A Disciple of Dionysus
Brought up in Manchester, to a twenty nine year old that I was, in the early 1970s, West Berlin was the most extraordinary place in this world. A militarily indefensible enclave, surrounded by wall, in the middle of communist East Germany, it seemed as if every day was Armageddon. Under West German law the city shared with Hamburg a system of Polizeistunden allowing unrestricted opening of its bars. As a consequence, a veritable plethora of pubs and clubs remained permanently available to serve the many disciples of Dionysus of which I had become one.
When I arrived in Germany, I spoke little German. My first introduction to the language was almost entirely in short conversations in bars and clubs. These talks often centred on prolonging a discussion with an importuning hostess in the aforementioned. As this article will show, the German langusge was not only the matter which I learned.
Amongst this abundance of abodes devoted to the Bacchanalian brotherhood was the Salambo Club, an enterprise to be found on the famous Kurfurstendamm close to the S Bahn Station at Hallensee. Descriptions of the Kurfurstendamn or KuDam, as it is affectionately known, appear in any book dealing with Berlin. Along a wide, Champs Elyses type avenue, are not only contained many of the expensive shops in the city, but also many of the establishments to which I have just referred.
The 1970s had heralded the era of “The Live Show,” never legalised in Britain, but quite widely available and apparently, tolerated in West Berlin. These shows, which varied in form, were characterized by men and women copulating for the benefit an audience. As to the participants the female ones generally consisted of women employed or franchised by the establishment. The males, however, were frequently unpaid volunteers from within the assembled throng.
The Salambo Club was such an enterprise and was undoubtedly one of the most expensive of its kind in the city. Expensive though it was, it did represent a certain value for money if only for the lavishness of its interior decor. The main room, some several meters in height, was overlooked by a gallery. This was itself accessible by means of a staircase from the relatively small entrance room from the Kufurstendamn. Facing the gallery and to the left, as one entered on the street level, was a brightly illuminated carousel with a number of seats enabling transportation of persons in roulette fashion around a vertical showcase. To the right and the main object of attention, lay a low circular stage or couch also capable of rotation only this time in the horizontal plane.
It was here that the various erotic shows, striptease, candle shows, live sex etc. were performed at regular intervals throughout the evening. In front of the circular rostrum was a small area for dancing surrounded by couches with sheepskin covered seating in an arrangement for around fifty persons. Attractive though the interior decor was, it was more than equalled by that of the hostesses who plied their trade therein. The dress standards of these girls left little to the imagination. Indeed, little other than the odd chain or high heel boot bedecked a series of creatures whose job is was to entertain. Clearly there must have been some sort of selection process to ensure that their bodies were as curved and shapely as, to a woman, they were devoid of any surplus fat.
Included in their duties was being seated from time to time on the carousel arrangement on the lighted wall. I had first heard of the activities of the Salambo via a colleague. In fact I had gone out of curiosity rather less than an intention to join that elite bunch of my own sex capable of demonstrating their masculine prowess for all to see. I say this as I had already experienced the humiliation of failure in a somewhat down market establishment on the nearby Kantstrasse. Following this unsuccessful venture, I was told by a guy, experienced in these matters, that “the important thing was to concentrate on the job in hand and under no circumstances, pander to the audience.” As luck would have it, the combination of surroundings, testosterone and fantasy would play into my hands on my very first visit to the club in question.
The Salambo was by no means a male only establishment. It was quite common in Germany to see females in the audience although, usually males outnumbered them significantly. On the occasion of my visit, as I recall, the audience was fairly mixed. It was a warm summer evening in Berlin when I found myself at the Hallensee end of the KuDamn. I had paid my minimal entrance and was sat facing the carousel drinking beer at an exorbitant price and in spite of the attraction, was fending off hostesses whose own drink prices made my own look cheap. The lateness of the hour was such that the club was in full swing and it was not long before the first act became due. With about 7 hostesses sat on the circular couch “Wir suchen einen Herr,” announced a Compare. There followed a lot more German only a little of which I could understand. I gathered that a man was required for coitus with one of the nubile company arranged seductively on the podium. The response was hardly overwhelming. Much laughter and jocular backchat came in response to the request. In many ways this was hardly surprising since “The Herr” was to be expected to service the ladies in full view of some forty onlookers. The Compare went around the round extolling the virtues of the tempting situation to those of us who might lose our inhibitions in this cause. Whilst I never really considered it, deep down, I longed to go out there since the quality of the carnal allure was so high.
