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You and I need to enter into an agreement before you read further. This is an agreement of trust and understanding. I want you to have a good time, and you, in turn, probably want to have a good time. You came here to laugh and maybe learn something. I want to impart knowledge and laughter. Maybe a few titters. Because of this, I need you to trust me. Naysayers will no doubt ruffle their dick feathers and insist that my motives in this article were impure, and to that I say tits. Tits and butts and penetration and grunting.

I went to an orgy for the purposes of writing a comedy article.

I include this disclaimer at the beginning here because the moment I hatched this scheme, the very first person I told (my writing muse Xenia, who works in the office with me and is in her late 20s, is divorced, has a teardrop tattooed on her face that she refuses to talk about, and is as sexually frustrated a person as I have ever met) called me a bullshit liar and said that, if I do go to an orgy, it'll be because I want to go to an orgy, and if I write an article afterward, so be it. Is she right? No. Maybe. Yes? The human subconscious is a sticky wicket at the best of times, so when it's subjected to sticky things, whether wicket or otherwise, all bets are off. But my intent was to write an article. Because when would I ever get the chance to do this again? As it turns out, I could get the chance once every month. But never mind that. Onward!