“Hey babe, you know that BFF of mine who recently decided he’s gay and wants to have my baby?”

Phil, aka The Boyfriend, is not a visibly gay gay guy. He doesn’t do drag, and couldn’t do camp if his life depended on it. He’s never called another man girlfriend, and no black woman will ever accuse him of stealing her shtick. But the withering glance he shot my way would have done any of the contestants on RuPaul’s Drag Race proud.

“Now what.”

“Um, we’re kinda thinking of going to Burning Man together next weekend.”

I was wrong. That withering glance worthy of a drag queen must come naturally to him. ‘Cuz it appeared again.

“And I’m not invited?”

“You have to work.”

“That’s not the point”

“Come on, it’s not like it’s a romantic weekend away on a tropical beach. There’s sun and sand but the only water within 100 miles are the port-a-potties.”

“Which is the point. You’re a roughing it means no 24 hour room service kinda guy.”

“I know. But Burning Man is on my bucket list.”

“You mean Dave is on your bucket list.”

“Did I ever tell you how cute you look when you’re angry?”

“Don’t even you bastard.”

I gotta give Phil credit though. In honor of Burning Man, I assume, his face was nicely aflame.

If you don’t know what Burning Man is, you really need to quit watching Big Brother and get out more often. Every year around Labor Day about 70,000 people converge on a remote and inhospitable dry lake bed in Northwestern Nevada to create Black Rock City, a temporary metropolis which then hosts the Burning Man festival. It’s a week long party devoted to radical self-expression. And getting totally wasted. Think of it as Spring Break for nerds and geeks. It’s where Hunter Thompson’s line, ‘When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro’ comes to life.

Burning Man is the one place in the world where you’re guaranteed not to be the weirdest kid in the classroom. It’s a utopian paradise for the disenfranchised and is populated by tens of thousands of people who look like extras from the Mad Max movie franchise. It’s performance art on a massive scale. And everyone participates. There are no corporate sponsors, it is not a consumer event; nothing is allowed to be sold there. And the initial batch of 38,000 tickets for the annual music and arts bacchanal that went on sale on-line in February sold out within 45 minutes. At $380 a pop.

“So you’re actually going to go camping in 100 degree temperatures where the winds hit 75 mph at night?”

“Uh, no. Dave knows someone with a RV. We’re borrowing it.”

“A RV. So you two are turning into lesbians then.”

“Don’t be silly. You know you can’t wear flannel in the desert.”

“And this would have nothing to do with Dave being free now that he and his wife have split, right?”

“It’s not a Circuit Party. It’s Burning Man. It’s not like we’re spending a weekend at Fire Island.”

Damn, maybe there’s hope for Phil and that visibly gay thingy after all. His talk to the hand gesture was masterfully thrown. And okay, so maybe I lied. Just a bit. While only about 12% of attendees identify as gay or ‘occasionally gay’ at Burning Man sex-positive free expression thrives, so that percentage is akin to the low number of men who admit to masturbating. There is a strong queer presence at Burning Man. There’s even a gayborhood where like-minded individuals set up camp. So I figured the festival was the perfect place for Dave to get his gay on in public for the first time. Kinda like losing your virginity in an orgy.

One of Burning Man’s 10 guiding principles is the directive commanding “radical inclusion.” In practice, this means that everyone is welcome to take part in every formal event and even every informal shindig. No one gets made fun of for the way they look, or what they wear, or their preferences in regard to sexual partners. Which could change at the drop of a hat. Or the drop of someone’s trousers. Experimentation rules the day. And night. Gays, straights, and in-betweens party their asses off together throughout the festival. And if you’ve never been spanked, peed on, or had an up close and personal experience with the sexual organs of a gender that’s not usually your preferred flavor, Burning Man is where you should. It’s almost an obligation. And I’m only going to help Dave meet his obligations. Which, as a newly minted gay man, I’m assuming will be pretty vanilla. But I’m packing handcuffs too. Just in case.

“You know I’ve been talking to Dave too. And he’s scared shitless about bottoming.”

“Well from where I’m standing that’s a good thing.”

“You are such an asshole.”

“Yeah, but as long as that asshole is . . . .”

“Don’t”

“Besides the plan isn’t for us to have sex. The plan, with luck, is for us to score some peyote.”

“Then we’ll have sex.”

