Despite almost crossing the threshold several times, in the end they always found themselves back in line for the coatroom. They would be tired and smelly, but their unease would fade the second they stepped out into the cool night air. If a taxi passed they might hail it. Otherwise they would walk home in the gray light of dawn, hands clasped, exhilarated, unified. And also, in truth, relieved to have spared themselves the STD tests, glad they hadn’t accepted those water bottles, baggies, and vials. Once in bed, their excitement would soften into tenderness. They would spoon under the covers, let their breathing fall in sync, and tell themselves that no sex party could ever be a match for the intimacy and gratification of that closeness.

In the morning that thought would seem pathetic.