The ethos of the erodome
For those confused by the narrative structure of this series, currently I’m alternating between describing some of what I experienced in Black Rock City, also called Burning Man, and a story that I heard there. The story was so rich as to be an experience, and a woman named Lucille was involved in both. One does not meet that many young women who are authentically open rather than reckless about their sexuality, so she was something of a true example. As one of her peers familiar with the occult described her, she was the living incarnation of Venus on the playa.
As for myself: the existence of the erodome offered me opportunities to explore; that’s where these photos (such as the one above) were taken, though I only did one photo session there. The erodome was a large, white geodesic dome, with several air mattresses, a thing called the Monkey Rocker (a mechanical selfucking device – google it, it’s very cool), a safer sex station with condoms, lube, wipes and so forth, and a magnificent oval mirror I brought from Reno.
And there were some beanbag chairs placed randomly in the space. The ethos of the erodome was, anything goes, at any time; be cool with people; have fun. Our camp, Poly Paradise, had an erotic theme, and I think that we all assumed that basic group sex boundaries were part of what most people brought in with them. Basically, those boundaries are: mind your distance until you’re invited; if you feel an opening, ask. Group sex requires both surrender and restraint.
Whatever one was doing in the dome, and with whomever, could be observed by anyone who walked in. In other words, it was polite to watch. (This is not always true; if I get to stories of the Wet Spot in Seattle, they have a different rule there.) Often there were two or more couples, or small groups, doing their thing independently of one another.
This created a perfect environment for me; I love to observe sex nearly as much as I love to participate. I love to witness masturbation, and in particular (after hanging out with a good bit of lesbian sex, and loving it) lately I am into heterosexual couples fucking. And for that week, anyway, it was not my intention to explore contact sex but rather to reach into some new dimensions of masturbation.
My visits to the erodome were at random times, though I had a knack for encountering Mike and Julia there. They spent a lot of time fucking; but still, there are all of 24 hours in the day and the ease of our encounters, which were never planned, counted for some fun synchronicity: and some daring stretching open for me.
I’m not sure if the encounters I describe on these pages sound like they are ‘easy’; it’s easy for me to write about them, which is different than the emotional orientation of daring to allow something new to happen, be it a feeling or a direct experience, in every encounter. Each thing I write about here requires a little extra edge of surrender, of letting go into the unknown or unfamiliar; that is what keeps sex interesting.
I had a deep sexual and empathic rapport with Julia. It developed over the course of these meetings. We didn’t have much to say to one another outside the dome, and I didn’t even get the feeling that she liked me; but once we were inside, our communication was intuitive; we were fully aware of one another’s presence and everything we did or experienced was a form of communication. She in turn was deeply connected to her lover (who was only a Burning Man partner, not her primary partner). Over the past few years I have grown into deep bonding experiences based on their experiences with their male lovers, and this was something she was willing to share directly.
The next time I walked in, they were there making love; he was splayed out naked; she was naked and hovering above him taking his cock deep into her mouth. I sat down quietly on the next bed, which was a half-filled air mattress. She looked up at me and I knew she was aware of me, welcoming, and my presence seemed to fuel her passion that much more. I slipped out of my clothes and spread a towel on the floor a few feet from them and made love to myself as she gave herself to him. As I sat there totally open before them, really, before her, I recalled for a moment that this transition between walking across the camp and sitting here naked had taken about one minute. I reminded myself to remember: that’s all the time that it has to take.
We played off of one another’s energy. I observed her taking him into her throat so eagerly, and stroked myself lightly and gently and intentionally and in a moment I was on the edge of that hot zone where I knew my orgasm was in the room with me; it was just a matter of how the meeting would happen. I watched him squirm and breathe deeply in his pleasure and knew that I might see him ejaculate into her mouth. I really, really wanted to: to see her face as it happened. At that thought, I moaned, and she responded to that by pushing him deeper into herself, taking and fucking him with her mouth more aggressively.
She was in charge. She always seemed to be, when they made love; he was no less masculine for this: she was just the one guiding the flow of his energy. I had no influence at all: I was entirely passive, except as the steward of my own presence, my own depth, my own inner responses to what she was exploring. And, as I held my presence and responded, I became aware of how deep my yearning and passion was, I felt my profound need to not only let go in their presence but to stretch myself into the act of releasing myself, reach deeply into the anticipation itself.
Any notion of the ‘privacy’ of this was erased and in that clear space emerged a fresh, daring kind of honesty that felt like I was stretching my psyche into a new shape. I knew what I wanted, which was penetration; so I reached into my bag and got out my little purple dildo and lubed it and sat on it; as she glanced at me to see what I was doing. This set me free, a little more; and she responded by mounting him: by slipping his thick, long penis deep into her pelvis and relaxing and moaning and beginning to mutter in Russian. And understanding her fully, I masturbated and moaned and embraced her and him and them with my energy, with my approval and acceptance and my need for them to be who they were to one another in that moment.
She fucked him aggressively and my tension stretched me inside, stretched me emotionally. I loved what she was giving to herself and to him, loved the visual of how her hips rocked on him to reach the many angles and find the one perfect angle she was seeking and saw his hips angle slightly to meet her.
She looked over at me and her dark eyes, relaxed of any of their usual expression, open like psychic chasms, drank in the sight of me with my legs open and my ass fucked and my one lubed hand clasping and fucking my cock; and then she disappeared again into the experience of her lover, leaving me dangling over the edge of my own presence. Then I felt her make the decision to fuck him until they both came. She rocked on him with her full power, and we both knew that he would be helpless to hold back. I knew what she was doing, which was drawing out his orgasm and having it concuss her own as it pulsed into her. I knew there was no condom involved and with that recognition I picked up on the scent of sex that was now filling the space. He came fast and hard and she groaned and leaned over him.
I was still dancing on the edge of my own orgasm, still not quite before the vortex. As fast as he came, she unmounted him and slid down and took him into her mouth again, as if in mid-orgasm, and sucked the rest of his semen out of him. That did it. I moaned, and the sound of my voice carried my pleasure forth. I was suddenly aware of how exposed to them I was, and suddenly I was moaning in uncontrollable pulses of voice and climax, my legs spread as wide as they could be spread, my face transparent, pulsing my climax in long, easy throbs as my semen pooled in my left hand. I leaned in toward them and licked myself out of my palm, removing my hand for a moment and opening my mouth to her, then licking again and swallowing, as the honesty of her enormous, gorgeous eyes plunged me so much deeper into myself. I swallowed the sweetish, slippery, warm essence of myself, and the semen cool and drying on my face and never let go of eye contact with her.
The dome felt like a parachute drifting down to Earth from some incredible altitude, settling gently on the ground. I looked up and to my left and there were two women seated on beanbag chairs, watching the three of us silently.