Building up to Burning Man
For weeks, Wonderboy has been attending pre-Burning Man events.
66 days to go.
I am at a party that serves as a fundraiser for Critical Tits. It is one of the many camps that occupy a portion of the Black Rock Desert that becomes Burning Man. Since money becomes just pieces of paper that wind up in the "lost and found" (Burning Man is operated on a "gift economy" -- the only things for sale are coffee and ice), the money raised tonight will go towardfunding a free party for roughly a thousand people -- mostly topless women (weather permitting.) The money goes to infrastructure.
My evening up to this point has been marked by random make-out sessions with several beautiful friends on the techno-induced dance floor and showing off my hard body in silver latex hot pants hidden under a long pink robe. Upstairs is a silent auction of clothes that doesn't seem to be getting much attention. All around, people are getting massages -- clean stuff. But kissing, grinding and an occasional lap dance aren't free up here. It's donation time.
Camilia looks very sweet in her bolero, her eyes lovingly checking me out. Yet before our embrace becomes serious lip-locking, she asks for a donation. Without hesitation, out come the bills. To my best recollection, she got 25 bucks from me.
I am experiencing a unique form of simultaneous pleasure and pain. One end of me is slurping an unknown yet distinctly vodka-laden drink sluicing down a huge block of ice, while at the other end, my latex-covered ass is getting a spanking of a lifetime.
65 days to go.
Waking up at 7:30 in the morning with the prospect of arriving at work stoned and hung over, I go to the bathroom and vomit. Some of it comes out of my nose.
23 days to go.
The party invitations are rare now, as most of us are turning our attention to preparing for Burning Man. The last invite I read was almost apologetic in announcing the festivities so close to the event.
15 days to go.
My friend Fresh and I are taking her 24-foot motor home to the Playa one week before the burn. There'll be a few hard-core Burners out there. It'll be the peaceful moment before the eruption. That means I've got two weeks to get my shit together, and I've got a few lists.
Such as clothes.
Never mind that the temperature will soar into the low 100s during the day and plunge to the 30s at night, I've got to look good. This means the light, airy outfits during the day and the heavy, furry attire during the night have got to look sexy at all times. I've got three fur coats lined up: my dark blue, three-quarter-length faux raccoon, my sporty wolf fur-hooded number, and my recent purchase: a faux snow leopard coat, from my local Goodwill, complete with '80s-style high shoulders and a narrow collar.
Seven days to go.
I am here in Black Rock City, awestruck. Art installation Poi is a set of two, fist-sized fire balls set at the end of three-foot-long chains. The balls are spun in various combinations of loops and circles in rhythm with music or drums. In the middle of this display, a Playa girl undulates to the sound while deftly spinning the flaming Poi.
I am also awestruck by the Playa girls. Their names are Blondie and Electra, Fresh and Babycakes, Lumina and Real Girl. Armed with these names, Playa Girls have reinvented themselves as women who are free of their past, free fromhow their lives "should be."
Electra looks her best in a fuzzy bunny hat with floppy ears and a purple fur bra above her bare midriff. Her pink lace petticoat seems to be held up by a sash of multi-colored lengths of fur. Her boots are two big clouds of white fur suspended from her knees.
Two daye to go
I am fired up. I can feel the burn. Let the adventures begin!
