I had spent the last six hours at the Black Party, a giant gay event that takes place every year at Roseland Ballroom in Manhattan. 'Some guy must have pissed ALL OVER my shoulder!' 'Oh my God!' he exclaimed to his friend, as his wet skin rubbed up against my arm. And as I stood there contemplating the circumstances that had led me to this place, a man wearing nothing but a harness and underwear staggered down the hallway and accidentally pressed up against me. A man dressed in a leather jacket emblazoned with the words 'human urinal' was next to me, a funnel strapped to his face. It was 7:30 in the morning, and I was standing in front of a bunch of cots filled with piles of naked men. I remember the exact moment I realized it was time to leave the sex party and go home.
