Physical contact, plain and simple, is best experienced under the influence. A little sippie-sippie lowers inhibitions, enabling actions that are frightening—beneath sobriety’s harsh klieg light. This is why, as a masseuse’s greasy fingers grasp my bare calves, I can only think: Thank you, martini, for making this moment possible. May I have another?

That I’m blotto during a massage may seem strange, but it’s all in a day’s drunkenness at Body By Brooklyn: 10,000 square feet of Clinton Hill chocolate factory carved into Russian and Turkish baths, then injected with a high-end lounge. It makes less sense than a puggle, but is just as oddly appealing.

Body By Brooklyn, located beneath the B.Q.E., is blink-and-you-miss-it. The exterior is boilerplate brick. Windows are frosted. The only clue to the hot waters and cool drinks inside are fluttering blue flags touting the spa’s name. Find them, and you’ll find a scene ripped from Odessa.

“Hello, you would like to use the baths,” a blindingly blond woman ask-commands one cool evening, her Russian accent as slight as her waist. She’s surrounded by similarly Slavic coworkers. Hassidic gents with curly peyot sideburns traipse past. I am intimidated, but I’m on a stress-killing mission: to experience BBB’s genius twinning of martini and massage.

Primping and booze are fond bedfellows at Beauty Bar, where manicures are offered alongside cocktails. Those craving a dip and drinks can swim intoxicated laps at Hotel QT. But I’ll bet my bathing suit to your bottom dollar that those spots can’t beat BBB with an oak branch.

First off, BBB is a wet, private wonderland. My several visits ($40 for daily unlimited usage; usually about $70 for a martini-massage-baths special) found a handful of Hassidic men and slightly wrinkle-necked women sweating inside the supersonic-hot steam rooms and cooling off in the Arctic plunge pool. The hot-cold punch sizzles the senses like a toot of primo Colombian. After you towel off, you can find legal drugs in the gleaming lounge.

Flat-screen TVs appease the eyes, while a fully stocked bar and kitchen await your stomach. Beers are pricy ($7 per Brooklyn Lager pint), so stick with pomegranate margaritas and gasoline-strength martinis (about $12). This may seem outlandish, but trust me: One martini, mixed with 200-degree steam heat makes you as loose as a teen on prom night. Even better, you can tipple in the lounge while wearing a bathrobe, water dripping onto the tooth-white floors.

Hungry? Hell, surprisingly gourmet lamb burgers and grilled chicken sandwiches (fries included) sell for $9—not bad. Not great? My Swedish massage. The finger work left me lacking (harder means harder), but the steam baths and copious alcohol more than relaxed my aches.

Right now, only spa users can visit the lounge. Soon, the grub and cocktails will be available to every bar hopper, making this Brooklyn’s version of the Meatpacking District’s G Spa Lounge. Fully clothed partying in a spa? Meh, I say. My advice, which doubles as lifelong wisdom, is to only come when you plan on removing your pants.

Body By Brooklyn

275 Park Ave. (at Washington Ave.),

Clinton Hill, B’klyn

718-923-9717