I Expected a Lot From Berlin’s Kinky Kitkat Party, But Not This

To me, Berlin’s sex scene feels judgemental, while it wants to be so free. You can be anything but pretty in connection with sex (or actually anything in Berlin).

I am no plastic Barbie, either.

I like velvet, reading between the lines, seducing a man with my dance, playful words, or just gaze. I love my endless power as a seductress.

But Berlin asks me to put my sword down. To not attack with the weapons I’ve been given, but to argue for all those who don’t want to use theirs.

I’m a predator, not a victim.

Short: we just don’t fit.

So when going to a KitKat party in my stripper heels and micro mini blazer just covering my nipples, I clearly stick out. I’m taller than any girl in the four big rooms. People must assume I’m a very convincing trans lady because that is more likely in Germany’s capital than a woman actually dressing blazing hot. All other gals wear Doc Martins and those boots that remind me of tyres.

They come to take drugs and dance, not flirt and sizzle. I halfway enjoy the attention as a new trans woman, the other half feels like wearing fur at the annual Peta gala. I didn’t come to fuck, but as I’m not into techno and drugs, I’m a little disappointed already. My Feeld date is busy reloading his powder nose and my heels don’t do well with walking to the bathroom every 20 minutes, so I explore alone.

I find the KitKat Club’s one small and unpopular dance floor with funk music. It’s empty of tyre boots but filled with a few couples that have put this Saturday down into their calendar months ago as a date night.

My KitKat Outfit.
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The modern lead generation for threesomes starts. She approaches me very softly in a horse whisperer style, which is more suspicious in such a druggy environment than if she spilt her drink on me and then apologised, starting a conversation.

After 2 minutes of small talk, she introduces me to her man, and I can literally see the sexual boredom they are trying to use me against. I feel sorry for all of us that I’m not into women. God knows I tried, as I explain in my blog ‘The only time I let a girl eat my pussy. Or wait’, but that’s a whole different story.

Before the awkwardness implodes the room, I find an excuse to escape and run straight into the arms of a foot fetishist. He approaches me even nicer than the couple and asks me if he can massage my feet since they must be hurting from those beautiful shoes.

Fuck yes for both, the massage and pain.

I feel like a rare diamond having been spotted between zirconias and sit down like Cleopatra on a sticky leather plastic couch in the KitKat club’s foyer.

Mr. Foot fetish peels my feet as if they were pure truffles. He mentions the word beautiful a bit too many times. But it’s ok, there are various things I would do for a massage, paying money being just one of many.

My counterpart kneels down in front of me, facing my feet and with that, his back towards my apparently less important body parts such as face, tits, pussy. His focus is fully and ‘solely’ on my feet. IRL, I often say that I’m a lucky bitch, and I sure am now.

He strokes my feet like a violin, and I leave the two love birds to it. The foot fan is not drooling and my massage is superb, why would I interfere? A guy in a thespian-looking white shirt leans against the wall and watches us for a while, then walks away.

Before I continue my stroll through the most famous kink paradise in Berlin, my new friend tells me how perfect my heel is. The part that Achilles seriously got damaged by a none foot fetishist, looks as if someone has painted it perfectly according to him.

Unusual compliment, but this trans woman takes it.

After escaping another couple and their 17-year-old sex life, I walk into the arms of the Thespian. Turns out he is also a foot lover and was jealously wondering if he could spoil me, too. I am a fucking lucky bitch. So, it’s the same story.

This one actually looks me in the face while he rubs and compliments my Achilles heel. He tells me that he is the sub of a dom lady, and they have a date at the bar in 5 min, where she intends to suck his dick in front of everyone. This is the Berlin I like!

I ask him if I may attend the joyous happening and watch. Furthermore, I inquire if he is sure about the dom/sub role allocation with her. I may. And yes, sure, but giving head is power. I agree.I watch from a safe distance how he gets more and more frustrated because she doesn’t show up. Oh, she is good. Nice mind fuck dom lady!

The amount of fuckery is surprisingly low for an infamous and big sex club like KitKat. Half of the audience looks like they have dressed up for Halloween and had to go buy their harness and fishnet shirt specifically for this Berlin city trip. (Believe it or not, there is actually a shop just for this purpose close to Eberswalder Straße, with its own bouncer).

The other half is there for the drugs and happy to have an excuse to be hardly dressed. Drugs make you hot, but only by temperature. The few honest kinky couples I find are quickly turned off by masses staring at them while fucking or playing.

One guy spanks a woman behind a chained-off area and acts like he’s performing at a circus. One woman with very expressive facial expressions gets fucked on a bed with a huge audience watching. I’ve never seen anything less sexy. The way he pumps his dick in her, it reminds me more of athletics. Or like a machine on an assembly line. Efficient, but I’m not sure in what.

At 4 am finally I give up and change from Pleasers (apparently the only brand real strippers accept) to Doc Martens. I admit, it’s much easier to dance like this and I’m drunk enough to ignore all the late-night party flirts hoping to take someone home.

My Feeld date is in winter paradise and by 6 am I decide to take him up on the offer and just go to his hotel room without him. As I fall asleep I feel like a queen: I have a perfect Achilles heel, and all long term couples wanted to fuck me. Plus, I never have to go back to Kitkat Club.

So I dose off at the Ritz Carlton until Rick comes back loaded and ready for action.