This was not my first "adult lifestyle party" by any means, but I had long since given up the idea that I would enjoy any of these events in nightclubs, no matter how posh the hotels were. Somewhere around 2005 I got tired of (and massively bored by) lame nightclub affairs with adult themes, because they all seemed to be the same modus operandi: spaces filled with lame, 22-year-old nitwits in fresh Hot Topic outfits getting giggly-sloshed and performing affected bi-curious acts on smoke-filled and neon-lasered dance floors, with some terrible My Chemical Romance dance mix blaring from the boxes.
I was so over it.
But, like the mob, I keep getting pulled back in, and I was expecting Menage to be a flashback night where I had a couple of drinks, snickered at posers, and went home early to watch The Walking Dead on Netflix. What actually happened when my female friend and I arrived at the Jet around 10 p.m. was something I didn't predict: the start of a wet, wild and wanton evening that I was eager to text all my other friends about on my way home the next morning.
Upon arrival, we were greeted by organizers Tara and Sante Suffoletta, who got us the VIP bracelets that gave us access to the Twenty Nightclub and the suite on the fourth floor of the hotel that was reserved for party-goers who wanted to take the fun upstairs for a more private -- and intimate -- environment.
They led us through the crowds of couples and single guys and girls to a comfy couch between the bar and a mini-stage with an incredibly attractive female go-go dancer on it, doing her thing. Her thing was sexy, half-dressed and well-coordinated, and there was another equally hot and cool dancer a few yards away, keeping the crowd entertained like the best kind of ice-breaker.