TL:DR this is a long rambling post but take home message Sundays are the new Saturday apparently at Artemis AND there is some decent new blood at the world renowned flesh market in not-so-sunny Berlin.
The anticipation started weeks before. Who am I kidding even before I booked, as soon as I saw the opportunity my nurons started firing. I realised the cheapest way to get back to Blighty from a God awful client visit was via a very long layover in Berlin. An all night layover if we are being specific - in late PM out early AM. I played the martyr, no its fine I dont mind, we are all feeling the pinch with inflation and higher taxes I will take the hit for the company. I did such a good iob they didnt even ask about accommodation. So convincing was I in the role of “work-simp” Carol in finance probably had a rye titter to herself - we’ve done this looser out of a £100 hotel room - she might have even congratulated herself on winning a small victory, something she could put in her appraisal next year.
But fuck Carol and fuck her stupid finance team. She failed to realise I was fighting a different kind of war for a far more noble cause. I was waging a guerrilla campaign, a vicious insurgency even, willing to die on a balmy mosquito infested hilltop in an imaginary Fuck-knows-where-istan for the cause of punting. I pictured myself as the che guavarra of sex tourism, decked out in millitary fatigues, chomping on a cigar, pontificating to the destitute locals about the importance of revolutionary purity on the grubby steps of a Soho walk up. I had 14 hours overnight in Berlin and i wasnt going to check in to no pathetic Holiday Inn and watch ShitFlix - No I was going to lash it in one of the worlds best cat houses.
I was buzzing as soon as the flight was booked. I found myself regularly drifting back to some of my best dance parters in the horizontal mamba at Artemis both pre- and post-COVID - Turkish Bella, the half Mozambiquen girl who looked like a slutty Rihanna, the horny ginger pole whole asked me to bring her off with my tongue because in her words “its not fair ive fucked all day and not cum!”. The sweaty threesomes, the filthy public sex while people watched, the focus required to eek out a third nut even when totally spent. The shame, yet kinky excitement, standing at the cash machine, publicly shamed for all to see, pissed off, scowling, naked, well shagged hardened brass waiting towl around her waist arms folded, while i am scrambling to take out money I couldnt afford despite promising myself I wouldnt. The tender, intelligent, brunette curvy Moldovan who always felt like a long lost girlfriend who told me once at 1am to “fuck my face” while we were deeply into a musty 69. The memories flooded back and I felt a warm glow.
However the flipside of excitement is anxiety. Apparently some people get white coat (doctor) induced anxiety, some poor bastards even get what i call “red panty” (prostitute) induced anxiety. It was neither. No, it was the fear of the excruciating hours between being put out with the Rubbish at 5am into a freezing Berlin morning, spent, sore, destitute and guilty, and that magic moment on the plane when I could shut my eyes. I even looked up cheap hotels, but no, I must not loose my bottle - comfort is after all the enemy of progress. I had to remind myself that once I was on the plane I could curl up like a wounded hyena and catch some shut eye.
72 hours prior I started the mental physical and spiritual preparation for an all night fuckafon. I entered the no fap zone to save up a big snotty nut. I was trying to get my head in the game, saying positive affirmations, giving myself motivational self talk, reminding myself i can sleep all i like once I get home, that no matter how much money i smash its ok because i have a salary. its a bit like some sort of sacred Japanese samurai ritaul and I felt i should be sitting crossed legged on a bamboo rug drinking green tea. it was getting that serious i wondered if i should record a terrorist video, myself posing with an AK in front of a black flag, slagging off Western civilisation and the global order, to be released to al jazeera afterwards? No, I was getting carried away. No, I wasnt some sort of sexual warrior, i was just an average punter gagging for a cheeky squirt and would probably manage a semi and then fall asleep in the porn cinema next to an aging masterbating taxi driver.
On the flight there I was destroyed. Stress headache, performance anxiety was high. It was not helping that this was a sunday and pre-pandemic that was the worst night of the week. was it worth it?!? In the uber to the promised land I almost, very nearly, booked a hotel and called it quite. NO. How would I live that down?!?. We pulled up, I jumped out and pulled open the door to be met by that sweet necture every punter relishes - stale perfume, cigarettes, an undertone of disinfected. This was punting distilled into a masterpiece that for me blows any over priced Tom Ford eau d’shitbag out of the water. I paid, robed up, nearly went for a burton in the slippy shower, scrubbed my tool sluced my gouch and i was ready to look into the abyss. and fuck me it looked right back - or more to the point about 60 or so trollops were looking back at me. Wow the selection was banging. Good mix of old and new. a few previous conquests came over a fainted interest in where i had been (face down in the gutter or sun bathing on a yacht, they just cared if i had a ton to be parted from). Wow. looks like Sunday had changed - confirmed by a fellow punter and a few of the girls post covid it has become quite the conassures slot - civilians, weekend warriors and try hards relegated to Friday/Saturday.
