Ophi and me inside enemy lines, working our Guccione vibe.

It was a regular Wednesday at the offices of Ms. magazine, and the staffers were busily running around the office to finish the new issue on time. All was normal until I spied a small pink postcard in the intern area. "Penthouse magazine: 30th Anniversary," it said over a black-and-white photo of a blonde woman with dark roots. An invitation to the magazine's anniversary party the following night, the postcard posed an interesting question: Why would Penthouse, perverted purveyor of bogus boobies, invite a gaggle of feminists to their soiree?

Even though the invitation was odd, one thing was certain: Ophi and I knew we had to go to the party. How could we not go, really, when there was so much potential adventure? Ophi indicated that her twin Tali and our friend Seddu would also like to attend. I called to RSVP and then began to mentally plan my armor outfit. After all, it's not every day one goes to a pornographers' ball. The next evening, clad in a little black dress, I met my friends outside of Barnes and Noble in Chelsea. We were a good-looking bunch, we agreed, and so we headed to the party.

After taking the scenic route (someone forgot the directions), we arrived at Club Ohm. Four or five shiny limousines waited in front of the door, and a long, thick line snaked down the sidewalk. With dozens of people in line, it seemed impossible that we would even get into the door. But Seddu had a plan.

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