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We stripped off our pajamas, and dressed as "(American) Indians" which for each of us meant just a skimpy jockstrap-ish garment we fashioned for ourselves: we tied several pairs of our tube-socks together to make the waistbands and the front-to-back thong type of thing for each "costume".
Officially, our goal was to dance around like Indians going around a fire. Unofficially, of course, our subconscious goals were to feel good by our semi-nakedness (and our garments' snugness), and also I remember that we spent a lot of time making sure each other's garments fit well.... That was the extent of it.
Eventually our mother heard us "dancing around the fire", and in retrospect she was unbelievably cool about it, considering that if our father found out about it he'd've turned it into the inevitable: a screaming and a couple of spankings. But she just opened the door, completely saw us, and said, "What are you boys doing?" "We're playing Indians," I replied. She just said, "You boys better get back in bed and go to SLEEP!" (Super-cool she was that time; considering that sometimes she would be a co-abuser with our abusive father. That never came up again. I don't know if my brother even remembers it or not.)