Aesop's Drunk

A man walked down the street. The street he was walking down was not just any street, it was a wide avenue full of flickering lights, there was music in all directions, and sex shows, and strip clubs. The name of the street was the Reeperbahn, it runs parallel to the river and it is named for the rope that used to be tied down the middle of the street that people could hang onto before streets were paved and things got muddy. The Reeperbahn used to be frequented by sailors, crews of both the river barges and the shipping galleys from the harbor would come there, they would come there because it was one of the world's most famous red light districts.

The man walking down the street was drunk. He had been at a club before, a club called the Star-Club made famous by having the Beatles in residence for over sixty days before they were anything big. The people on the street on a Tuesday night were tourists, the drunk man saw old couples holding hands walking passed the working girls who were obvious because they all were blonde and they all were wearing fannie packs. Still, there was something naughty about the entire set up that the man liked, he had been here in the day, and at night he saw the place with its neon makeup. He knew from hearing that nearby was Herbertstrausse, which was closed off to women and anyone not eighteen years old. Women waited in windows like in Amsterdam, he was not going to go, even for a look in his state. The drunk man was not here for the prostitutes, he was here because this was where you were supposed to party. He ignored the barkers trying to hustle him into their clubs, he knew where the train station was and that was his direct path.

He saw them out of the corner of his eye, as he crossed a street. In Germany people rarely jaywalk, even if the street is empty. They were in front of him as he stepped onto the sidewalk, they were two beautiful smiling blonde German girls. They had fannie packs.

"Guten Abend". He would find out later her name was Kristina.

"Hey." He said warily, they were blocking his path. Later when he gave the autopsy of the evening he saw the subtle and ingenious aspects of their craft. They expected that he would not push them aside rudely, and they were correct, he had always been respectful of women; it had been drilled into him from birth. When he his heels hit the pavement, he was already the prey.

"Are you from the US?" She sounded excited.

"I am. --"

"How do you like Hamburg?"

"It's nice. --"

"How long you stay?"

"Just tonight.--" Every time he answered another question came before he could excuse himself. His downfall was politeness. He looked them in their faces, they really were very pretty girls. His idea of prostitutes were the American type, either emaciated walking corpses selling the last thing they had, or the insanely gorgeous and expensive types that brought down Eliot Spitzer.

"Are you enjoying the city? Learning new things."

"Uh." He knew where this was going.

"Because you should learn about legal German prostitution." Here it was. He laughed. He was interested, but it was because he was drunk, and also because he was vaguely fascinated with sex as a business. As something without feeling or passion attached. These were girls from Germany, there was no chance they were human traffic forced into the worst kind of dehumanizing slavery. They were here because the money was good, and by choice. He had never actually spoken with a whore, ever. "We are independant girls, we have a house thirty meters from here, none of us do tis for drugs, or pimps, we are running a special tonight, two girls for sixty euros. One in your arms, with the boobies and touching and snuggle, one working with her hands, or mouth, or sexy sexy. Nothing kinky."

"I... wait. Sixty euros?" He blinked. He had been dancing earlier, there was a Beatles tribute band and they were amazing. Helter Skelter was still in his head, still in his blood being pumped into him, making him high on the joy of movement. He was intoxicated, they were very beautiful and he was suddenly seduced with his heels on the pavement, barely on the street.

"Sixty euros, yes, no kinky things."

"Both of you?" He had answered so many questions in a row with yes. Are you American, yes. Do you like Hamburg, yes. Are you enjoying the city, yes. Are you learning new things...?

Yes.

"Yes. Both of us. It is Tuesday, there are not so many people out jah?"

"That's a nice offer I... I'm just going to walk up the street and check out the whole thing. I might be back." It was his last feeble try.

"What do you do for living?" They were still blocking his path, both smiling brightly. They both had tanned skin and nice full lips, painted lightly frosted pink. They smelled like fucking. They were dressed in matching denim skirts and white pull over jackets. They did not look trashy in the least.

"Jobless. You guys need any men? I'll dye my hair blonde." They laughed far too hard, and he was to drunk to honestly assess their flattery. They had him, he was just wriggling on the hook. More fresh meat, with a fat wallet, and glassy eyes.

He definitely had sixty euros. And so he followed them the thirty meters and he followed them into the non descript door nestled between the kebab stand and dildo shop. He followed up a twisting spiral stair well and the walls were red from the light. It looked like a movie set of a den of iniquity that a thirty one year old man was entering for the first time. It was very warm, bordering on uncomfortable, the drunk man wondered if he would write about this where his Mother could read. He wondered why he wasn't even really nervous.

