Quantify the effects of the experiment.

Strings of festive lights adorned the entrance, and an enormous steel door sported a massive Christmas wreath that looked like a colorful nipple. Before we'd even crossed the threshold, we could see that strange things were afoot in the cavernous interior. As we drew closer, we could see that a woman was in a purpose-made cunnilingus throne with another woman face down in her personal business. Siouxsie, whom I recognized immediately, strode over to greet us, running her fingers through her candy-apple-red hair. She wore a long, burgundy velvet skirt, black leather boots, a shiny plastic corset that stopped just below her truly bodacious ta-tas, which were held captive in a tight, long-sleeved fishnet shirt. We made our introductions and Siouxsie smiled sweetly before hurrying off to greet other arriving guests.

Siouxsie and Jack have the most amazing living space I have ever seen; a raw, 12,000- square-foot warehouse space with cement floors and monstrously high ceilings. Along three sides of the perimeter of the space is a fifteen foot wide loft that accommodates a library, a living room, a king sized bed in an ornate steel frame and several other private rooms. In the massive space in the house's center were several S&M contraptions. Contrary to my preconceived ideas about how a porn star's house should look, the decor was impeccably tasteful. This was the house that come built.

Between twenty-five and thirty-five revelers were at the party by the time we walked in, but because of the room's immense size, attendance looked fairly thin. People were huddled in small groups of three or four, some chatting, some eating. Charlotte headed immediately to the bathroom.

Charlotte. Not only was she the most beautiful girl in my childhood hometown, but she and I are one of the few kids who tried to make it out of there. I'm gratified that we have this in common. I've been a friend she'd talk to about whoever she happened to be dating, which is not really a role I feel comfortable in, especially as I've always kind of had a thing for her. But tonight that could all change.

I tried to look like I was putting something in the fridge and got us both some water. I noticed crudités on the kitchen island. I was actually feeling a little hungry, but the presentation of the cheese plate robbed me of my appetite. Gouda, gruyere, stilton, cheddar and Monterey jack were all arranged around a lifelike, rubber cock n' balls. All of the food was XXX-themed, and it was a little much. Between a set of silicone ass cheeks rested a piece of celery that appeared to have seen better days. I couldn't bring myself to try the eggnog.

Joining me over the buffet was not so much a transsexual, but a man with huge fake boobs who made no attempt to dress or act like a woman. He had nice tits, I'll give him that. After he unsuccessfully looked for something to slice into an appetizing-looking Black Forest Gateaux, he said "Fuck it," scooped up a handful and started eating it, Henry VIII-style, pausing only to give me a knowing grin.

12.15 am
Charlotte emerged from the bathroom and observed the scene in the middle of the room. Her ethereal, Thandie Newton-like beauty made me feel less desperate and lecherous amidst all the goings-on. About ten feet in front of us, a blindfolded woman — naked save for a dog collar — was strung to a piece of scaffolding while a man with a braided ponytail and bowler hat methodically slapped her ass with his hand. He was putting a lot of thought into every slap, hopping around her body, turning his head this way and that, holding his chin thinking through his next move then giving a dramatic practice swing like a golf pro at the tee. The slapper would ruminate upon his girl's reaction, then change tack or carry on accordingly. To their left, a young, beautiful Korean woman was being led around on a leash by her boyfriend, who was just as Korean but not nearly as young, beautiful or naked. In general, the female submissives were all very attractive. The male doms looked more like lion-tamers, knife throwers and card sharps. Strangely, there were no female doms leading men around by their balls.

12.48am
As with all Christmas parties, different elements seemed to cling together. The north side of the room was occupied by hitters, slappers, spankers and people being tied up and generally bothered. On the south side were those whose primary concern seemed to be how much of their limbs they could fit into another human being. Up on the mezzanine were couples making out, while the tent was rocking with a noisy threesome. There were only a small number of gawkers, about eight of us. "Shouldn't we mingle?" asked Charlotte in her lace-tongued accent. "I suppose so," I said, looking around for an in.

It's harder to mingle at an orgy than you might think. I should have brought mistletoe. Everyone seemed preoccupied. I decided to peruse the books in the library. There was an incredible amount of Tolkien and a lot of stuff about witchcraft. Shelves were peppered with soft glamour shots of Siouxsie. In the center of the room was a Sybian, a squat half-cylinder about the size of a Cairn terrier with a vibrating dildo attachment on top. It's reputed to be the ultimate female sex aid. (At $1,500, it had better be.) I spoke to people at S&M camp about the Sybian. Many said that after using it a few times, a regular orgasm isn't nearly as fun and warned others to stay away from it. Like an old-time crackhead telling young 'uns to stay away from the rock.

1.21am
I notice a disappointing number of seasonal signifiers. I had expected a big Christmas tree decorated with condoms and crotchless panties, It's a Wonderful Life playing on their forty-eight-inch flat screen. Or at least Bing and Bowie crooning "Little Drummer Boy" in the background. It would have been cute.

A few of the onlookers seemed intimately familiar, one woman so much so that I struck up a conversation. I asked whom she knew at the party. She said she was an old friend of Siouxsie's. Then I asked what she thought of the place, etc. etc. What I really wanted to say was, "Weren't you in the locker-room scene of Where the Girls Aren't 17?".

1.52am
Nobody was under the influence of anything other than their insatiable sexual appetites. That set this soiree apart from any Christmas party I've seen — or indeed any party I've attended since I was fourteen. I tried to imagine an office holiday bash without booze to lubricate the forced situation. At typical office parties, people get smashed so they can possibly make out with a co-worker. Here, everybody was totally sober and fucking the daylights out of each other. A great model for the rest of us.

As I waited on the mezzanine, trying to discreetly smell Charlotte's hair while she stroked an affectionate cat, I became aware of the music that was playing. Fucking Pearl Jam. The album Ten on a continuous loop. I thought the idea was to get people to fuck. The dreary nineties rock was working on the conservative-looking couple that walked in with us, though — they were fucking loudly on the bed beside us.