Every red-blooded American male will always remember two things: their first blowjob, and the moment they discovered that socialism doesn’t work.

Every red-blooded American male will always remember two things: their first blowjob, and the moment they discovered that socialism doesn’t work.

My first blowjob was nothing to write home about — it tasted like ball sweat and salt and I get nauseous just thinking about it.

Here was the moment I discovered that socialism didn’t work:

I was flying to Germany on a business trip. The guy I was with a REAL hardened whoremonger — the kind of guy who brags that he’s banged girls on every continent, and who can rattle off the names of strip clubs like the end of girls girls girls.

He was in Sales — a gay-basher, a closet-case, an overgrown frat boy.

“No, no, no, no, no,” he said to me, “you know what the BEST is? Put the laptop away man, you can’t just google ‘escorts,’ you gotta know the mongering SCENE.

“The BEST,” he told me, “is this place at the west end of Berlin — they charge you a flat fee, and you can stay all night! Bang all you want!”

I had never heard of such a thing. God DAMN, it’s just like stem-cell research, I thought — the United States’ conservative prohibition has left us behind the innovation curve. The krauts had fuckin’ lapped us: an all-you-can-eat hooker buffet? Genius.

“Multiple girls?” I asked.

“Of course multiple girls, man — that’s the whole point!”

“At the same time?!”

“No, not at the same time, you Jew, c’mon. Picture it like a strip club, but where you get to fuck ‘em. You pay a cover to get in, and then there are girls walking around just like at a strip club. When you see one you like, you just grab ‘em and go in the back where they have bedrooms.”

Huh! I mean, what the fuck do ya know? It sounded brilliant! As a Jew, I was overjoyed by the notion of getting to fuck German girls who 50 years earlier would be taunting “Goodbye Juden” to my Dachau train — and CULTURALLY, I was just overjoyed by the deal’s overall value.

In all the excitement, I never stopped to think, “Shit, the fuck am I gonna do with more than one girl?” I mean, if I could get ‘em at the same time that would be one thing, but after getting a drunken blowjob following a huge German dinner and a couple of pints, the ONLY girl I’m lookin’ for is Robin Quivers on my iPod while I pass out and snore like the bloated Greek god of sleep Apnea.

So we got off the plane, dumped our shit off at the hotel, and then had dinner surrounded by fat drunken businessmen yelling in German. I was surrounded by screaming Germans on all sides, which would have been enough to give my mother a seizure — like a Vietnam vet forced to sell dumplings at the wall.

My man paid the check, and then we were finally able to get down to business.

The outside of the place looked like a normal New York strip club — exactly like friggin’ Lace on 50th street and 8th. To me it looked American — that is, it didn’t have red lights or loud techno or any of the usual cheezed-out European shit.

Inside, there was another Nazi who took our money at the coat check — it was 160 euros, which is about 200 bucks. We walked through the curtains past the gigantic euro-bouncer (there are no blacks in Germany) and toward the buzzing thump of the horrible R&B and hip hop top 40.

Behind the curtain, to a woman’s eye, it would have looked exactly like a strip club, but I was able to notice some crucial differences. Those differences, in hindsight, should have caused me to turn and flee like the French before me.

The girls were all dancing together in their sparkly whorish half-dresses, very high on coke, in front of an enormous mirror that bordered a huge wooden dance floor.

All the guys were sitting around in plush chairs surrounding the dance floor, each looking so spent it seemed as though they had passed out.

Wanna know what happened next?

Here’s a hint: THIS PLACE SUCKED. Sound like Heaven? It wasn’t. Can you guess why? Try to figure it out, and then I’ll ruin it for you. Here’s one more hint: think Economic Philosophy 101.

—

Give up? OK, here’s the deal: There was NO economic incentive for these girls to want to bang you.

At a strip club, they’re all over you — that’s the whole rush: the reversal of the sexual power dynamic. You sit there like King Shit while different smokin’ hot girls try to convince you to hang out with them.

You want some company?

In that case, the incentive works perfectly — the girls try to get you to buy a lap dance (it’s $20 for 2 minutes of nothing) and so it’s in the girls’ favor to walk around begging guys to “spend time” with them. If they do it all night, they can make bank.

In THIS case, you’re paying a cover to the House, and they probably pay the girls a flat rate. The girls don’t get compensated when they bang you — there’s no system to keep track of who bangs who. They just have to stay above a certain minimum performance level (e.g. if they look like shit and nobody ever bangs them, they’ll probably get fired).

The most they can get from banging a dude is maybe a little tip — and no one tips in Europe. Even if you DO give ‘em a 20, that’s NOT worth banging some revolting guy like me for and it’s not economically viable because they can’t do it 100 times a night (or can they?).

The result is a group of whores who almost comically avoid trying to get banged all night, and who frown and roll their eyes when they’re actually tapped to get the ball.

So Eli Manning and I got a drink and watched the girls dance. They looked like a bunch of Long Island JAPS at a wedding: drunk and high, huddled together on the dance floor for survival.

Soon enough, Eli saw the girl he wanted — he picked out the freckled girl-next-door who was safely hidden in the middle of the whores’ protective hive. He walked out onto the dance floor and approached her, and I couldn’t fucking believe what happened next: When it became clear which girl he was after, the other girls tried to hide her in their nest, like a bunch of mama penguins. She resisted, and all the other hookers whined at Eli “awwww noooo, noooo” to try to protect her. Manning was into it though, pushy as an American IT Salesman, and he finally got her to come with him to the back room.

“Awwww, bai!” waved the penguins in German. The dejected girl hung her head and walked slowly back toward the bedroom with the triumphant quarterback.

Imagine doing this TWICE?

Worst. Brothel. Ever. It was more like a fucking Rape Club. Goddamn — I just wanted a blowjob, not to live out a Ted Bundy fetish.

In case my wife is reading this: Don’t worry honey, I didn’t take advantage of these poor girls. I went next door to a nice normal whorehouse, picked out one gorgeous girl eager to make a couple hundred Euros, took her upstairs, and banged her gently in every grateful hole.

Socialism: it’s great in theory, but goddamn if anyone can get it to work.

-BENJAMIN

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