Prostitution is legal in Germany. Every town has its scene. Hamburg has the Reeperbahn and red-light district. Berlin has Oranienburger Strasse. Even little Lüneburg has a small street offering käufliche Liebe out in the open. Most of the action is supposedly in small 1 or 2 room brothels. In the street where we used to live, down about 5 houses, there was a Puff. It was very discreet. There was never any shady antics going on other than a few sheepish looking guys nervously waiting around after they ran the doorbell. No one, at least in Lüneburg and as far as I know, has made a fuss or tried to have them shut down.

Apparently there is also a brothel 2 doors down from our new place. Certain clues gave it away: Red lights in the window, a few nervous looking fellas entering and leaving 20-30 minutes later, and the names on the doorbell keep changing every few weeks. It is still very discreet and doesn’t seem to be causing a problem.

Until…

Last week M. was home alone when the doorbell rang. Thinking it was me, she opened the door excitedly. There was a nervous looking middle-aged guy wearing glasses and a hat standing on our doorstep with his face in a shadow.

Uh, ist Matilda da?

Hier wohnt keine Matilda!

Slam!

The poor schlub probably thought he hit the jackpot there for a second.

Oh wie geil! Wah-wah-wee-wah!

I can imagine that he was disappointed when the door slammed in his face and he realized he was at the wrong address.

Oh Scheisse!