It all started during one of my Sundays spent dancing the day away at Berghain. I met a fairly good-looking guy, and our conversation turned quickly and naturally towards sex. Before I knew it we were comparing our number of Tinder matches and sexual partners. But as this is Germany, I still had to submit an official application full of disappointingly pedestrian getting-to-know-you type questions, and include a photo of myself. I nervously waited for a reply, and felt like I had won the lottery when I finally received an email welcoming me to this very special club.
It was a fancy dress party, so I spent a few days carefully planning my perfect outfit. I tried to look my ultimate sexy self, in my most slimming high-waisted thong and a transparent mesh crop top.
But when I entered the venue, I found that most people seemed more interested in looking fun and artsy than hot. We grabbed our first drinks and scanned the main room, a vast space that nonetheless fostered an intimate atmosphere.
I remember anticipating the moment that it would start being all about sex. Was there going to be some kind of signal? Well, except for the guy proudly displaying a drill with a dildo attached to it.
I sought refuge in the smoking area, always a good place to meet new people. Little did I know I was about to make my first almost faux pas. I had brought fortune cookies to share and decided to hand them out to the smokers sat next to me on a worn-out couch.
