It was dark but I had no problem seeing where I had to go. I followed a thin stream of people down some stairs and walked past a concrete wall with wide alcoves in which people were doing much more than just kissing. Some had their pants half-down, some had succumbed to gravity and were stretched out on the floor, all had a distinct sexuality about them, a communal aura of lust that transported itself to the passers-by, including me. I had never experienced anything like it before. I’m not one to get turned on by watching straight people have sex, but there was something about the closeness and the openness of it all that spoke to some deeper, well-hidden part of me. I felt a familiar tingle in my lower belly and I thought it would be wise to check out the main dance floor.

I arrived in a huge grey concrete hall, lit from all sides by red lights and white strobes. I watched as limbs pulsed to the beat and muscled guys took off their t-shirts. This spot had a definite gay male vibe going on, which meant I was in my element. Since as long as I can remember, I have partied with the gays. It’s what I do. I have gone through many a lesbian-free period in my life, albeit not always willingly, but I could not possibly imagine life without gay boys. I’m sure there’s a complicated psychological explanation for it, probably something to do with fear, anxiety and escapism, but you know, I’ve never really had any reason to be interested in it. I wriggled my way onto the dance floor and started moving to the hard beat, my nose at the same height as most guys’ sweaty and hairy armpits. I consider myself to be pretty open-minded about most things but I draw the line at the scent of men’s sweat violating my nostrils. I made my way to the side of the dance floor, safe from olfactory assaults, and contented myself with being a by-stander for a while. That’s when I spotted a woman who could easily have been Jennifer’s twin. I had to blink a couple of times to assure myself it wasn’t her. My brain was already going in the impossible direction of Jennifer having followed Alex and me to Berlin, and to Berghain. You know, that feeling when you think you recognise a person but they then turn out to be someone else, that mixture of disappointment and hope clashing in your heart, that’s what it felt like. I needed more beer. I walked to the nearest bar, past Jennifer’s look-a-like, who up close looked like nothing but a cast off wax doll copy of her, and ordered two beers. I was thirsty.

With a bottle of beer in each hand I probed deeper into this dungeon of hedonism. I then stumbled into yet another hall, a smaller one this time, more discreet, and I realised that the narrow opening I saw at about five feet from where I stood must be the dark room. I was no stranger to the delights of gay clubbing but I was definitely a stranger to dark rooms. But Berghain, although very popular with the poofs, wasn’t a gay club, so I thought, why the hell not? I downed the beers and decided to have a look inside. The first thing I noticed was that it wasn’t nearly as unlit as the word dark would imply. As I slowly shuffled through the labyrinth I saw mainly male couples going at it. I had to suppress a nervous giggle every time I caught someone’s eye. That’s when it dawned on me that these people wanted to be watched, they deliberately sought the thrill of it and it turned them on. Then my belly started tingling again. I was aroused as well.

To be continued…