I’m in a warehouse loft in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, several evenings before Halloween, sitting uncomfortably between my pal Erica to my right and a couple that is naked to own intercourse in the eight ins of available ottoman to my left. Erica and I also are doing a instead heroic task of moving our look to just about anyplace when you look at the space but at our legs, the place where a pretty brunette in what’s left of a Dorothy costume (ruby slippers) services a grinning, half-naked cowboy in a Stetson and never much else. I think) beyond them, a few dozen beds lined up like some kind of Hieronymus Bosch version of a Sleepy’s showroom play host to sexual situations of varying size and gender combinations: girl-boy; girl-girl-boy; boy-girl-boy; girl-girl; girl-girl-girl; and, on the large, sweat-drenched mattresses at the center of the room, girl-boy-girl-girl girl-girl-girl-boy-boy-girl-boy (. Read more →