Tickets for this Gala Red Ball event were 1500 yuan or B.I.O. to keep the cretins out and the celebs in.

Various precious pieces of considerable worth and merit were on display including a diamond encrusted cell phone. The phone cost 3.5 million USD, but its metaphoric significance defies calculation. There was also some sort of dog-grooming booth. And our sister publication, Millionaire Magazine, was also represented.

All in all, it was a rather joyous affair for those unburdened by conscience—full of pomp and whimsy, delight and discovery— an affair that would become all the more joyous still as the night wore on, and morality and moderation were reunited with conscience in absentia.

With a complimentary Grolsch in one hand and a glass of Remy in the other, I remember turning from the stage—erected in the main chamber of the SEC—after the stunning Korlof runway show and thinking, what can possibly follow? My tipsy light-headedness intermingled with a sense of self-satisfaction and entitlement. The clock struck midnight.

Above the chattering din of the tuxedoed crowd, shrill laughter mingled with a shattering cognac glass. I looked over just in time to catch a glimpse of a blue Armani dress slide down a woman’s body to rest at her feet like a pool of silk.

Head tilted back with laughter, she leaned against the chest of a middle-aged, spectacled man and he ducked his head into her neck. She embraced him as he placed one hand on her lower back and used his other to loosen his bowtie.

The lights dimmed on people pairing off with one another, shedding their expensive garments whilst kissing and caressing each other gently and expectantly. Men unzipping gowns and trousers and women stepping out of their expensive heels, throwing back their hair and playfully tugging at the suit jackets of their partners.

On the stage the curtains drew back and revealed a Herculean man, a blond who appeared to be in his early twenties, possibly a Norwegian. The Adonis stood covered in glittering gold paint and clad in a glittering gold thong. With bulging arms he drew back a large mallet and swung it forward methodically and ceremoniously on an enormous golden gong.

As the gong rang out, four spotlights at the right and left of the stage snapped into life, casting shimmering orbs of white light randomly throughout the audience. People in twos, threes, fours and fives were now coming together and falling to the marble floor performing various maneuvers of foreplay on one another. While the gong rang out, the Norwegian walked to the front of the stage and rested his fists on his hips, surveying the scene with authority. I remember seeing one diamond ringed hand reach from the audience and grab his ankle longingly, scratching him slightly with long, ruby red nails. Hired youths of both genders, naked but painted, emerged from the darkness on the stage beyond the gong and descended onto the audiences, offering themselves up to singles and groups freely.

Staggered cries of pleasure emitted from all corners of the room. Wretched yelps from the trophy wives met with guttural moans from the captains of industry, as the whole party descended into a chaotic mass of flesh, gem and organ. Groping couples, jiggled and copulated on the shinny bonnet of the silver Jaguar. The young Hong Kong dot com millionaires bent one another over metal furniture, foreheads wrinkled with exertion, and the European heads of design firms started experimenting with their sexualities. Expensive sweat rolled generously down the faces of oil tycoons. Labored pumping and bodies on the floor. Crushed pelvises on crushed velvet. The smashing of wine flutes as they fell from the tables

The cries and moans which were, at first, staggered throughout the room began to merge with each other and intensify in decibel. A palpable rhythmic crescendo could be discerned emanating from the coupling hordes as feverous passion mounted and mounted amongst the throng. In the large ballroom of the Shanghai exhibition center, the singular throbbing became aligned into a single pulsing orgiastic mass.

Under the motionless Norwegian (maybe he was Swedish), the party collided and colluded into one fleshy force of teeth, credit card, Rolex, dildo, jewel, leg, arm, gold, diamond, penis, vagina, and then exploded into a cloud of glittering dust and burning currency.

And then right there, in the midst of a massive orgasmic explosion, the sky opened up and it rained shimmering, shimmering diamonds on the writhing, sybaritic orgy of panting flesh.

* * *

The rhythmic crescendo abated, the only people in motion were the various assistants and servants of the orgy participants. They crisscrossed the panting crowd dutifully and diligently, wrapping blankets on their employers and gathering up articles of clothing. People began to be carried out of room, limp in the arms of their assistants like overcooked pasta, scooped up and carried back off to Pudong or private jets. Drained yet sated.