Good Vibrations Magazine

“What did she say?” I whispered to Johnny, staring at the angry flush of heat in Birgit’s cheeks.

Johnny shook his head. Together we were lost in a foreign world. Whenever our friends wanted to talk privately, they simply reverted to their native tongue of German, instantly plunging the two of us into helplessness. How could we get involved in a conversation that we didn’t understand? So we watched them bleakly, and waited in silence, knowing that eventually they would translate.

That evening, Birgit was the one who finally explained the situation. She wanted to take us out to her favorite restaurant. Wolf wanted to show us the red light district. The decision was up to us, and there was no way of guessing what had been lost in the translation. As could be expected, Johnny instantly voted for Wolf’s plan, squeezing my hand hopefully. I agreed, curious myself, and the four of us drove to the Reeperbahn.

Once there, we wandered along the sidewalks, glancing in shop windows and observing the erotic sights until the harsh throb of a foreign phrase caught my attention. Unlike the flurry of normal conversations floating around us, these words were different, a come-on directed at me.

“What did he say?” I asked Birgit, who had been designated as my perverted tour guide for the evening.

“The women in there,” she began, indicating the darkened doorway that led to a hidden strip club, “they’re all of legal age. But they’re shaved, so they look younger.” Then she pulled me along at a trot because we’d fallen behind the boys.

I glanced back at the heavyset barker, who winked at me before continuing his fast-talking German spiel, hawking his human wares to any passersby, even well-dressed girls like us. What use would we have for shaved strippers? I wondered, but the sinful gleam in his eyes made me feel instantly dirty, as if he knew all of my secrets. As if he might call them out to the next customer.

Swiftly, we fell into place behind our boyfriends, who were oblivious to the fact that we’d dropped back from them. Both men were fully captivated by the line of attractive prostitutes standing nonchalantly across the street from the police station. Our little foursome was clearly connected, but this didn’t stop the hustling women from approaching anyone with a cock. Each girl had a different move — a sensual head nod, seductive lower lip lick, an air kiss. Some were far bolder than that, stepping forward to actually speak to Johnny and Wolf, making pointed conversation in their lilting foreign tongue.

“What did she say?” I hissed to Birgit after a kitten-like blonde in sleek leopard-print slacks and a zipper-encrusted leather top spoke to my beau.

“She asked if he was interested,” Birgit told me, translating the words without hesitation. “She said that she’s the best — too good to pass up. Better then his wife.”

This last bit made Birgit’s eyes narrow, as if she couldn’t believe the nerve. I watched Johnny carefully for his response. While Wolf rephrased the proposition in English, Johnny looked the prostitute up and down, as if he were actually considering the offer. In my mind, I tried to imagine what Johnny could possibly whisper to me so that I’d let him go and experience “the best.”

“We’re only here for a few days,” he’d say. “And we did agree that we wanted to savor all of the international delights before returning home.”

Then I’d give him a kiss and tell him, “Sure, baby. Enjoy yourself. Here’s a handful of Deutschmarks. Have a blow job on me.”

As if reading my thoughts, Johnny turned around and gave me a sheepish smile, letting me know that he was simply a tourist on a sex-charged ride. No problems, honey, his expression said. No worries. On we went, heading toward the main drag of the Reeperbahn, where Birgit told us we could watch dirty movies, visit the erotic art museum, hear a late-night concert, buy a gun, fulfill any one of our decadent appetites. But before we reached the corner, Wolf stopped.

“No, Wilfried,” Birgit said immediately. She was calling him by his full name, which showed me how serious she was. “Don’t do it.”

“He’ll never get another chance,” Wolf told her.

Birgit shook her head fiercely. Once again, our German hosts engaged in a short, heated discussion in their own language. Johnny and I stood with raised eyebrows and listened to the friends we’d known since grad school. What wouldn’t Johnny get a chance to do? And why wouldn’t Birgit want him to have that opportunity? Birgit shrugged angrily, as if to say “do what you want,” and Wolf said in his perfect, unaccented English, “Leave it up to them, right?” and Birgit nodded, blue eyes blazing.

“There’s a street,” Wolf began. “Where the women are.”

I knew that he was leaving out something important, because as far as I could tell, the “women” were everywhere. Turning my head, I spotted several prostitutes moving in our direction. One statuesque brunette was wearing gold hot-pants and lace-up boots, not even shivering while the rest of us were bundled against the chill. Apparently, she had an internal heater. Johnny and I waited silently for further explanation.

