Burning Man 2008: SEX & THE CITY (WHAT’S IT ALL ABOUT, ALFIE?)

September 8, 2008 by PT Rothschild.

A JEDI’S METTLE vs. THE 3 TEMPTATIONS OF POONANNY – PART 1

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Black Rock City, Nevada – If you’ve been following my depiction of this ‘Mt. Everest’ of art festivals called Burning Man, you know that besides all the lofty goals and ideals expressed in Black Rock City, on a Mickey Avalon ‘Thank You’ level, there is a echelon of sexuality that is ‘Animal House + American Pie’ on steroids. Regardless of individual features and looks, every woman you see, semi-nude, nude, or fully dressed, is hot and smoldering in her own self-confident way (click on several of the photos in preceding stories). It doesn’t take you long to figure that out. In fact, that point was brought home right in our front yard when a couple went into the handicapped double wide potty to ‘get jiggy with it’.

The official rule for B.E.D. (Bureau of Erotic Discourse) is ask first; don’t grab, pet, push, or putz for the poonanny. “Communication is the best lubrication,” says BED, which offers “Clarity and Consent: Negotiating Sex” playshops at the Deep Heaven and The BooBy Bar.

If you see someone you like, smile, say hi, and speak (for) your piece. It’s as simple and uncomplicated as that. The way you wish it was out in the Default World. So BRC is definitely a different reality and as many, if not most of the people here are creative in one form or another, this temporarily created reality has a mystical and magical structure to it. That can be good, and that can be bad. If you’re a Jedi it means you’re wary. It was during one of those times before the TTL opened back up for the evening shift that Jermo and I at Coffee Camp were having some deep philosophical discussions and my mind started to drift over the purpose of Burning Man. I had been told to expect some sort of spiritual awakening and perhaps this was the start of that process.

Could BM be some type of cosmic question mark that if civilization or the Default World, as it was called here, fell apart or collapsed, would men and women couple for survival?

Would we find each other after being so traumatized by the erosion of all that held in check?

Was that the test, to see if we could find someone in the 7 days we are together here in a semi-survival yet magical arena?

Bumper had certainly been bragging about a conquest though I wasn’t sure whether that was for IPod’s or my attention, since Bumper and I attend ‘pissing contests’ regularly. At any rate, I was about to get an answer to one question and a clue to the bigger picture. It happened like this.

One of the early nights of the week a group of us went out into the night but as the night wore on, it turned out to be two sets of bi-couples and me. At a pit stop where we were wetting our whistles I called IPod over and said, “Listen, you kids go on and have some fun. I think I’m going to take off by myself for awhile. I feel restless and like a fifth wheel (it would turn out that this was the night that IPod met Orion later, but that’s another story, for another time).

She hugged me like a granddaughter then kissed my cheek and said, “Be careful. See you back at camp,” and smiled, then I was off.

It was my first time out by myself and apart from any group. The night air was exhilarating and a steady but almost balmy breeze blew. I wandered around the neighborhood streets that lay on the other side of the tracks, the streets below 6:00. Finally after a number of bars and impromptu conversations I got my bearings and decided to catch an art car going my way. It seemed like I just turned around and it was there. This particular model , was a giant boom-box, with people atop it where the push button controls would be, people inside where the bar and driver are, and side benches for riders to sit on who wanted temporary transit. (I never took many pictures at night. That part of the assignment was left up to Goose and Tuesday. So I don’t have a picture of the art car I speak of. They may have captured a picture of it.) Bright neon and LED lights highlighted the stereo speakers that appeared to work. Anyway, the booming music was coming from somewhere and seemed to blend in to the nighttime carnival-like atmosphere perfectly. When it crawled to a halt (nothing is supposed to move faster than 5MPH in the street used by everyone and things, which adds to the ‘Beyond Thunderdome’ scenery when bizarre costumes are added), I climbed aboard, not really caring just where it was heading, and plopped my cross-faded ass on a side bench.

Almost immediately there was a woman and a soft, very warm thigh pressed up against me. I looked over in a rather slow motion way, or at least that’s the way it felt, and said, “Hello.” We started to chat about general conversation and I saw that she was older and more in the age range of women that IPod would pick out for me, but her flesh was comfortable and warm against mine. The art car which looked more like a trolley, moved at a snail’s pace so we could take our time in getting to know one another for a tryst. The red, blue, and green neon lighting danced off her pale skin against the now chilly desert air and black moonless night. She was feeling better and better. In the rehearsal room of my mind, I could hear Little Elvis starting to warm up. It was like we knew each other already, and then before our lips could touch, she muttered,

“My husband didn’t come…” and the needle scratched across the record.

The spell was broken. My mind began to clear and lo and behold, I saw a corner I recognized. We had crossed the Playa from 4:00 to 9:00 during our enchanting conversation but now it was time for this ‘pirate’ to jump ship.

I yelled to the driver, “This is my stop,” hopped off, saying a chivalrous good-bye to m’lady, and watched as the trolley, music, lights and all, were swallowed into the desert darkness about 15 seconds later.

As I wandered home my brain again went over the species survival question but this time I knew just ‘coupling’ wasn’t the answer. If it was, I wouldn’t have been tempted to break a Commandment. That meant something, but what? And had that been my only chance at a ‘shipboard romance’ or as the burners called it, a Playa Crush? I climbed into my sleeping bag to a silent camp and drifted off to a dusty sleep amidst the sounds of revelry coming from as close as the potties, happy that some woman had ‘hit’ on me. Hey, I got an ego to feed.

To be continued…

Next: Part Two – Pour Some Sugar On Me

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