Not Enough 16

If you need to catch up, or to remind yourself where I left off in the story of the ebb and flow of my life with Her, click on http://swordfishsuite.blogspot.com/2010/01/not-enough-15.html and perhaps read back in the sequential posts before it.
The taxi pulled up at the back of a nondescript warehouse, with an abandoned loading dock and a wooden door that stretched ten feet high and perhaps fifteen feed wide, with a black wrought iron circular door handle in the middle of the door, waist high. Debra picked up the door handle and dropped it just once, as someone inside opened up a much smaller Judas-gate that allowed us to enter the building. I understood then that she had been here before, and wondered what we were getting into, as we stepped over the door stile and walked into a dimly lit foyer, a bit crowded with about 50-60 people, the men outnumbering the women by almost three to one. I could see that most of the people there wore black, as Debra did, many of the women dressed in ultra-tight clothing, necklines plunging to reveal breasts either encumbered or unencumbered, some skirts slit on the side to reveal thigh highs or full stockings and garter belts. The men were mostly just dressed in black shirts and pants.
We drifted together towards one of the couches arrayed near the walls, acting for the first time in a long time as a couple, each of us hesitant and a bit scared by the new environment. As my eyes became accustomed to the semi-darkness, I could make out the people on the couches, some couples sitting side by side, others with the woman sitting on the man's lap. One couch had two men sandwiching a woman, her DVF-style wrap dress opened just a bit between her breasts, each of the men reaching across the fondle a breast, one man having pulled the tit out of the bra, rolling the nipple between his first three fingers. My heart raced and my pulse accelerated, gaping at them and yet not wanting to stare. Debra's breath quickened also, her mouth open slightly, her eyes starting to glaze over.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Amalia approaching, wearing black pants and a silk tunic buttoned to the next, her hair short and combed close to her skull. Debra saw her at the same time, and reflexively assumed the position that she had been taught, her arms behind her back, each hand holding the opposite elbow, her head inclined down as she averted her gaze. I could see that she was further surrendering herself to the moment and to the surrounding before her.
"Ah, you've finally gotten here," she said. "Let me explain how this works. Alice has been here several times before, but always as someone who watched others. Isn't that right, dear?", and Debra was quick to nod her head several times, never once daring to look up. "And tonight that's just what you're going to do---watch. It's what you're really good at, isn't it, what you really like to do, right?
"Alice, on the other hand, has decided to join in and play with us."
And my heart sank, because I knew and I didn't know what that meant.