There were probably 100 people in our friend’s industrial loft, a two-floor behemoth in Brooklyn with a wrought-iron spiral staircase to connect the living room with a dance floor downstairs. No one would hear us, for sure. No one would even notice we were gone.

Anyway, I hardly needed an excuse: a bottle of red wine deep, I couldn’t keep my hands off my boyfriend and it was still early. It would be easy to sneak off for a half-hour to hold ourselves over. Clearly, the cheap red wine had impaired my judgment, because my boyfriend and I weren’t exactly inconspicuous.

Because of a mix-up in communication, we planned for – and got dressed for – a costume party. Of course, it was a regular party, and even in a big crowd of people we barely knew, our costumes drew attention: In particular, my wild blonde wig (with highlights), and his purple latex gloves and long lab coat (he was dressed as a scientist, with a full chest of hair exposed).

Still, it was loud, and we’d never see these people again. So we weaved through the crowd and lodged up in my friend’s bedroom. There was no lock on the door, but we were already off and running: wig gone, gloves off, pants down.

When the door was busted open the first time, all anyone saw was the lab coat. They left quickly, so we laughed it off and kept going. But when the door burst open a second time, my boyfriend had lost the lab coat, and I’d lost most of my clothes. By that point, we were horny and humiliated enough for an early exit.

Back upstairs, as I groped around for my bag and coat, someone I didn’t know came up behind me. “Who’s that guy you were with?” I shrugged, like I had no clue what he was talking about, and kept groping. “Wait,” he said, “You’re the one who was screwing around with the doctor, right?” “He’s actually a scientist,” I said. My boyfriend grabbed his gloves, and we left.