As the cruise around Brooklyn’s Sheepshead Bay wound to a close, and passengers downed the last of their free champagne, the captain appeared on deck with news: The tide was too low, and the boat could not dock for at least another hour.
“I’ll let you know when we can dock,” he told the crowd. “Until then, keep loving each other, and keep f***ing each other!”
The passengers cheered. That was, in fact, exactly what they had come to do. They were members of Chemistry – New York’s private, bi-monthly sex party, which was being held on this particular evening aboard a private yacht.
As the captain finished his announcement, several passengers scampered upstairs to pick up where they had left off. Others simply lingered by the bar, snagging one final drink.
The captain settled himself in a seat on the stern deck, staring out across the water, his arms draped around two scantily-clad brunettes.
A Chemistry party is – to borrow a cliché – not your parents’ swingers party. The crowd at Chemistry skews younger, towards the mid-20s demographic. While the party caters primarily to couples, few of them are married.