Things took a decidedly less-sexy turn when I arrived at Sean's house and learned we would not be traveling alone. His friend Ralph would be accompanying us.

Ralph was the kind of violent, mercurial alcoholic some young men find awe-inspiring, until they reach a certain age and realize that Ernest Hemingway, Jack Kerouac and Charles Bukowski were essentially sociopaths who would probably have gotten him killed. Usually festooned with a collection of black eyes, stab wounds and other colorful injuries sustained in pointless altercations with Native American vagrants outside the liquor stores of south Omaha, Ralph also had the notorious propensity of treating the world as though it were his own giant toilet. Houseplants, closets, the crisper in the refrigerator — nothing was safe from his steaming, pungent spray. One might settle beside him on the sofa and immediately recoil from the warm, spreading dampness, an ominous sign that Ralph, without bothering remove his pants, had made himself a little too comfortable on the cushion. One roommate had even once lifted the lid of the washing machine to retrieve his clean clothes, only to be greeted by a tell-tale odor and a basin half-filled with yellow liquid.

"It's okay," I said, before Sean could ask. "I don't mind if he comes."

"See, man, I told you," Ralph slurred. "She's a classy lady." I felt proud. Ralph thought I was classy.

Truthfully, I was more perturbed by the sullen presence in the backseat of Spud, an acquaintance of Ralph's who Sean didn't know very well.

Ralph lurched towards me, placing his unsteady hands on my shoulders. "And when you get sick of the partying, you can go back to my place! Two of you can have a little love nest. A classy place for a classy lady."

"Didn't you get evicted?" Sean asked.

Ralph guffawed. "Shit, dude, I still got the key!"

I was pleased. The prospect of being alone with Sean was exhilarating. At least my fancy underpants wouldn't go to waste.

In less than an hour, Lincoln's state capitol building was looming over the cornfields, an enormous marble phallus topped with the famous statue of the Golden Sower, scattering his seed to the fertile earth below.

"The Penis of the Prairie!" exclaimed Ralph, and we stopped at a drive-thru liquor store to pick up some more booze before traveling on to the party. Upon arrival, Sean and the others disappeared; I wended my way forlornly through the crush of groping couples, feeling young and invisible as I got drunker. Eventually, I found Sean upstairs, huddled around a TV set with several others. On the screen, a naked young woman lay motionless on a patch of grass as a pair of mustachioed twins smeared her with feces. I spun around and vomited behind the couch.

Well, I thought as I retched, I guess people travel to see things they've never seen before.

Several hours later, Sean was sober enough to drive and shook me awake, dangling before my bleary eyes a set of keys attached to a small rubber penis, complete with molded pubic hair. We made our way to Ralph's, the promised lovenest for my paramour and me, the classy lady.

Remember the overwhelming smell of piss, puke and beer that hit you every time you walked into a bar after the smoking ban went into effect? And how you thought, Gee, I never noticed it before, but bars stink? Multiply that stench by ten, add the aroma of semen, and you'll understand the odor in Ralph's apartment. Walled with splintered wood paneling, it was empty of furniture apart from a bare mattress shoved against a wall and stained a telltale yellow.

The room was carpeted. It was, however, carpeted in porn.