Mouton is shrouded in the kind of dim, embarrassingly sexy lighting (don’t bother straining over the menu) that turns making-out into some sort of obligation. The bar has velvety drapes, sequined pillows, and eight private booths with curtains (“We don’t ask. We don’t know!” says the perky manager). Until last month, each room had its own hookah, but when the owners realized they didn’t have the proper smoking license, they scattered the unusable hardware around the place as decorations. On Monday nights, the bar whittles down its staff to women only, throwing a six-hour exclusive party for lesbians of color (men are often turned away at the door). Drinks like the $11 Moutini (Kahlúa, Bailey’s, Amaretto, vodka, plus créme de cacao) or $10 caipirinha (Pitú, lime, sugar, and soda water) are loaded with woozily sweet ingredients, easing curtained activities forward.