TWO DAYS AWAY WITH A FULL WALLET.

What you're about to read is shocking, and what’s more, it’s true.

It’s difficult for me to reveal this truth, but I’m obliged to.

It’s a truth that society frowns upon, though a truth that’s prevalent throughout human history.

A truth that many a man has done, a truth that many a man hides, and a truth many a man would never admit to.

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I blame the British Army. I’d never thought about going to a prostitute before I joined, but having done so, it turned out to be the done thing.

It was the first night with my platoon company in Germany and I had no idea it was traditional to get the new boy drunk and laid.

‘Welcome to the platoon, Matt. Come and have a few drinks down at the Corporal’s Mess,’ they said.

The Corporal’s Mess was basically just a standard pub, but with the noticeable lack of standard measures. Every measure was served as a double. Compounded with the subsidized cost of the alcohol it was more than easy to get very drunk, very quickly.

Which I did.

‘Where are we going?’ I asked as they put me into a taxi.

I can’t remember too much of that night except that I was taken to the local brothel and given the ‘traditional welcome’.

Making my way back to my bed that night proved more difficult than expected. I walked though the wrong door and fell down the steps into the laundry room. Turning up to my very first shift as a Royal Military Policeman with a smashed nose and lip did not go down well.

‘Fighting Taylor?’ my sergeant said, ‘Front desk duties for the next three months.’

Not a great start to my RMP career. (I should have known then that it was an omen of things to come.)

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My platoon had been designated a tasking at Emden, north Germany. All weekend we would be searching vehicles and ISOs (sealed metal containers) looking for contraband.

On the Friday night prior to leaving, I found myself, not surprisingly, down the Corporal’s Mess drinking beer and double shots of vodka, having a good laugh with all my colleagues.

But then I slipped quietly away from the Corporal’s Mess to flag down a taxi.

‘Speckingly English, yah?’ I asked the taxi driver.

‘Yes, but only a little.’ When the Germans say this, you can bet it means they can speak perfect English.

‘Okay.’ I took a deep breath. ‘Take me to a brothel please.’

He promptly drove me to La Club Rosa, an exclusive brothel I had never been to before, off the beaten track, where I experienced the heavenly delights of a woman from Guana. It cost more money than expected, but was money well spent.

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I rode up to Emden the next day with Max Perkins, a good friend and colleague.

‘I went to La Club Rosa last night,’ I said, ‘You should have seen this woman, she was from Guana ...’

The conversation set the scene for the coming weekend.

Our accommodation was at a local hotel, The Seaman Lodge.

‘Hey, look what’s over the road,’ Max said, pointing out of the window.

There were two brothels, ‘Linda's Place’ and 'Sweet Love'.

We couldn’t believe our luck.

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That Saturday night we went to a disco in the town centre. We worked up a sweat from dancing, worked our way through a variety of cocktails and returned to the hotel at about 3am.

‘Come on, it’s far too early to go to sleep, let’s check out the brothels,’ I said.

Linda’s Place was spacious enough. A large square room with a square bar in the middle surrounded by stools. There were rooms leading off it where no doubt the action happened.

The place was empty and the two ladies available were charging a lot, but let’s just say it wasn’t a question of price, but rather a question of looks.

Sweet Love was much more appealing. Same set up, a square room with a square bar with stools all around. Though in this one there were a number of stages where near naked woman flirtatiously danced and slithered on the dance poles. We soaked in the seductive atmosphere and immediately felt at ease.

‘Do you want to go somewhere more private?’ one of the prostitutes said to me. I followed her blissfully unaware of how many clients she had been with that day.

When we left I faced a variety of emotions; guilt, disgust, shame, satisfaction, joy, bewilderment, and the nagging disappointment that, once again, I was reduced to having to pay for it.

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On the Sunday from 7am to 6.30pm we worked like beavers, searching through 150 vehicles and six ISO containers. I was the pen pusher for the day and I sure pushed that pen to its limit.

In addition to our platoon we were joined by a delegation of Royal Military Police personnel from JHQ (Joint Headquarters) in Rheindahlen.

Sergeant Shirley Shufflebottom (a legend in her own right; one of only a few female CP (Close Protection) officers in the Corp, and famed for protecting nearly every member of the British Royal Family) was amongst them.

It was good to see her again.

I remembered well the last time I saw her.

‘It’s Matthew’s birthday today, so let’s have everyone buy him a present for one Deutsche Mark,’ she announced to the section on duty that night.

‘All I want for my birthday, Sergeant, is a kiss from your beautiful, luscious lips.’ This took her totally by surprise.

‘Matthew, you’re a Lance Corporal, you can’t say things like that.’

During the shift, we would catch each other’s eyes and I’d put my finger to my cheek, indicating my birthday wish. I thought I caught some amusement in her eyes, but she shook her head saying, ‘Matthew, you can't do or say this kind of thing, we’re in the Army.’

She was an attractive woman and I couldn't help myself. Plus it was far too early in my budding military career to understand the nuances of army protocol.

I managed to chat to her while we were cramming into the minibus on the way back to the hotel. There wasn't enough space for everyone to sit and I invited her to sit on my knee.

‘You haven't changed at all, have you Matthew?’

‘Too right I haven't, Sergeant.’

---

Later that night I once again I found myself at Linda's Place.

Max and I decided to skip the trip to the town centre again, why bother when for 150 Deutsche Marks we could drink all we wanted and enjoy the company of sexy women.

‘Here my friend have my ticket,’ said a fellow customer who I had exchanged a few words with throughout the night. Although I’d already handed in my card, and had gotten my leg over that night, I took the card and claimed my free extra shag.

Except that I didn’t really. I didn’t tell anyone that night, but rather than having sex with the woman, I ended up massaging her for half an hour. She’d said that she was tired. Hey, I was brought up to respect women and as far as I was concerned that applied to prostitutes too. I was shattered too. In seventy-two hours, I had slept seven hours and had two hours worth of sex.

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The Emden trip left my bank account empty and payday was a week away. Was it all worth it?

I'm glad to have experienced it but scared that this was the way my relationships with women would stay.

We left Linda's Place at about 4am on the Monday and after a couple of hours of sleep, drove back to the army base at Sennelager.

Word of our exploits was already making the rounds.

‘You’re a dirty pervert Taylor,’ said many a colleague.

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So read and hear this. Yes, I've visited a brothel, more than once. I'm not ashamed, but in the same breath, I’m not proud. All I know (and now you too) is that what’s done is done.

But for all the excitement of that time, I’ve learnt that the best sex is with someone you love, not with someone you pay.