“Down there,” Wolf said, indicating a glossy, scarlet-painted gate that towered over our heads. “Behind those doors, there is a street where only men can go.”

“Why?” I asked, my shoulders tightening automatically.

“They don’t want the competition,” Birgit explained. “Or simply curiosity-seekers. They want customers. Males mean sales.”

“Would you like to go?” Wolf asked. His tone made it apparent that he was the one who really wanted to take that stroll. “Just to look,” he continued. “They sit in the windows and you choose.”

“It’s nothing,” Birgit said, shaking her head. “Sluts under glass. That’s all.” But Johnny wanted a peek, I could tell, and so could Wolf. “I hate that we can’t go, too,” Birgit muttered, revealing genuine frustration. “If they’re so good, they should be able to handle another woman walking by.”

But they wouldn’t want to compete with a girl like Birgit — that was my instant thought. So lovely, with her long blonde hair fanning loose over her black cashmere sweater. Bright blue scarf tight around her throat. Pale blue gloves matching her suede slacks. She was far prettier than any of the stunners we’d seen so far, and she gave Wolf what he wanted for free. Although, from the furious expression on her face, I thought he might not be getting any tonight.

Johnny looked at me, a question beating in his deep green eyes, and I nodded. Who was I to keep him from a once-in-a-lifetime journey?

“How long will it take?” I asked.

“An hour,” Wolf promised. “Maybe less.”

He wouldn’t meet my gaze as he spoke. Was there something else in the plan, something that Wolf wasn’t telling me?

“We’ll see you back at home,” Birgit said suddenly, surprising me by how easily she was giving up. “I’m going to take our little one here out drinking. She’s never had a Hefeweizen, if you can believe it. Don’t worry. We’ll cab.” Wolf grinned like a kid, obviously thrilled that his girlfriend had acquiesced. Had he never been allowed down the street before? I didn’t have time to ponder that, because the boys were moving in speeded-up motion before we could change our minds. I watched Wolf open the red gate, saw the two men disappear behind the wall. Then Birgit was tugging my hand, pulling me toward a waiting taxi.

“Where’s the bar?” I asked as we settled ourselves in the plush leather interior.

“We’re not going to a bar. We’re going down that street,” Birgit said forcefully, her ice blue eyes gleaming. “It’ll just take a little doing.”

Back at their Hamburg apartment, Birgit riffled through Wolf’s wardrobe. “We need guy clothes,” she said, “and hats. We’re lucky it’s winter. Less exposed skin means less exposed features.” I stood, bottle of beer in hand, as I watched her gather what she wanted. Honestly, I wasn’t that interested in seeing women behind windows, but I was excited at the prospect of an adventure. Besides, I liked the way Birgit moved, telling me what to do and how to act. It meant that I didn’t have to make any decisions.

“You’ll need to tape those,” she told me, indicating my full chest with a casual motion as she tossed over a roll of bandages. I’m slim, but I have curves. “Get yourself as flat as you can.”

Now that it was really happening, my heart started to race. Go fast, I thought. Don’t think. Modestly, I faced away from her as I pulled off my shirt and sweater and started to roll the bandage around my breasts. But Birgit moved next to me, helping, her fingers cold on my warm skin as she tucked in the end of the bandage.

“Wipe off your make-up,” she told me. “No lipstick. No liner.” I retreated to the bathroom to follow her orders, then returned, clean-scrubbed and fresh-smelling, although feeling something like a mummy in the bandage.

“Perfect,” she said. “Now a button-up shirt, I think. Good that you’re so tall. Makes things easier.” She cocked her head, looking me over. “Keep on the jeans, but put on a pair of my Docs. Your boots are too femme.” I followed her commands, fingers trembling as I did the laces up on her heavy black shoes. “Leather jacket,” she said to herself, nodding. “And some hat. Baseball hat? Yes, Johnny’s got one, right?” As if on automatic pilot I found myself in the guest room, grabbing Johnny’s vintage baseball cap from the dresser and putting it on backwards.

“Your short hair is a godsend,” Birgit said, fussing impatiently with her own intense silky blonde mane. She wrapped it tightly, tucked the length down her turtleneck collar, and then grabbed a striped woolen hat. She’d dressed similarly to me, but without needing to wrap her small breasts. Standing side-by-side in front of the mirror, we looked like two young boys.

“If anything,” she said, “they’ll hassle us for being underage. We need something else.” She rummaged a bit more, and then ran into the kitchen, coming back with a pack of Wolf’s Marlboro Reds. Our friends smoke American brands, while we think we’re cool to buy the European ones.