Eventually it seemed that the Compare had found someone whom he knew would partake in the matter. The individual concerned was a bespectacled chap wearing a sports jacket, with receeding hair. He had been sat on his own and I have to say that I had gained a slight impression that either he was a plant or, more likely, he was someone who had done this before. I say this because there was just a touch of acknowledgement between him and the compare when the latter had failed to find an alternative candidate. I sat and watched with considerable envy as the show unfolded. Having the wench of his choice, they proceeded to demonstrate the art of copulatory foreplay. I was full of admiration as he seemed to display no nervousness in producing an erection. At one point his torso was inclined against a series of cushions facing the audience whilst the strumpet, lying down on her stomach between his legs, arm outstretched, was gently running her fingers slowly along the shaft of his finely erected penis. It was at this moment that I realised that I now regretted not having put my own name forward for this event. It just so happened that the opportunity was about to present itself.
It turned out that one of the waiters in the club was English. In fact I had struck up a conversation with him earlier in the evening and he explained to me that he was working in Berlin. On my next occasion ordering a drink I decided to ask him if it would be possible to take part in the next life show. He answered that it would be no problem and offered to organise it immediately. Mindful of my earlier failure, I specified that I would only be interested on the basis of non penetrative sex. It seemed, therefore, that within a matter of minutes, the Compare was once again on his feet announcing that “Another Herr” had been found who was prepared to take on one of the girls in the club. Thus it was that I was brought out into the middle of the room and introduced to the audience. Over the microphone it was explained to me, in English, to go upstairs and take a shower and report back downstairs for duty in a few minutes. Having, therefore, been placed in this position, I had little chance for second thoughts about the whole business as I duly sprinkled my private parts in preparation. Admittedly, at this stage, I was under the impression that any coitus was going to be achieved by use of the dainty fingers clasped around my organ. It was with this in mind that I presented myself, suitably dressed, in my birthday clothes at the entrance at the foot of the stairs.
The music was stopped and I was invited to be seated on the edge of the podium with four or five girls with whom under more discrete circumstances, sexual intercourse would have been nothing other than a pleasure. In some ways I was like a kid in a sweetshop being completely spoiled for choice. I chatted briefly with the various ceremonial mistresses before making good eyeball contact with one whilst the Compare egged both myself and the crowd.
It was in such circumstances I made my choice of partner for the forthcoming event. Without further ado it was “chocks away”. The club lights were dimmed, the stage lights turned up and the two of us got down to the serious business. The bed began to revolve as, using a microphone the Compare was stood to one side giving a mock commentary of the various stages in the process.
To put it mildly, I was a little nervous. However, the bold and confident manner which my partner operated soon manipulated a huge erection with the purple tip of my upright organ stood proud in the lights. At this stage the wench surprised me for, totally in control, she rolled herself over so that I naturally found myself in the missionary position with my bayonet poised at the entrance to her juicy interior. As I said, it had never been my intention to copulate with this wench. However, either she had not got the message, did not care, or had some pecuniary interest in the event. Whatever it was she was totally in the driving seat and, like a puppet on a string, I readily accepted the wet, warm quim sucking in my penis towards the gap between her legs.
In my experience there are just a few women who can exercise an alliance of abdominal grip and synchronous rhythm that defy the laws of sexual science. It just so happened that this day I found myself between such a combination. I was vaguely aware of our horizontal rotation as the audience tittered and the Compare encouraged the two of us. My main perception was that of the all pervasive all powerful device locked over the end of my cock. After what seemed only fairly short while the Amazon had her wicked way and I expired, out of control, with a series of huge sighs. As I did so I remember the Compare yelling into the microphone something of the effect to “Ya meiner Damen und Herren listen to the enjoyment of that Englishman ” To the sound of huge applause, my glistening, limp tool popped out as I lay down in momentary total exhaustion.
After a short pause, we both stood up and took a bow receiving the acclamation of all present. Nevertheless, I knew, deep down that this nameless Fraulein had been totally responsible for the resultant spectacle and that in a sense I had been an observer to the event. Her skill and expertise had brought me to this climax of my fantasy. Ever since watching the first stripper in the north of England, I had fulfilled an ambition to become a similar exhibitionist and I am choosing this moment to eternally thank my partner wherever she may now be, for the crucial part she played. So good was our presentation that, following my return to the club, several persons asked me if I was a professional.
In the meantime, my erstwhile companion had rejoined the general club atmosphere and was sat alone on one of the sheepskin couches. I went over to speak to her so say “auf wiedersehen”, however for her part she seemed somewhat disinterested in my approach. No doubt, like many women employed in the sex industry, she had learned to keep separate her copulatory activity and her private life. My presence was now simply an inconvenience preventing her from finding yet another sex partner in order to augment her income. She did, at least, partly acknowledge my approach and I said good by with a little kiss on her cheek. I have never seen her since.
