Inside a German Kink Club: Learning to Love

It is 11:30am and I am blinking in late morning daylight, I have been inside Berlin’s notorious kink club Kitkat for over 12 hours. For one reason or another I am not tired, I am in fact positively buoyant, skipping, inhaling Berlin’s excuse for fresh air, and suggesting to my fatigued boyfriend that we walk back to our Air BnB digs, instead of taking the U-Bhan.

I’m a very sex positive person; everyone has their kinks, and Oh Boy, do I have mine. I’m part of what i would describe as a loosely monogamous relationship that occasionally involves taking a third to bed with us. I’m what the BDSM community would describe as a “Switch”, in that I give as good as I get when it comes to whips and chains, and I enjoy it both ways. I’m bi-sexual and work on and off as a cam girl. Despite all of this, five minutes through the doors at Kitkat, I felt way out of my depth.

Kitkat is very famous for its strict dress code (as are many of the clubs in Berlin), I wore a zip-down-the-middle crop top, mini shorts, skin coloured stockings with neon pink tops on, with a bright patterned sarong over the top. As I travelled to the club, already several €0.75 street beers in, I felt like a fake and a tart, only half a tin of fake tan and a bad manicure away from blending in with the girls who prowl Glasgow City Centre on a Wednesday. I’m slightly too fat for a crop top, and the German Christmas markets really hadn’t helped, and ohmygod, what was I thinking trying to get into a hip German fetish club? To add insult to injury, the club opened at 11pm, and we had arrived at 10:40 (we thought the problem was just that the door had been shut so we knocked on it and were promptly told to fuck off).

I needn’t have worried, I think the bouncers were concerned about keeping a fairly balanced women to men ratio and were pleased to let us pass once the doors opened. The cloakroom is free, you must leave your coat, bag and phone there, you’re welcome to leave any other items of clothing that you fancy, and then you’re on your own.

The next 12 hours are a sexy blur. DJs play non-stop, unadulterated, heavy German techno, and people flirt and grind on the dance floor. Almost everyone is in their underwear, and a lot of people are naked, the range of body shapes I see is fascinating. I usually rate myself at about a 7 on “the scale”, but there are men and women here who are way beyond 10s, and I find myself thinking; “This is crazy, how can someone as hot as you be into this?!”. Somehow I’m suddenly only wearing my tango pink french knickers, stockings, and sarong; a tiny man who speaks no English has painted glowing flowers and stars on my nipples and tummy. There are people actually fucking on the balcony, and other people getting their kicks watching.

There’s a chilled out room with a pool in it, I didn’t realise it wasn’t heated and that it had no ladder out until it was too late. Beautiful gay men laughed at me as my boyfriend helped to haul me out.

I felt very English in this colossal mess of European magic. It was wonderful.

Instinct has a way of transcending language, and Berlin is a very transient city; I have very limited German, yet I was able to meet and communicate with people, from all over Europe, with little to no English. There’s something freeing about being in such a hormonally driven atmosphere, where everyone is either building up to sex, partaking in the act, or in a soft, smoky, techno driven afterglow. There was only a very loose sense of time (though this is possibly because no-one had their phones to check), but the party began to soften somewhat at around mid-morning, and I sat alone near the pool contemplating the night, I felt calm and happy, and completely in love.

For the first time since I hit puberty, I was truly pleased with my own, almost naked, brightly painted, “slighty too fat for a crop-top” body.