Tensions build in the apartment throughout the summer. Blanche and Stanley see each other as enemies, and Blanche turns increasingly to alcohol for comfort. Stanley, meanwhile, investigates Blanche's past, and he passes the information about her sexual dalliances on to Mitch. Although Blanche and Mitch had been on track to marry, after he learns the truth, he loses all interest in her. On Blanche's birthday, Mitch stands her up, abandoning her for good. Stanley, meanwhile, caustically presents Blanche with her birthday gift: bus tickets back to Laurel. Blanche is overcome by sickness; she cannot return to Laurel, and Stanley knows it. As Blanche is ill in the bathroom, Stella fights with Stanley over the cruelty of his act. Mid-fight, she tells him to take her to the hospital - the baby is coming.
Tennessee Williams explores the disastrous results of unrestrained promiscuity throughout his play A Streetcar Named Desire . At the beginning of the play, Blanche says to Eunice that she took a streetcar named Desire to another car named Cemeteries, then was dropped off at Elysian Fields. This journey allegorically represents Blanche's past, present, and future. Her unrestrained sexual desire led to her excommunication from Laurel's society, which emotionally ruined her, leading to her inevitable downfall in New Orleans. Blanche also mentions that the reason her family lost Belle Reve was because of her ancestors' “epic fornications." Additionally, Stanley's character epitomizes sexual desire and masculinity. Stanley is able to control Stella through their purely physical, debased relationship, which happens to excite and enchant her. He also ruins Blanche by raping her towards the end of the play. Overall, Tennessee Williams portrays human sexuality to be a powerful yet destructive force in the absence of self-control.
For, if it is true to say that in essence the tragic hero is intent upon claiming his whole due as a personality, and if this struggle must be total and without reservation, then it automatically demonstrates the indestructible will of man to achieve his humanity. The possibility of victory must be there in tragedy. Where pathos rules, where pathos is finally derived, a character has fought a battle he could not possibly have won. The pathetic is achieved when the protagonist is, by virtue of his witlessness, his insensitivity or the very air he gives off, incapable of grappling with a much superior force. Pathos truly is the mode for the pessimist. But tragedy requires a nicer balance between what is possible and what is impossible. And it is curious, although edifying, that the plays we revere, century after century, are the tragedies. In them, and in them alone, lies the belief--optimistic, if you will, in the perfectibility of man. It is time, I think, that we who are without kings, took up this bright thread of our history and followed it to the only place it can possible lead in our time--the heart and spirit of the average man.