Let me first describe Priscilla. Dark eyes, long thin face, long black shiny hair, she was of indeterminate age. The slightly hooked nose and large red lips gave her a very Iranian look. Undoubtedly an Arab, she was, in fact, Australian of Egyptian descent. Dressed as he first saw her wearing a long, red, albeit low cut dress, other than her face, it was not possible to determine the beauty of what lay underneath.
The uniform consisted of a white hat, green one piece mini skirt with a white mini apron. The skirt was not quite long enough to completely cover a pair of black knickers protruding though which were the white frilled edge straps of a suspender belt. Her stockings were skin coloured and pulled tightly up to about three inches short of the tops of her thighs revealing just a little bare flesh in the adjacent zone between. On the end of her legs were fitted a pair of dark stiletto shoes augmenting the former's already well proportioned length.
As there was no actual stage, he sat on the floor so as to give the bed the impression of a podium. A mirror was on the wall to the left. To the right was a series of steps leading to a shower cubicle. Although not theatrical the lighting was soft and balanced and in keeping with intention of the room. After a initial little trouble with the music, Priscilla made her entrance and began to stride the imagined catwalk up and down across the line in front of the bed. She mounted the steps allowing the rear suspender to pull tight across the skin of her posterior augmenting the curvature of the latter. Slowly, suggestively, immodestly and indecently she began to remove the various items of female attire worn especially for the occasion. Once down to the knickers she began a piece of eroticism for which words are hard to find, but for which the reader will understand the involuntary action of a part of the male body was adequate response. Priscilla lay on the end of the bed brought her legs up together waving them in response to the music until they were absolutely vertical. She then parted them wide keeping them accurately straight in military fashion. Back and two they went in a daring display as if to challenge his very manhood. After a couple more disciplined gymnastics the knickers were removed in an equally defiant and precise manner. Thus it was that Priscilla summoned him to the stage crawling hands and knees across the platform having discarded all but stockings and suspenders.
It was summons he eagerly accepted and upon which, by now, he was anxious to show consideration to the beautiful wench. He began by kissing her copiously along the very length of the seemingly unending shapely mechanisms which had so recently been the subject of his fascination. In so doing his lips passed close to, yet without touching, the divine zone which had so recently been efficiently uncovered. Then, taking the initiative, he began a sensuous lip to lip contact of that womanly sexual device which, judging by the sound issuing from above his head, was producing just reward for the series of provocative actions she had just performed. As he worked he looked with satisfaction across the straps of her suspenders and over the summit of a pair of firm, soft, yet delicate breasts to her distant face -itself in sheer ecstasy at the work which was being accomplished between her thighs.
There followed a couple of female orgasms before she rolled on to her knees. Not satisfied with his performance he continued his cunnilingus attack from the other direction. This time his head was inverted and he was able to look through the gap between body an those exquisite fastenings still remaining taught as they pulled the nylon integuments covering her legs from a point adjacent to his ears. This perspective of her thighs was only possible with that most intimate of contacts.
A few moments more and fellatio was next called for by our Mistress of Ceremonies. He delicately played with her long black hair while this descendant of the Pharaohs skilfully demonstrated the erection ability of her forefathers extended way beyond that of the construction of the Sphinx. As he looked at his naked countenance glazed in the mirror he wondered at the skill of this maiden for whom he was probably just one a many men she had had. "Right, push it up" she said as she rolled on to her knees and presented him with a pair of buttocks between which lay an apparatus of procreation in virulent form. His moment had come. It was time for him to perform and he intended to do a job commensurate with his own feelings of respect for his nubile partner.
As he got to his knees and gently pushed his penis inside his ephemeral mate, there came a ecstatic sound from a series of pillows down beneath where her head lay buried. Looking to the left, he could see the reflection of a man preoccupied by the sheer pleasure of the copulatory act he was in the process of performing. The interior of the dame was wet, warm and comfortable as he held tightly on to both sides of the shapely curves which had hitherto played only a lustful role. After a short while he raised himself self into full operating position, pivoting from his ankles and pushing his erected organ like a giant piston from a old steam locomotive. Although exhaustion soon approached he was by now only interested in giving her an encounter which, with all her experience as a hooker, even she would remember. In the circumstances his own self control exceeded his expectations for shortly Priscilla indicated that she would like him to ejaculate. At that point he took the brakes off and losing complete self control, buried his head alongside hers panting "alright I am going to come and I want the whole fucking place to hear about it!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAH!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!" He literally bellowed as loud as he could deliberately trying to make sure that everyone in the whole brothel and anywhere else for that matter could hear the conquest that this perfidious princess had just scored.
He was I. Thanks Priscilla, for a wonderful night.