A Berlin sex club during a pandemic
Story by: PIGtures
Photography by: PIGtures
October 18, 2020
I arrived at the Berlin club at about 7:30 p.m. I was #103—there was a limit of 400 people allowed in. A mature, tattooed daddy with a long grey beard and a tank top was managing the door. I could hear music coming from the corrugated iron fence behind him. There was something going on back there that ordinary folk weren’t supposed to see.
When I got to the front, I asked what the rules were, given that we were in the midst of a global pandemic. He said it was an “open air,” meaning an outdoor party. Most of the inside was closed. I wouldn’t need to wear a mask unless I was at the bar ordering a drink, or going to the toilets inside. They were strict about that. I also had to fill in a form with all of my contact details in case there was an outbreak.
As I stepped into the garden, I was immediately greeted by the sight of the many barely-clad bodies. It was mid-August. It was bright. Hot. It was a fine temperature for my leather H-style harness and vest. Lots of guys there were walking around in trainers and sports shorts, but there were a handful, like myself, who had opted for something classically kink, whether it was a harness, waistcoat, or chaps made of leather or rubber.
Officially, this was supposed to be a socially distanced event. The information online asked guests to keep a minimum of 1.5 meters from anyone that they didn’t live with. I half expected people to be sitting at benches and wearing masks when walking around like every other venue in Berlin right now. Knowing this city, though, I had a feeling that this biergarten would be bending some, if not all of the rules. (The chlamydia brewing in my throat days later would prove that the guidelines were one thing, but the reality was something else.)
“While I was getting a drink at the bar, a three-way of Spanish hotties in sports shorts unfolded on the dance floor.”
If I wanted to maintain some distance, I could hang out at the bar and dance-floor area in the middle of the garden. I could also go to the upstairs deck or chill out at the cubicles built into the outer wall. There were also some industrial set pieces like giant water tanks and concrete partitions, which seemed like ideal places to lure a new lover. However if I wanted to have a filthier, closer encounter, I could go to the pisstub inside the building (I guess it’s possible to maintain a 1.5 meters distance with watersports), or enter the dark shipping container area from outside. It was quiet, a fraction the size of the garden, but the narrow passages on two floors, which led to slings and padded benches, hinted at piggier times yet to come.
As the night wore on, more people arrived, and by 9:00 p.m., the dim lights of the club were highlighting rough facial features and the glint of leather and metal. An hour later, the steadily growing scent of man smells, spilled poppers, and the intensifying sounds of grunting and thighs slamming into asses, were signals that the rutting hour had begun. As I had thought might be the case, these pigs were less concerned about social distancing, especially as they got higher and hornier.
My expectation of an evening dogged by dark and tedious techno music was also overturned by a mixture of joyous disco and ’80s electro. While I was getting a drink at the bar, a three-way of Spanish hotties in sports shorts unfolded on the dance floor. This lightheartedness gave rise to a playful, horny atmosphere where men would smile as they kissed, sucked, and fucked each other—something I had rarely seen in my history of sex clubbing.
“As I stepped into the garden, I was immediately greeted by the sight of the many barely-clad bodies.”
After assisting one of the lads from the three-way in finding the ball closure that had fallen out of his Prince Albert, I decided to go for a wander. Given the warmth of the atmosphere, it was very easy to talk to people. Over the course of the evening, I befriended a beautifully tattooed Sicilian artist who was submitting disco renaissance artwork to the famous Berlin club Berghain, which has temporarily turned into an art gallery during the pandemic. I also spoke to an air steward who was on ketamine about what being on an airplane was like during COVID, and got the ROMEO profile of a sexy rubber daddy as he was leaving.
During a sit-down conversation with the Sicilian artist, a hairy, Middle Eastern muscular man came over and asked if I would take a look at his girthy, slimy cock. I didn’t have much time to answer before it was massaging my voice box. After I swallowed his steaming load we got to know each other over a line of speed.
I followed him through the garden. He was completely uninhibited in approaching anyone and asking to see their asses or cocks, or persuading them, rather easily, to take a mouth full of his dick.
After a while, I started to get a bit jealous of how much fun he was having, so I put on my mask to take a bathroom break. While I was there, I came upon an incredibly hot, 40-ish-year-old German man with the face and body of a Greek god. Following an epic (maskless) 20-minute kissing session with this Hercules, I invited him to a secluded corner of the garden where I proceeded to eat his delicious hairy ass for another 15 minutes before we both fired our loads across the dry earth.
“Despite the risks, the atmosphere of unabashed play and free love were a powerful reminder of our need for connections with others—socially and sexully.”
After another long kiss goodbye, I was left to think about what this whole evening had really been about. Despite the risks, the atmosphere of unabashed play and free love were a powerful reminder of our need for connections with others—socially and sexully. I feel lucky to be a Berliner, able to attend such a horny, fun evening when so many other places are struggling with the pandemic.
It’s true that nights like this threaten to spread COVID-19, but anybody who’s been using hook-up apps knows that guys are having sex during the pandemic, whether clubs like these are open or not. There’s no one filling out contact forms at private parties or in cruising grounds either. Hasenheide Park, in the Neukölln district of Berlin, probably had hundreds of guys cruising every day at the peak of summer as this normally quiet park became the techno picnic destination during the lockdown. Many people would party or take drugs before heading to the bushes for sex, and there was no accountability if someone passed out behind a tree, or if a youngster picked the wrong bush to go and pee in.
At least at the garden there is a higher level of security. I believe many would argue this is all still quite a dangerous idea, and if they were living outside of Germany, that would be correct. However, despite the fact that Berlin was seeing a rise of between 11 and 200 new cases a day when I was writing this article, there were still less than 10 people per day dying in the whole of Germany—a country of 80.6 million people. I would say that Berlin’s risk has been assessed and the numbers are very promising.
And with that, I think I’ll start planning my next adventure to the garden of horny delights. I hope to see you there.
