Tami bursts into my room while I’m busy staring at a blank screen on my laptop. “Carly, I have two tickets to a sex party, and you’re coming with me.”

“Evening, Tami,” I reply, pretending to be annoyed at the interruption. “Please do come in.”

I quickly alt-tab to the Word document that contains the outline for my screenplay. At least that document has some words on the page. I’ve been sitting in front of my laptop for an hour, but all I have to show for my time is a couple of scene headings. Tami coming home has snapped me out of my trance.

Wait, did she say something about a sex party?

I finish off the cup of coffee I prepared the last time I was fed up with staring at a blank screen, and turn around to face an incredibly excited looking roommate.

“Okay, I’m awake now,” I say, forcing a smile as if to prove the point. “I was completely out of it just then. I dreamt you invited me to a sex party.” I’ve no idea what a sex party is, but I know it’s not something I would ever go to. Certainly not with my roommate.

“I did invite you to a sex party,” Tami replies.

My smile slowly fades as I realize she’s not joking. “When you say ‘sex party,’ you really mean…”

“A party where people have sex. Like an orgy, but more polite. Masks and shit.”

“Okay.” I draw the word out as long as I can. It’s not long enough to think of a response appropriate to this bat-shit crazy situation. I settle for a simple “no, thanks.”

“I had a feeling you were going to say that.”

“I mean, I’d love to, but I’ve only just come back from a sex vacation, so I’m a little exhausted.” Tami rolls her eyes at my obvious sarcasm. What did she expect me to say? “I’m amazed you want to go. You never struck me as the sex-party type.”

Tami hasn’t had a boyfriend since we moved in together eighteen months ago, and in all that time I’ve never known her bring a man over or stay out overnight. Unless she’s squeezing in quickies on her breaks at work, I don’t think she’s getting laid any more than I am. She works as a waitress at the same place I do in downtown LA, and when she’s not waiting tables she’s going on auditions for acting jobs. If she’s somehow having sex on a regular basis then she’s not sleeping.

“It’s fate,” Tami replies.

Oh God, she’s on all that ‘fate’ and ‘karma’ crap again. She’ll go months without mentioning anything, and then some random occurrence will happen and she’ll say it’s karma or fate and if I dare question her then I’m being cruel. I love the girl, but if the little luck that comes my way is karma, then I must have done some bad shit in a past life.

“How is it fate that we should go to a sex party together?” I ask. This should be a good one.

“Look what a customer left behind at work today?”

Tami hands me two pieces of rectangular white silk about the size of a large cellphone. I frown as I turn them over and see that writing and a photo has been printed onto the silk. It’s a little blurry. I can read a time, date, and address for the event, but the description is barely legible. ‘Join us for a sexy evening of…’ something I can’t make out. Each piece of silk has a blurry photo of a woman wearing an eye mask like the ones you would wear to a masquerade ball. The idea behind the invitations might have seemed sophisticated, but it looks tacky as hell to me.

“These tickets are not for us,” I tell Tami. The women in the photos look a bit like us—what you can see of them—but I would remember posing for a passport style photo in one of those masks.

“They’re ours now. A customer left them behind.”

“How the hell did a customer leave behind two silk invitations for a sex party? That’s a weird way to tip.”

“A woman left behind her purse. She came back to get it an hour later, but I guess these fell out before I gave it back.”

I raise an eyebrow doubtfully. “They fell out?”

“Yes,” Tami replies bashfully. “Look, she was a complete bitch and didn’t bother to tip me. Taking a quick nosy through her purse is just karma.”

“I don’t think that’s how karma works. Anyway, these tickets have photos on them, so we can’t go.”

“We look exactly like these women. That’s why I said it’s fate. Look, this one is clearly Chinese and has a similar shape face to me, and you have the same wavy brunette hair as this one. Your lips are different, but no one will notice if we show up in the masks that are in the picture.”

“You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

It’s only just sunk in. Tami wants me to go to a party that involves masks and invitations printed on silk. There’s even small, smudged text at the bottom, which unless I’m much mistaken reads ‘condoms, lubricant, and a small selection of toys provided.’

