Red Luminescence

It was a cold that January night in Pirmasens. We were only there two or three days
as we were headed downtown, following the directions that were given to us. It was me
and Honto. Wanting a drink badly, we were skullied and buttoned to the hilt. Honto was
a white boy from West VA, country as hell, not dumb country, but in a 1/2 hip-hop,
1/2 rock pickup-truckin' kinda way. 'Til then, I never had any white friends, but we came
from Fort Jackson across the Atlantic together, so we naturally started hangin'.

From what the other guys in our unit told us, this was a pretty cool bar. We were either
desperate to get out, or eager to test the no drinking age laws in Germany. We just wanted to
get out of the barracks and get a taste of the city and culture for a minute.

Our destination was a place that was clearly marked "Club 1" in red neon. As we approached,
it was a huge, odd-looking building to be a bar. The dark wood and iron reminded me of some
medieval outpost. At least two stories with no windows, and kinda ominous. We approached the
door at the top of the six or so stairs only to find it locked when we attempted to open it. The
outside was lit up indicating that the place was open, but without windows, we didn't know for
sure. Coming too far this late at night was enough not to give up so easily. Before I could find a
doorbell of some sorts, Honto bangs loudly on the door. I wanted to run like I used to do when
we would ring people's doorbells and run as kids. It was seconds later the door squeaked lowly as
it was crept open by someone inside.

Without a word the gentleman nodded us inside the building. The place was warm. A much needed
reprieve from the weather outside. It was a bar indeed, a nice one at that. Huge columns made of
heavy, chocolate-colored wood. Old and rustic. Unlike the same decor in many restaurants that
try to evoke that old-world feeling, this was it. This was real.

Honto and I opted for a white-lighted booth as we heard the food there was pretty good. A
waitress swiftly came to our service and greeted us with a rusty, German hello in her best english.
"Ein bier bitte" Was my reply, taking my first opportunity to use the only German I knew at that
time. The place was pretty empty, with one or two older gentlemen sitting at the bar who looked
as if they'd rather spend the night there, than to head home in the cold to and even colder frau.
The waitress delivered out beers and we began to get comfortable, taking in the place. Shortly,
before we could notice, three scantily clad women arrive at our table. We hadn't seen them when
we arrived. How? Where'd they come from? That didn't much matter as they joined us in the booth
and began to make small talk. Each of them asked us to buy them drinks. I was a little skeptical as
I've always been in these situations facing unwarranted pressure. Honto on the other hand, was alot
more friendly and a lot less apprehensive.

The sister naturally gravitated towards me, seducing me with her english-accented probes. Asking me
where, I'm from, how old an I etc. After a few minutes, the strong Bavarian brew started to loosen my
moral fabric a bit. I became more conversational and began to get into a mack mode. Her accent and
soft caramel thighs next to mine, as selfish thoughts of conquering this Afro-European would catapult
me instantly to "International" status. My plans of world domination were preempted by her soft lips
uttering "Do you want to go upstairs?" Now I've been asked this question before, on several occasions
but never in this context. I was off guard. "What's upstairs? Is there a club or something" I asked. She
smiled at my naivete and gestured with her eyes towards my waist, and she wasn't checkin' out my
belt buckle. Then I realized!

"WHOA!" Any other place would be appropriate perhaps, but this was not my M.O.! I considered myself
a champion a game, but this was unfamiliar turf and an unscouted opponent! My apprehension from
before quickly returned as a conflict between appalling, and appealing fought for dominance in a
synergistic battle. My motto has always been 'by choice, not by force' this rule didn't apply! We've all
paid for it, but never up front, so blatantly. It was against the game. I was not trick to be demasculated
by the hand to hand exchange of currency for sex. I was out.

The next few days, the guys back at my unit knew of the story. I told them what they expected to happen.
A "welcome to Germany" initiation that unsuspecting privates are often sent on. The entertainment was for
them especially. I was hip to these places now as these guys pulled my coat. The game was white lights
and red lights. Booths affixed with standard bulbs are for the common social drinkers who have no
intentions but of having drinks. Contrarily, red lights were for those whose estrus was up, whose wives
were uncooperative, and those who felt their manhood waning and needed to be tested and serviced,
constantly thinking of Roxanne, those whose faces glow under red luminescence.

--a true account