Here’s how a civilised dinner in Berlin turned into an all-nighter at one of the city’s sex clubs.
Source: Escape.com.au
GERMANY – BERLIN – I’m standing in an dingy underground space, my friend *Brad is next to me stripping down to his boxers.
Behind the counter, a guy with a thick German accent and a leather dog mask hands us a garbage bag and asks for oun phones. It’s a Tuesday night in Berlin and not yet 10.30pm. Chewing madly on gum, dog-man tells us to put everything in the bag and places it in one of the cubbies behind him. Well there goes our security blankets. At least I’m still wearing clothes. Only 15 minutes ago we were enjoying an innocent drink with friends. Now we’re standing slightly bewildered at the entrance to KitKatClub, one of Berlin’s most well-known sex clubs.
I have no photos of my night spent at KitKatClub. Phones are confiscated before you step in. And if you’re lucky (or unlucky), you can also say goodbye to your clothes. More on that shortly. It’s a warm summer’s night in Berlin and a few hours ago, Brad and I (a friend I’ve known for more than 20 years), were enjoying a dinner at a restaurant. It’s my first time to Berlin, and I’d long heard of its wild club scene. It’s a Tuesday night, not your typical rager, and avant-garde party spot Berghain is closed. Our plan was to meet some friends for a drink in the park. And we did.
But before that a little seed was planted.
A message from a friend I met in Bali comes through on my DMs. “You’re in Berlin, you should go here. It’s a very interesting place.” I hit the link. We’d never heard of KitKatClub, but every Berliner has. So Brad asks for more details from the waitstaff at the restaurant. Their responses are varied, one of them says it’s a very “liberal place” and that you’ll need to go topless. Another says that they’re strict with men there to make the women feel comfortable. Sex clubs are really neither of our things, but it sounds like one of those Berlin experiences you don’t say no to. After too many drinks, we decide to give it a crack.
There’s no queue at 10.15pm when we arrive, just a big Berliner dressed in black. Brad asks what the deal is, “Are we welcome tonight?”. The guy looks at both of us, and says “yes, but we have a dress code”. He looks Brad up and down and says “you will need to take off your clothes”. Brad’s response is a measured “Cool.”. Nothing is mentioned about my attire (I’m wearing a short black unitard with a white fishnet macrame skirt over the top, apparently it’s giving sex club vibes). We’ve been given the green light.
Once we hand over our lives and we’re inside, I feel majorly overdressed. One guy is wearing nothing but a glittering baseball hat, another is lying down on the couch with his dress hiked up exposing his bits. There are numerous rooms inside, including one with four vintage-style hospital beds, and a DJ in the main room. People are ‘fervently’ enjoying themselves in one corner, others are just dancing. After about 15 minutes of being there, you sort of become immune to the shenanigans, whatever they may be.
Some of the people are fun, some are a little creepy and there for the wrong reasons. (The owner is an Austrian pornographer and the club’s tagline on Instagram is ‘Parties for civilised people since 1994’.) They don’t seem to have a problem kicking people out for being a nuisance. I meet some cool Americans and Aussies who are all travelling, and we end up hanging out until sunrise. During the night, I lose Brad and eventually find him only after he’s been kicked out. It takes him a while to remember why. Apparently he jumped on one of the hospital beds.
Anything goes in KitKat Club. Just don’t mess with the décor.