“Deadly serious,” Tami replies. “We need this.”

“What is ‘this’ exactly? I can’t read the full description. It just says ‘a sexy evening of something and something.’ First word begins with ‘D’ and the second with ‘Su’ I think.”

“I bet I know what the D stands for.”

“There are easier ways of having sex. What about Ryan at work? He’s always hitting on you.”

“We work together, so it would get complicated. Look, I did some research. These types of parties are anonymous and exclusive. You hook up with a random guy for some fun and then never have to look them in the eye again.”

“I’m more worried about looking you in the eye again. I don’t want to do that sort of thing with you around.”

I don’t even like having sex when someone else is in the house. I could never look my old roommate in the eye the next morning, and if I’d made any noise then I would avoid her for days. Fortunately, me screaming at the top of my lungs was never a common occurrence with my ex-boyfriends.

Anonymous sex holds some appeal, I can’t deny that. I’m too busy for a relationship and have been for a year. Between writing and waitressing, I barely have time to cook meals, let alone date guys. The whole online dating thing terrifies me. I’m always worried that a friend or family member will see my profile and know I’m looking for casual sex.

What if I could go to the party by myself? No, that would never work. I don’t have the confidence to talk to strangers, mask or not. I’d end up standing around by myself and hooking up with the first guy who shows me any attention.

“We don’t have to have sex there,” Tami points out. “We can just flirt with guys, and watch, and stuff.”

“You want to watch other people have sex?”

“Not really, but it could be worth it.”

“How?”

“Think of the types of men who will be at this party. The customer whose purse these, uh, fell out of, was stinking rich, judging by the purse and her outfit. That’s why I was so annoyed that she didn’t tip. I bet the guys at this party are absolutely loaded.”

“You’re looking for a sugar daddy?”

“I wouldn’t say I’m looking, but if I happen to stumble into one then I’m not going to look a gift cock in the mouth.”

Rich guys are usually assholes. At least, the ones in LA are. Tami and I have both been told in no uncertain terms that our careers would leap forward if we were prepared to do certain things with certain powerful men.

This party is probably full of men like them. At least if I’m anonymous, they don’t have to know I’m a desperate screenwriter who would do almost anything to get a break. Almost anything.

“I’ll think about it,” I say eventually, handing back the tickets.

“Will you actually think about it? Or is this like when you said you’d think about going shopping for food tonight?”

“Shit,” I mutter. I completely forgot about that. “I will honestly think about it.”

“The food or the sex party?”

“Both. But only on the condition that you leave me in peace to get on with this screenplay. The third act isn’t going to write itself.”

Tami smiles and leaves me to my work. I flick back to Final Draft and stare at the almost blank screen. The third act won’t write itself, but neither will the first and second acts. I could swear I wrote more than this. Did I accidentally set the font color to white?

I don’t have any motivation to write. That’s been a huge problem lately. I’m tired, maybe that’s all there is to it. I’m working fifty hours a week at the restaurant and then cramming in writing during my limited free time. It’s hardly ideal, but I can’t use that as an excuse. If I do, I’ll never write this screenplay, and I’ll always be waitressing for a living. That’s not what I moved to LA for. I’m here to write.

I promised Tami I’d consider the sex party, but in truth, all I’m going to do is think about the best way to say no. She won’t be that surprised. I haven’t had a sex life in years. I’m clearly not the type to go to sex parties. I’ll let her down gently.

“I can’t believe we’re going to a sex party,” Tami says excitedly, as we step into an expensive apartment building in North Hollywood. “This is so fucking cool.”

“Can we stop calling it a sex party?” I reply quietly. “Let’s just stick with calling it a masquerade ball.”

“Speaking of which—masks on.”

The second we’re in the elevator, I slip the mask over my head and adjust it until I can see out the eyeholes. Nothing feels different until I look in the mirror.

“We’re almost unrecognizable,” I say, glancing over at Tami. “The masks cover up more than I thought.”

