Pick-A-Day

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Noch ein, bitte?

Gay Berlin is amazing.

Like any reasonable first world major city, Berlin has a vivid and vibrant gay scene that is all inclusive and diverse. If you like twinks, there are lots of twink bars; if you like Turks, there’s Gayhane night once a month at SO36; and if you like punishment, well, there’s a place for you in Berlin. It’s no longer clear in my memory exactly how the flagellation club came to my attention, but after finding out about it, I thought it might be interesting to visit.

Please note, I am not naming the place here because the last time I named a place like this, I maligned an individual who could be easily identified. If you know what specific place I am talking about, please do not indicate its name in the comments. Although it’s might sound like I don’t, I actually admire the people I saw. If you want to know more details about the club, please feel free to email me.

It’s not really too explicit, but this entry may be NSFW; you might want to wait to read it, if you’re at work.

About flagellation club: it’s a bar, and after paying my 5€ entrance fee, being assigned number 24, and then not being understood when I said, “Ich heiße Adam,” I ordered a beer, which was added to my tab. From there, I passed through the bar, the only smoking portion of the club, into the other rooms, where I was immediately faced with a St. Andrea’s Cross.

I had arrived and I immediately pictured one of my friends on the cross; it wouldn’t surprise me if he has one in his basement.

There were four separate spaces in the club, including a large room with several couches, a rack, a cage, and some other “work spaces.” Additionally there was quasi bedroom, semi-closed off area, and a faux medical office. The medical office had a penile chart on the wall—the kind I remember seeing in middle school, where the parts are cut away and numbered, leading to a legend where you could find out about the vas deferens tubes, or the like. While I could understand the slang terms varying, I was a bit surprised to realize that the tubes had another name, as did a number of other internal parts that I would have previously assumed were so technical as to not change across languages.

After my cursory tour of the facilities, I sat down and, as is with tradition with any good seedy gay bar, started watching porn—with the obvious twist that their porn featured lots of spanking, something that was lacking in person for the first hour I was in the club.

Unfortunately there were no 18, 20, 25, or 30 year olds into spanking, or if they are, they are either in the fetish closet or not visiting this club. I’m reasonably certain that I was in the youngest quartile of the people I saw in the club—possibly even significantly skewing the distribution.

While sitting and watching porn, I was cruised—a lot, in particular by a man who was quite proud of his leather strap—he was constantly walking around with a beer in one hand and the strap in the other. Honestly, he kind of reminded me of a high school principal in his demeanor. Over on another couch was a strong, silent type. He kept his beer on the floor to the side of the couch, but his two meter long cane in his hands. There was also an older gentleman who was wearing only a g-string; usually with the labels sticking up and out in the back.

Eventually there was spanking, and most people in the club were polite and nonchalance as they (quickly) wandered past the window to look in and see who was getting their ass spanked and by whom.

I was sitting on a couch that was next to the curtains for the bedroom, and I would peek into the bedroom—watching a guy get spanked. And then a cute couple came in and went into the bedroom. I could hear the spanking beginning, and as I was nearing the end of my beer, I stood up and looked into the bedroom—the caning was beginning. It was actually quite beautiful watching this couple. The submissive spankee was completely naked, save for his socks and the hood over his head and it was clear that he was enjoying his punishment.

It reminded me of Dan Savage’s observation that BDSM is basically Cops ‘n Robbers with orgasms for adults.

As I finished my beer, I decided it was time to wander on, so I paid for my beer, and as II was doing so, the spankee was being led on a tour of the club, with his hood on—a very attractive man he was as he accidentally rubbed up against me—since he couldn’t see me standing there.

I left awed by the fact that these people are willing to come out of the fetish closet and that there are enough of them to build their own bar. It takes a lot of courage to admit to wanting a spanking; probably a bit less to buy a leather strap and start looking for asses to beat.

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