“Do you really think that’s smart? He’s still all screwed up about discovering he’s gay.”

“I think peyote is the perfect answer. I’m hoping he’ll have a vision that his spirit guide is a penis.”

“You mean your penis.”

“I like to call him Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

Nudity at Burning Man is rampant. So you’d think the festival is all about penis. But unfortunately, there’s vagina too. Not that it matters. Rather than staring at dick all day, most Burners are looking for shade. Or a cold beer. Or a port-a-pottie that hasn’t yet blown over in the high winds. Survival is almost as important as sex. Event tickets carry a clear warning stating “You voluntarily assume the risk of serious injury or death by attending”. And event organizers seem to care more about their policy of leave no trash behind than they do the occasional dead body. Which one assumes someone is tasked with packing out too.

But that’s part of the Burning Man culture. If someone sees you throw an empty beer can on the ground, you may well end up being one of those dead bodies. And that’s pretty drastic for someone who still considers their recycling can as an overflow receptacle when trash starts piling up. But hey, we all make sacrifices and in an utopian village filled with naked men and straight boys trying their gay on, even I can live with a pack it in pack it out policy. Besides, once the sun goes down no one can see where you are dumping your trash anyway. Which also solves that blown over port-a-pottie problem too.

And speaking of getting trashed, when the sun goes down anyone who hasn’t already passed out from their day’s indulgences gets their party face on. Which means 70,000 Burners getting shit faced in a carnival-like atmosphere set to a thumping bass beat. Neon rules the nights. As do glow sticks. Which is pretty amazing considering there are no electrical lines running to Black Rock City. But the techo-geeks manage to light up the playa to a degree that puts Las Vegas to shame anyway.

“You know you don’t have to spend four days in the desert just to do Dave. He wants you and you’d probably be more comfortable in a suite at Caesar’s Palace.”

“Yeah, but you know how big a fan I am of killing two birds with one stone.”

“I know how big of a fan you are of outdoor sex.”

“Well, there’s that too.”

“Just remember that lube and sand don’t mix well.”

“Neither do facials and beards, so Dave should be in for a memorable time.”

“God, for his sake I hope they kick you guys out early.”

‘If you build it they will come’ seems to work for Burning Man, and the geek version of sand castles that get erected at the festival are a major draw providing both a whimsical and surreal ambiance to the landscape. Which works well with the copious amount of drugs consumed during the festival. The burning man himself, which grows larger and more extravagant every year, and the Temple – an architectural feat designed to allow contemplation, where people leave notes, photographs, and objects relating to their thoughts – are built by event organizers. And then burned to the ground by attendees (the burning man goes to flame on Burn Night (aka Saturday) and the temple becomes a pile of ashes the next night.

The art installations installed by attendees, however, are what makes the festival’s grounds unique. When you awake in the early afternoon with the mother of all hangovers, with mind-altering drugs still coursing through your system, and step outside for a pee to find a thirty foot tall three legged spider hovering over the horizon, you know you’re not in Kansas any more. And since there are no over-weight couples from Ohio in matching aloha wear, you know you’re not in Vegas either.

“Dave seems to think being a gay man means being with you, and your dick won’t rest until it finally gets what you’ve been fantasizing over for the last twenty years, so I think the two of you on a weekend away together is a good idea.”

“Really? You’re cool with this?”

“I don’t know that I’m cool with it as much as I’m willing to bow to the inevitable. Besides, once you both get what you think you want maybe you’ll start thinking with something other than your dicks.”

“Wow. I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

“What I did to deserve you concerns me more.”

“Yeah, that karma thingy can be a bitch. I gotta call Dave and tell him.”

“I already did.”

“What?”

“Did you really think Dave would head off for a weekend of sand and sex with you without asking me first?”

“I really need to stop hanging out with ethical people.”

Some first time Burners enjoy themselves immensely. Others become addicted, can’t get enough, and come back again and again. Some find it really isn’t their cup of tea. While others detest the entire experience. Some can take it or leave it. And others decide it took more effort than it was worth. Kinda like those trying gay sex for the first time. Either works well as a metaphor for the other. Considering the fisting workshop at Camp Beaverton and the always popular greco-roman nude oil wrestling matches at the Astropups’ camp, they well may be one and the same thing. Regardless, when 70,000 of your closest soon to be friends throw the event of the season to coincide with your coming out party, what could possibly go wrong?

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