The hostess and I have just done backflips into the huge ball pit—think Chuck E. Cheese's for adults—and we're swimming amid the spheres as she explains the party to me. It's a $5 cover at the door if you're in your underwear, and $15 if you're wearing your street clothes. Drinks are $3 a pop. We watch some people arrive—men in trench coats with bare legs protruding, women in shimmery negligees—and then it's time to head inside.

The downstairs floor is lined with pillows, and things seem rather Caligulicious. Conversation flows when half the party has masking-tape Xs on their nipples. Upstairs, there's a room lined with gauze and klieg lights: It's a photography studio for Glamour Shots. "I don't really like the way I look," a man in SpongeBob SquarePants underwear minces, but a moment later the photographer is clicking away as two women suck on his nipples and body issues are forgotten.

A self-professed wallflower is dancing up a storm in hot-pink barely-theres—wearing just your underwear seems to exponentially improve dancing skills—and someone else is wearing teddy-bear faces on her bustier, which I mistake for "bear breasts," but turns out to be a "teddy teddy." It's all goofy, sex-smelling fun, but it's also for a good cause: The proceeds from the previous Visible Lingerie Party built a school in Laos, and this year, says the hostess, "We're hoping to build a school and a library in Cambodia." See? There's nothing to hide here—when you strip these people down, you find generosity and kindness.

Want The Stranger to pay extra to keep our hideousness clothed at your house party? E-mail the date, place, time, and party details to partycrasher@thestranger.com.