I will remember this moment forever. With a ten hour marathon of driving behind me, I looked at the stony hill beyond the road, the dried out lake bed on the near side, and the bright Nevada desert sun above it. A group of youngins sat in the sliver of the midday shade of an RV. One had green hair. One had cowboy pants and a bare bronze chest. A girly one had a skimpy top that revealed plenty of peekaboos at her full boob. I felt at home, party people like me.
I drove a short stretch along the tire tracks into the dried lake bed, lovingly called playa. The welcome gates were a few fence posts and toilets seemingly in the middle of nowhere. A cheery man in a tutu that tried to choke in the flub and bear hair greeted me. His eyes were buzzed from all that had happened. I stepped out of the car with the gears still in drive. Everyone screamed and stepped toward me. The car tried to take off the moment, I stood up. I quickly jumped in and stopped it. Fucking brain was mud baked after so many hours on the road.
Danger, the nickname of the bear in the tutu, greeted me with: “Welcome home.” That’s the loving acknowledgement that people drawn to Burning Man don’t fit in anywhere but here. After he found out that it was my first time, he guided me to one of those unconnected white porcelain toilets in the desert. He asked me to scream, “I am no longer a virgin,” while he gently whacked my bottom with a paddle. The toilet echoed back my voice. My throat scratched from the yell. So liberating to have silly, playful fun, without the people that would ask “Why would you yell into a toilet?”
Continuing at 5 mph to avoid kicking up dust and chocking everyone out took time. So did finding the way to my camp among a temporary city of tens of thousands of people. I climbed out of the driver seat to sit on the window. I casually let the car idle, while I looked over the roof, smiled, and waved at passer-bys. Everyone was busy setting up tents, dome structures, and elaborate art work. People with bug eyed goggles and cow pants waved back at me. This was going to be a mind blowing week in the desert.
After setting up my tent, late at night, I got to meet my camp mates. We had met over the Internet. A tall, long-black haired woman in a Russian fur coat with a bikini underneath it and a red mug of high octane liquor welcomed me with outstretched arms. We had never met. Yet, over e-mail, she had given me the nickname ‘Bad Boy.’ She hugged me warmly like a friend. Her cheek brushed again mine. Putting her arm around me, she yelled ‘Bad Boy is here!’
We were in a big tent with comfortable second hand carpet rolled onto the dusty desert floor. I meet Shivers, the big and silent guy, who had come with his ma. I meet queen, the young, lost girl that the camp had found stranded and adopted last year. Rambo was a guy from Victoria, Canada dressed in a Shibari bondage pattern with shoe lace thick string. This was going to be my family for a week.
I crashed pretty early that day. Getting used to the dust everywhere, including my nostrils, was new. I laid down, told myself, that’s the pad, the sleeping bag, and all I need is to close my eyes. Boom, a loud sound startled me to open my eyes. My tent was lighted as bright as day light middle in the night. I swiftly zipped down the door and lurched out. A car like straight out of Mad Max was rolling past our camp. A huge ass flame thrower was mounted on the car. Every minute or so, someone pulled a throttled. A fire ball four stories high burst into the night sky and doused everything with brightness. The air burned on the skin for a moment. Then, it was gone. Those were the guy from Thunder Dome, a camp inspired by the Mad Max movies.
The next morning started with a hellish hot tent. The heat captured inside the tent suffocated me. Lethargically, I crawled out of the sleeping bag and zipped down the entrance flap. The cool breeze outside rescued me. The camp was still asleep. A lone hippie girl on a bicycle with a makeshift cart tied to it rode down the dirt path between the camps. The plastic wheels of the cart rattled. The stillness of sound was an amazing respite. Adjacent camp spots were still empty with people on the road somewhere. . My camp mates had told me to cherish the early days, when there is still a chance to connect with neighbors before everything turns into a circus.
I threw a bit of deodorant under my arm pits and butchered my face with a disposable razor. Burning Man meant living in the desert for a week without running water. I dressed like an Arab in long white dress with a checkered red-and-white head and face covering. I felt naked underneath with the fresh morning breeze kicking up underneath and caressing my jewels. This was the place to experience freedom
The dirt road between the camp sites was solidified by water trucks. Bicycle tracks and footsteps had cracked through the surface crust. A group of three watched me from the darkness of a shade structure. Only their eyes moved. A camp block down, a girl with colorful ringed socks and pink bunny ears bounced around her camp. Her camp had a little picket fence and a pile of hoops wrapped with colorful tape. She smiled at me big with her arms hanging down to make her chin even more pointed: “Would you like a body painting.”
I grinned big. The gift economy has started. Burning Man is a place, where people give each other gifts. I rolled up my sleeves to show her my deltoids. She got a messy palette out of a box. It was so messy that she had to be an artist. She jumped her knees up to her chest in excitement, when she came over. Her eyes were black. She looked a bit helpless about life in general. “Oh, I’ll paint you a butterfly. I love butterflies.”
The paint felt cold on my skin. The brush gently tingled my skin. I did not dare to interrupt her. With her lips parted and eye brows frowned, she looked so concentrated. The butterfly had spirals for wings and spirals as feelers. A guy called out of an RV: “I want my morning kisses.” “Oh, honey, I’ll be right there. I just have to finish my artwork.” Five minutes later, she smiled big and jumped her knees to her chest on the way into the RV.
Further down the dirt road, I met a man to my liking – hot stuff. This 6’5” black guy was buff with muscles thick and swollen. He was stark naked save for a shiny red apron, a black melon hat, and pointed cowboy boots. His arms shook a big bag of chocolate. He hollered out with the baritone of baritone voices: “Chocolate!”
I reached both hands out for chocolate and dramatically fell on my knees. He handed me a piece of chocolate. The piece seemed tiny in his big brawns. His brown skin had such a rich hue. Biceps, abs, calves, everything bulged on him like a beautiful painting. The sweat on his pure skin was shiny.
“Can I swat that ass? Say yes, please!” I was melting at the god like man in front of me.
“You go ahead man.”
Swiftly like a cat, I got up from my knees, reached out, and swatted that sweet, tight butt. Ugh, feeling that strong muscle felt so good. The sound of the slap made the man chuckle. My heart skipped a beat to better experience the moment without distraction.
“Now, go on, or I’ll have you for breakfast,” said the man and walked on.
A good march down the dirt road, I arrived at a theme camp. They had a big square with inflated cushion. In the center of the square were two pillars. The batting sticks with soft cushion on both ends made the purpose of the arena clear. Two contestants were to stand on the pillars and attempt to push each other down. It seemed like a bowl of fun. None of the camp members were around. The streets had cleared from the raising temperature and torturing midday sun.