“Told you. Tonight is anonymous. If I walk into a room and see someone in a gold mask and blue dress sucking greedily on some rich dude’s cock, I won’t know for sure it’s you.”

“Trust me, if you see someone doing that, it’s definitely not me.”

I step out of the elevator feeling surprisingly liberated and confident, right up until I see the bouncer standing guard outside the apartment and remember that we shouldn’t be here.

“We’re going to get busted,” I whisper to Tami on the way down the long hall.

“Not if we act confident,” she says, with a big smile.

“What if the woman who lost these tickets had new ones made for her?”

“She won’t have had time.”

“She might have reported them stolen.”

“Oh yeah, I can just imagine that. Excuse me, officer, someone stole two silk invitations to a kinky sex party. I know there are lots of shootings and muggings going on, but I’d appreciate it if you’d find those tickets. I won’t be able to get into the sex party without them.”

“Masquerade ball,” I correct.

We walk up to the bouncer and hand over our tickets. I let Tami take the lead since she’s feeling so confident.

“Evening,” Tami says, in a voice I don’t recognize.

“Evening, ma’am,” the bouncer replies. He stares at our tickets, then up at us, and back at the tickets. No one’s looked at my ID so closely since I was nineteen and trying to get into a bar using my cousin’s driver’s license.

“Will you be joining us in there later?” Tami asks the bouncer in that weird voice again.

“No,” he replies gruffly, still looking at the tickets.

“That’s a shame. You’re just my type.”

The bouncer doesn’t look impressed by Tami’s attempts at flirting, but he gives up and hands us back the tickets. “You two girls know the rules?”

Rules?

“Of course,” Tami replies.

The bouncer steps aside and lets us in.

“What the hell was that?” I ask Tami. “Why were you speaking funny?”

“That’s my British accent.”

“Why were you speaking in a British accent?”

“I don’t know. It’s part of my persona tonight. Besides, it’s posh. It doesn’t matter; we’re in now.”

Tami and I throw our coats in a nearby bedroom, and I make sure to place a few other coats on top of ours just in case some people get frisky in here later. There’s a large glass bowl on a small table which is full of loose condoms. Tami grabs a couple and shoves them in her purse. I won’t need any of them. Tonight is to let loose and have a little fun, but not too much.

Loud R&B music is playing from the far end of the apartment, so we walk in that direction. The first open space is a kitchen with a large island that has been turned into a makeshift bar, complete with at least twenty different spirits, fruit juices, and ice. There’s also wine, but strangely no beer.

There also don’t appear to be any men. There are five people in the kitchen making drinks and they’re all women.

“Are they the waitresses?” Tami asks, noticing the same thing.

“I don’t think so. They’re all wearing masks.” And they’re dressed far too nice to be waitresses. The dresses on display look so expensive that I assume they must be counterfeits until I see the jewelry that goes with them. If the dresses cost more than I make in a week, then the necklaces cost more than I make in a month. Including tips.

“Oh god,” Tami remarks. “Have we come to a lesbian sex party?”

A part of me would be relieved. At least that way we’d have an excuse to leave.

Then I hear a male voice in from another room, and another man laughs. Tami and I pour ourselves a glass of wine each and head in the direction of the men.

The first thing that makes this sex party—I mean masquerade ball—different from a normal party, is the complete lack of subtlety. The men don’t just cast a quick glance in our direction as we walk in; they turn and stare at Tami and me, not only mentally undressing us, but mentally fucking us as well. Tami smiles back at a few guys and doesn’t seem at all phased by it.

We stand in a corner and watch proceedings for a few minutes. I’m used to being at parties and watching other people having more fun than I am, but I’m not used to this.

The first thing I see is a man in his early thirties wearing a tuxedo talking to a woman on the sofa. Other than the masks they’re both wearing, it all looks innocent enough. Until I see where his hand is. Not on her leg; between them. He has his hand up her dress and is playing with her pussy in full view of everyone. I can even see that she’s shaved and isn’t wearing any underwear.

“Fucking hell,” Tami remarks.