“Smoking will keep our hands busy and give us something to cover our faces.”

Again, we stood in front of the mirror, staring. Then Birgit snapped her fingers and said, “I know. I know — ” and she reached into Wolf’s dresser and pulled out two socks. “Roll ‘em up and stick ‘em down,” she instructed, and soon there we stood: two insecure youths with smoking habits and serious hard-ons. “Let’s go.”

The cab ride was a tense five minutes as I tried to decide whether or not I could go through with this bizarre charade. “What happens,” I whispered, “if they realize we’re girls?”

“They’ll throw ice water on us,” she said matter-of-factly, “and bits of garbage.”

That sounded like a whole lot of no fun.

“Maybe we should just go to the bar,” I suggested softly, struggling to find a comfortable way to breathe with my chest so firmly wrapped. “We could have another heffer-whatever –”

“No,” Birgit had her mind set. “This is it,” she told the cab driver, and he murmured something back to her as he handed over the change. Birgit responded with a dark smoky chuckle that sounded nothing like her normal laugh.

“What did he say?” This was my mantra for the evening.

“He said, ‘Have a good night, gentlemen,’” Birgit grinned, pushing me out the door. Then there we were, back in front of the red gates.

“What if Johnny and Wolf find out?” I asked, my last ditch effort to talk sense into my friend.

“What can they possibly say?” she responded. “They’ve already done it, and who knows what else!”

She was right, and I took a deep breath and followed her through the gate and into another world. Instantly, I saw that we were in a sort of human sex mall. Lining both sides of the narrow street were tiny storefronts with floor-to-ceiling windows. Behind most windows sat a woman, waiting. I was surprised to see that the windows were actually lit with stark red light bulbs — hence the term ‘red light district.’ Each window held a comfortable-looking chair, like an old-fashioned recliner. The chairs were decorated in a variety of different styles. Some had flags draped lushly over the seats. Others featured more luxurious fabrics, comforters made of velvet and satin.

As we strolled by, I noticed that several windows were dark. These were the ones that had customers, Birgit explained. “It’s early,” she said, looking around at the light pedestrian traffic. “Men with their needs come out later in the evening.” But although this meant that there were many women for us to look at, this also meant that we were scrutinized as potential customers by each one. Some waved. Some stood in open doorways and beckoned. I could see their eyes, the red embers of their cigarettes, their bodies encased in shiny, revealing clothing.

“Hey, tall dark and handsome, come back –” one called. I wondered how she knew I spoke English, and then remembered my baseball cap with the SF Giants logo on it. A clever guess. As we wandered, I looked out for Wolf and Johnny, but there was no sight of our mates.

“The boys are long gone,” Birgit said. “They scurried down fast.”

Turning to look at her, I understood in a mental flash that she was smarter than Wolf, that when he played his little boy games with her, she was always the one in charge. “They’re all macho in front of us,” she continued. “But when women are offering sex for real, they get scared.”

Maybe, I thought, but maybe not. I peered into the hazy gray of one storefront as we strolled by. Maybe they’re each behind one of those darkened windows.

Because there are things that you can’t translate. Expressions. Wounds from old secrets. And there are some things that don’t require translation — like the fact that I knew Johnny would sleep with one of the prostitutes if he had the chance, that I knew he’d done so before. Nuances like the heat between me and Birgit, the questioning glances, sly smiles, accidental brushes up against one another. You don’t need a phrase book to understand certain concepts even if they are foreign as of yet. Even if you’ve never done them before.

At the end of the block, we turned around, walking faster down the other side until we reached the starting place. Now that we’d actually succeeded, there was no need to linger. Birgit smiled at me, and herded me through the gate.

“We did it,” she said, gripping onto my hand tightly.

My cigarette had burned down to the filter, becoming one long piece of silvery ash. Birgit plucked the butt from my fingers and crushed it out on the concrete sidewalk. Then she took a step closer to me. Her breath was icy. Puffs of wispy frozen air. Behind her, the barker called out to us.

“What did he say?” I asked, desperately.

“He said that his girls inside are young and pretty and shaved.” She paused before adding her own opinion in a different tone of voice, “But they’re not as pretty as you.” As she said the words, she kissed me. Her cold lips pressed to mine, and I felt her arms pull me forward. Wrapped in her tight embrace, her sock cock jammed into my side.

“Is that a tube sock in your pocket?” I whispered, “or are you happy to see me?”

She laughed hard, her real laugh, and then took my hand again, pulling me back to the taxi stand where a line of cabs waited. “They won’t be back yet,” she predicted. “If Wilfried thinks I took you drinking, then he knows he has a couple of hours to kick around town with Johnny. They’re probably in one of the kino houses.”

