First bar for orgies and gays in america

August My boyfriend got to the Playa four days before me. He said everything would be taken care of before I got there. There would be birthday-cake-flavored protein bars, protein drinks, zero-sugar electrolyte powder, and plenty of tinned fish and water. We were going to meet his gene dealer.

I just had to bring the tent. He assured me, over a series of rapid-fire texts as he approached the cyberpunk city where his phone would drop dead, how much fun we were going to have. I reminded him I was cynical about hippies, the rhetoric of liberation, environmentalists taking airplanes, camping, deep breathing, polyamory, and group activities in general.

He told me it would be fine. I just had to bring the tent and jump on a plane to Reno. Once the concentric circles in the desert came into focus, everyone around me started passing out psilocybin chocolate. The seven passengers unboarded and a woman with clown paint on her face appeared. She was holding a clipboard.

We all started to grab our luggage, but the clown lady said we had to wait. Next to him was someone in disguise, wearing a bandana and sunglasses. I guessed, since he started jumping up and down when he saw me, that it must be my boyfriend. We had been apart for three weeks, and I was keen to pass my bags to somebody.

But the clowns were really taking their time, trying to find the ticket with my name on it in their online registry. I dragged the bag toward him, but more clowns stopped me. Then they had me lie in the sand, sweep my arms and legs against the Playa dust, and finally hit a gong with a hammer. This was how they took your virginity, and introduced you to Mother.

After the Orgy

A few hours later, we were biking around the Playa. Elaborate structures were scattered around the desert. We passed a group of people building a tree of white and blue cubes lit up with fluorescent LEDs. It seemed like a lot of work for something that would last six days, but my boyfriend seemed dazzled by the whole thing, sitting up in his bike and looking behind periodically, ushering me into a new world and checking to see if I was smiling….

We stopped at the tree—just to stare at it. I started to think this Burning Man trip was going to bring up irreconcilable differences: While we share a general openness to experience, I thought, he yearns for the sincerity of experience unmediatedwhereas I am after the experience for how I can later make use of it.

The pressure at Burning Man to submit yourself to the immediacy of the moment was already rubbing me the wrong way. I wondered out loud if we should break up.