“Yeah, fucking hell.” I assume she’s seeing the same thing as me, but when I look back at her, she’s focused on a man standing by himself, drinking a glass of whiskey. He’s nice looking, but not ‘fucking hell’ nice. Then I see the woman on her knees in front of him.

No one else thinks any of this is at all inappropriate, including the five women now walking into the room carrying drinks. Two each. I can’t blame them. I’m going to need a fair few drinks too if I’m staying here much longer. Each of the women goes up to a man and gives him one of the drinks. The men don’t even say thank you. They just take the drink and carry on conversing among themselves.

“I think I’ve just figured out what those two unreadable words were on the invitations,” Tami says slowly.

I watch another man command a woman to feed him appetizers from the buffet table at the end of the room, while another starts fondling a woman’s breasts over her dress with absolutely no reaction from her at all.

“Domination,” Tami says.

“And submission,” I finish. “Maybe we should leave.”

“Anonymous, remember? None of this will ever get out.”

“Do you want to be treated like that?” I nod towards the woman who is still getting fingered on the sofa, although when I look back I realize that she’s enjoying it. She’s carrying on like it’s not happening, but she’s fighting the desire to react to his touch. She wants to rock her hips and moan out loud, but she’s keeping it in. She’s playing a part and thoroughly enjoying it.

“Kind of,” Tami replies. “I’m up for something new.”

A man appears out of nowhere next to Tami. “That’s what I like to hear.”

Tami looks up and smiles. I’ve lost her for the evening. The guy is easily mid-thirties, tall, with a bit of a belly on him. Tami loves a ‘dad bod’ and is a sucker for a beard. He’s scored, even if he doesn’t know it yet.

“Hello,” Tami says to the man, resuming her fake British accent. “My name’s Alison, and this is Laura.” It takes me a second to remember that those are the names on our tickets, although I don’t think he’s going to check.

“I didn’t ask for your names,” the man replies. “Do you always speak out of turn?”

What the fuck? Tami has slapped men for far less.

“Sorry,” Tami replies, sounding meek all of a sudden. “I got carried away.”

Do I need to slap him?

“Don’t let it happen again.”

“I won’t.”

Okay, now I want to slap her.

“Go and get me a drink,” he commands. “Whiskey, on the rocks.”

Tami nods and heads back to the kitchen. I follow her because there is no way I’m standing next to him by myself.

“What the hell are you doing?” I ask Tami under my breath. “Let’s get out of here.”

“I’m having fun. It’s only a game. He’s just playing a role and so am I. You should give it a go.”

I shake my head firmly. “No thanks. Listen, you can stay if you like, but I’m leaving.”

“There were three guys in there who had their eyes on you. I will never tell anyone what goes on here tonight, I promise.”

“I know, but I’m just not interested in… whatever this is.”

I saw the guys who had their eyes on me, and I can safely say that I don’t want to go get them a drink. They looked rich, mind you. Tami was at least right about that part of the evening.

“Text me when you get home,” Tami says.

“And you text me every hour,” I reply. “I want to know you’re okay.”

I head back to the door, and into the room with the coats. There seem to be more coats than people, but it occurs to me that a lot of the doors are closed and perhaps those rooms are occupied.

I could go in and watch. I cringe at the thought, but I’m not repulsed by it. I hate the idea of people watching me being intimate, but the image of the man fingering the woman on the sofa is etched firmly in my mind. It’s not unpleasant. They probably wouldn’t mind if I opened the door and walked in to watch. The horny couple might even ask me to join in.

Should I go back?

Tonight is anonymous. I can do anything and not feel shame.

That’s the theory, at least.

No, I can’t do it. I dig around in the dim light until I find my coat in the pile. I’m heading to the door when there’s a noise behind me. I spin around and see a man walk out of the on-suite bathroom. He’s standing by the window, half-illuminated by the street lights outside, and the other half in shadow.

The half I can see is better than the whole of any man in this entire apartment.

“Come here,” the man commands, his voice deep and authoritative.

Against all my better judgment and internal voices, I throw my coat down on the bed and do what he says.