, the pair would make jokes , do air tricks with bottles and glasses and still deliver pronto! Hanging above the bar counter was a playground swing, and on it sat the pretty bunny from last time. She was in an orange wig and bandage tapes covering her lady bits as she casually swang back and forth. What a vibe! What a fucking vibe.
The high got to me eventually and I needed some air. I took a walk around the yard and met a couple who were interested in my outfit inspiration. I fumbled through the conversation until they asked for some kush and I knew that I had found my people. See in these kind of parties, weed is unheard of. It's a baby drug. Even dealers don't sell it. The girl was in a black outfit, chin-length dark hair and dark feathered wings on her back. The man was pretty formal, spectacles with a bowtie and a waistcoat and a grey beard which obviously caught me eye. He looked like he could really teach you a lesson..if you catch my drift. We got talking about Greek mythology with Gabe, the guy telling me the story of Icarus which had inspired Anja's outfit. Only then did I notice that one of her wings was broken, due to being melted by the sun. We formulated a name for my iconic persona, which was Simba. Grrrrr! These people did not know it, but they were turning my buttons green with every little thing they said. Especially when Gabe called me Simba in that deep yet soft voice. As we chatted , I got to follow that he was a French teacher and in his brown leather bag he carried with him his tools of trade. Books, bon bons for good students and a wooden cane and pinching pegs for naughty students. It was clear which category Anja and I chose to be in when Gabe went to order and left strict instructions to not have his belongings meddled with. What a giddy sensation we both had perusing through his note book , reading out loud a sweet poem written by an Ethiopian man he came across during his 2016 travels.
We eventually went in to enjoy some music and dance a little. It was amazing how Anja's vibe shifted as soon as we were bound in between those walls of hedonistic fantasy. She had intially come off as shy and introverted but I witnessed her cracking out of her shell as the beats pumped along the narrow corridors that led to the floor. She navigated her way around people ahead of me in a weirdly angelic yet rebellious way. I didn't think more of her, or him...I was just glad to have gotten some really cool company. Although I did keep a mental image of her legs. They were thick , strong , athletic and sexy as fuck! They looked like they swam across oceans and climbed mountains. Like they choked the necks of men who dared to spread them for a tongue trip to indulge their sense of taste. I wished for a moment to be one of those men.
The music became distasteful and I was more than glad that we shared similar sentiments, so we found a place to relax. Which turned out to be a dimly lit corner that I had sat at a few hours before watching two couples sprawled on the bed making out. Anja and I made ourselves comfy on the bed, which I had earlier sworn to myself I'd never sit on...but isn't life full of contradictions. But really, can you imagine how many sweaty bodies have been on it and don't even get me started on the possibility of other bodily fluids. Eek! So I sacrificed my red shawl and made sure to sit on it, to give coverage to the vital areas, while still leaving out others so as not to seem like such a germophobe. Because germophobia and sex parties are on opposite ends of the sprectrum.
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