"We sit on the bed, thirty or forty five minutes, you don't have to leave after you make orgasm." Their accents were charming. "Would you like something to drink?"

"Yes. I'll have some water thanks." His mouth was dry, so perhaps he was a little nervous.

"You sure you don't want vodka? Fanta? Something stronger?"

"Water is perfect."

"Do you mind if we have something to drink?"

"Not at all."

"It costs seven euros fifty, so seventy five euros."

The drunk man arched an eyebrow. The same trick was often pulled at strip clubs, he found it amusing.

"Whatever."

Kristina, sat and small talked with him, was he married, did he have kids, guessed his age incorrectly young to further flatter him. She told him he had nice skin that made him look younger than he was. Jemine returned with his water and two beers. Later he would realize that they offered something stronger to charge him more.

"We can't start until you get undressed honey."

"Oh. Are we at that part? Aren't you guys going to drink the drinks I paid out the nose for?" They laughed and ignored his question. It wasn't long before the man was indeed undressed, and the beautiful whores had stripped to their underwear. They were tanned and toned, their bodies were most satisfactory to his lewd intent. Both of them had elaborate tattoos, which further added to the exotic nature of the affair.

He was told to lay back, and he did. Kristina cuddled on his shoulder and he stared at her. Her skin was very soft, they were professional in every way.

"Now we explain what happens, so the customer can get exactly what he wants. You can have any party you like, you can have live lesbian show, or one girl puts her nice shaved pussy over your face and you can play with it with fingers and get nice view while the other sucks or fucks, or you can have nice S&M time, whipping, or nipple clamps, anal on us or on you, we can take you to the bathroom and do French shower. Everything is possible depending on what the customer wants, we can do Chinese style, do you know Chinese style?"

"Uh...no."

"Its a special way to move hips, for deeper penetration, you can pay to have both girls naked-"

"Wait what?"

"Shh shh, we explain. We can do Indian tantra, very slow, some customers like to stay longer an make more orgasms. We can put on show until ready again. The maximum you can spend is eight hundred euro."

This was way less hot now, the full menu was overwhelming, and the drunk man suddenly felt very vulnerable and stupid. Jemine had put a condom on him, and her hand was working to arouse him, but it wasn't working.

"Did you say, you don't take your clothes off?"

"We can take our clothes off. Tell us what you want and what you're willing to pay."

"Hang on. What have a paid for?"

"One girl cuddles you, with the boobies and stroking and the other works on you with her hand. She can use a cockring if you like."

"Okay. So say I want what you made it sound like I was getting, how much is that? Like another seventy five?" It all made sense to him now. His first mistake was stopping his gait on the street.

"It would be two hundred. Do you have it with you?"

"Uh...no."

"That's okay. Most guys don't carry that much cash. We take credit or debit cards." Here she rolled over and produced a xeroxed half sheet of paper where he was supposed to write his credit card number, and pin. She was going through some spiel about how he would be protected but the minimum withdrawl was four hundred euros. The drunk man was worldly, but he had gotten his ass handed to him by these veteran hustlers. "Make a nice present for yourself."

"Yeah. Listen. You guys sure are good at fucking people." He laughed at his pun, and handed her the form, he allowed the double hot German blonde suicide girls fantasy fade away forever. He had never wanted to have sex less in his entire life. "I'm not comfortable with this at all. You guys can keep the seventy five." They had made him pay before they had made him take his clothes off, it all lined up. He had been a mark the entire time. Humiliation burned him all over. There was a reason he had never done this, and now he remembered.

They were conversing in German, he was sure not nice things were being said. He dressed quickly. "You don't have to give the card, you can go get the money."

"Yeah. But no. Also I can give myself a better handjob than you can, and I can do it bareback." He started to the door.

"You wait for her to lead you out. You are in the red light district." Kristina's eyes were hard and cruel now. He met them with a level gaze.

"Thanks for looking out for me. You're very nice." And he pushed the door open and shouldered passed the other whore and walked down the steps. He was far less drunk now, and far less polite.

He walked the street, and he this time he did not stop for any of the fannie packs, he passed the clubs without looking up, or the alley that led to famous and seedy Herbertstrausse. He boarded the train and realized his belt was still undone. He chortled and buckled, some tourists watched him and he was tickled by how obvious he was. All the way home he thought about how it would be easier to write it all down in the third person. He was wiser now, and less innocent as a result. He grew up a little more, and he felt like something in him had diminished too and would never be recovered, just how it always feels to learn a lesson.