“Kino?”

“Movie. Dirty movies on this street. Two men, jacking off in the darkness.”

I didn’t have to ask what we were going to do. Her fingers played with mine on the ride home, squeezing. The cab driver kept his eyes intently on the rearview mirror, watching.

“He thinks we’re fags,” Birgit said, pulling her woolen cap off to reveal her long honey-blonde mane. The driver seemed to visibly relax. And then Birgit wrapped one arm around my neck and pulled me in for our second kiss. Sweet, at first, and then hot as her lips parted and her tongue met mine.

“Here –” she said, just when I was losing myself in the wonder of it all. “Right here.” She paid the driver and hurried me back up the four flights of steps to the apartment. There were no words then. Just Birgit unwrapping me as if I were a Christmas present. My hat off. Sweater on the floor. Long strand of bandages unwound and discarded. Shoes pulled free. Jeans in a faded denim puddle. Birgit took me on the bed, spread me out on the soft duvet, and started to speak German.

“What –?” I begged. “What did you say?” Now, I needed to know. I didn’t want to miss any words.

“Relax,” she told me, her body soft and warm on mine, curved and dipping in all the right places. She straddled my waist and looked down at me, then traced her fingertips along the line of my forehead, the bridge of my nose, before bringing them finally down to my mouth. Her fingertips rested on my lower lip and I drew them in, sucking on two, gently, softly.

I felt the place where our bodies were joined, felt the heat as it seemed to move from her to me. Felt the wetness when it started and I bucked up against her body, letting her know. But she knew. Easily, she moved down, kissing along the rise of my collarbones, down the hollow of my flat belly, making her way to the slicked wet split between my legs.

I thought of Johnny and wondered whether he was behind a smoked-glass door, making love to a stranger. I thought of the barker, offering nubile women for viewing pleasure, or more. And then I thought of nothing, as Birgit spread my nether lips wide open with her slippery fingers and brought her hot mouth against me. She touched my clit gingerly with the tip of her tongue, then ringed it with her parted lips. I felt the wealth of expertise in the way she touched me — she knew what she was doing. Her fingers came into play, holding my lips apart, dancing along the slick wet split. Then she moved her head down and her long hair tickled my inner thighs as she drew a line with her tongue from my pussy to my ass. I groaned and raised my hips, anxious to take whatever she would give.

Mouth glossy, she moved back and forth, licking and sliding, playing tricks and hide-and-seek games with her tongue deep inside of me. I turned my head and stared at the gold-painted wall, seeing our shadows there, growing and stretching with our movements. There were four of us in the room. Me and Birgit, and the two lovers on the wall. When I could take no more, I put my hands on her shoulders and made her look up at me. “Please –” I begged.

“What?” she asked, an echo, a murmur, “what did you say?”

“I want to taste you,” I told her, and quickly she swiveled her lithe body around, so that her sex was poised and ready above my waiting mouth. Then we were connected again. My tongue inside her pussy, her whole face against my cunt, pressing hard. I didn’t think. There was no need to. I only acted. Lips on her nether lips. Tongue flat to tickle her clit and then long and thin to thrust inside of her. I mimicked each move she made until we were in perfect rhythm. One beast, one being, riding together on that bed.

Nothing has ever felt that good, that right. The way we connected to one another. Skin sliding on skin. Fingers moving, caressing. Searching together to find the end — the answer.

With my eyes shut, I saw the women in the windows, the sluts under glass. With no sound but our hungry breaths, I heard the barker offer up his strippers, smooth and shaved, and then I was coming, and I heard only my heart in my ears as I drove hard against her mouth, sucked hard against her clit, taking her with me, taking her over.

Hours later, the boys found us curled in the bed together, me wearing one of Johnny’s shirts, Birgit in one of Wolf’s.

“Sleeping off a drunk,” chuckled Johnny knowingly as he and Wolf stumbled down the hall toward the tiny kitchen, where I could hear them trying, and failing, to be quiet as they looked for more alcohol. There was a loud bang and then Wolf groaned something in rapid-fire German.

“What did he say?” I asked Birgit, nuzzling my lips against her soft cheek.

“Nothing,” she assured me, “nothing important.” Her fingers once again found out the secret shaved skin of my bare pussy. Then quietly she spoke to me in German, and I closed my eyes and listened to the delicate murmurings of phrases that I knew meant promised pleasure, for once not worrying myself about the translation.