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A NIGHT OUT BY MYSELF
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A NIGHT OUT BY MYSELF

Illustration by Ewa Zak.


Do you remember when we got to go out clubbing and everything was possible? This anonymous story will take you right back.


Before moving to Berlin, I had never been to a club alone before, but it did not take long for this new habit to start. Deep in my—now shameful—deep house phase, I was getting increasingly frustrated by the fact that my flat mates didn’t always agree to come to the parties I was interested in… until I had an epiphany. I could go alone. I don’t need someone to hold my hand while waiting to greet a scary-looking bouncer!

And so it began. First, Kater Blau, then Berghain, then Kitkat. I had been once in my early twenties and I recalled the experience as nothing but pure, unaltered fun. I had gone with my high school best friend and we danced the night away, playing around the poles with a mesmerizing ballet dancer and pretending to be a couple to make sure no one would try to flirt with us too hard.

I now have a solid group of close friends in Berlin, and I do sometimes regret the fact that my dancing alone days are almost over, though I relish in the occasion every time I do pick a party no one else is interested in.

There is one night in particular that I hold fond memories of. Still trying to navigate this whole “dating in Berlin” thing, I had temporarily lost interest in the myriad of dating apps I was using and decided to give real life a go. Plus, I probably had decided I wanted to wear as little clothing as possible that night, so it made all the sense in the world to head to Kitkat by myself.

I got ready and poured myself a couple of mate-vodkas while Skyping with a friend from back home, a thing I used to do often before heading out over my first months as a Berliner. By the time it was time to go out—not too early, not too late—I decided wearing a skirt over my bodysuit for the U-Bahn ride to Heinrich-Heine-Straße wasn’t necessary. After all, it was dark, I was feeling myself and most of the people I would stumble upon would be drunk anyways.

I stood in line, got into the club and headed to the cloakroom before getting a drink and inspecting the dancefloor. The music was good, as always. I’ve always liked the main floor’s accessible and sometimes nostalgic electronic beats, and the DJ that night was doing a particularly good job at keeping me moving.

It was probably 4 or 5AM when everything changed. All of a sudden, a gorgeous man in his early 30s entered the room. His presence was magnetic, and I couldn’t take my eyes off of him, probably because he was exactly who I had been hoping to find that night when I had decided to go to this club alone. I could see him screening the room the way I had a few hours prior, which I found amusing.

I decided to take action before someone else did and headed towards the bathroom as an excuse to walk in his direction. I smiled at him, he smiled back. I can’t remember who started talking first, but we rapidly ended up making out. He said he had been searching for someone like me tonight, and I said I had, too.



After what felt like just minutes, he asked if I wanted to go home with him. I agreed, and we hopped on the bus towards his apartment. Once we were seated, he leaned over and asked: “Have you heard of 50 Shades of Grey?” I nodded. He then asked me whether I was interested in the topic it covered, and I answered that I was definitely curious. He seemed pleased with my answer and said he had some things to teach me.

At this point, I could hardly contain my excitement about what was about to happen. Berlin had already been mind-opening for me, and I welcomed every new experience that allowed me to get to know myself better, especially pleasure-wise.

Once we finally got off the bus—he did live slightly outside the ring in a quiet suburb, gasp—we walked towards his apartment and this is where it all began. He showed me his living room, then pointed towards his bedroom and told me to wait there. After a few, interminable seconds, he entered with a large box in his hands.

He then proceeded to tell me this box was full of every accessory I could ever want to try, and told me we would do that to help me figure out what I liked and didn’t like. From gag balls to a Wartenberg wheel (yes, I did just Googled it and just learned what this is called), we went through his entire box for several hours and well into the morning, having sex in the meantime. Some objects just made me giggle endlessly, while others had the effect he was hoping for.

I remember this encounter as so fun and lighthearted, far from the typical BDSM cliché I had thought was the norm. Though he was looking puzzled when things made me giggle, he seemed to thoroughly enjoy this session too, which made me like it—and him—even more.

We slept for a few hours and when I woke up, the previous events seemed a lifetime away. I don’t think we exchanged phone numbers. We just got up and said goodbye to each other after he let me know he was expecting friends. On my end at least, not asking whether we would see each other again was a way to keep the magic of this night untainted.

I started getting dressed, and then it sunk in: I had decided to not wear a skirt for the U-Bahn ride! Here I was, strolling down the streets of this quiet neighborhood, wearing nothing but a bodysuit. The wait for the S-Bahn was the longest ever, as I sat awkwardly among children and their parents getting ready for a wholesome Sunday excursion into town.

You have no idea how happy I was when I finally made it home.

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