I skulked about the facilities - food shit as ever, garden surprisingly open (shuts 15/11), geriatric taxi driver waving his limp member around in the porn cinema. What would I do first?!? Get a drink! At the bar I ran into a regular curvy sweetheart Moldovan (never got her name, would be impolite to ask now ive porked her more than thrice) and I touched her leg. It was warm, she smelt good. This was a comfort choice but fuck it. Started with some fondling in the porn cinema and all anxiety evaporated - I was 4 inches of solid iron and we tumbled into a downstairs room, kissing passionately, stroking. Sometimes theres almost a subconscious chemical connection with a woman and the sparks just fly. I flopped onto the bed like a Ronaldinho after a soft tackle, metaphorically clutching my shin appealing for a red card and a stretcher. Instead I got a tongue in my mouth, finger nails running over my balls, nipples nibbled and then she took my inside her mouth. I gasped for breath and she slowly, gently, sensually began to bring me off. I flirted with the idea of fucking her but seeing her in the mirror I just let go a javelin into her rusty, poorly maintained T-32. Instead of the turret flying off, she spat my children into the bin and scalded me for not fucking her. Arnt women strange?! She said I had more time and would I like a back rub. Fuck yes, and 15 minutes followed of warm oily bliss while I complimented her and enquired about the sites and sounds of Europes least visited country (TL:DR: even she couldnt sell Moldova to me!). We went back upstairs, I gleefully parted with €70 for 30 plus the €20 tithe for OWO. We parted with a peck on the cheek like old exes that meet once a year for a session behind their partners back.
I was buzzing - time for some “wellness”. I am not really a hot tub fan but the sight of the steam coming out of the pool mad me slide in and I lay in absolute bliss for at least 20 minutes before a fellow punter joined me and we actually had a decent conversation comparing notes on this wonderful hobby of ours. I had to hit the sauna, we shook hands and I was off into the night. Sweat, cold plunge, rinse repeat until a pang of hunter hit. I just caught the end of the buffet at 1:50 for a plate of bland tomato and pasta slop that I defibrilated back to life with some chilly sauce.
I enjoyed an hour or so of just mooching around, watching the girls peddle their wears, chain smoke and laugh, complain and pick their teeth.
I was hovering by the stairs at the death circa 3am trying to talk myself alternately in and out of a second squirt when my old flame Katya approach me and opened proceedings as such “so, are you going yo let me suck your cock before I sleep or what?!?”. For old time sake I had to - €150 owo CIM kiss cuddle etc. Ukrainian Katya played a 30 minute throat solo on my rusty trombone, followed by a quick spit into the bin and a slim cigarette and some pillow talk in her sexy badass slavic accent while i lay there and tried not to sob gutturally and beg her to marry me - yes the noddy really was all THAT and I swear she is s borderline genius from her varied interests opinions and knowledge. Or maybe it was the head impairing my judgement who knows.
Time flew and I had time for a few more cycles in the spa before they put us all out with the rubbish. I had always wondered what it was like at the end of a shift and it was quite surreal - a few girls joined me in the sauna and we met as naked equals - no hustle no “hey baby what you doing? you want to go in the room?!?”.
By the time I dressed, and tumbled out into the cold with a bunch of the gypsie girls all wearing puffa jackets worth more than my months salary, found some food, took a bus ride and had a coffee it was nearly time to go to the airport. Yes I admit this part was hard going but easier than I had feared. This kind of mission has its painful moments and I suffered for it for the rest of the week but it was worth it.
NB - I passed Carol at the photocopier a few days later and she called out to me “oh sorry we should have really offered you a night in a hotel for that stop over I hope it was ok”. No Carol, you are not sorry and you frankly couldnt care less if I spent the night freezing in the gutter. You might have won the battle to save someone else’s money, but the war i am fighting Carol, the war to punt in a world where paying to play if vilified, that war goes far beyond anything your tiny mind and rapidly expanding waist line and fading good looks can begin to comprehend
