sex diaries

The Williamsburg Bisexual Enjoying Sex, Drugs, Glitter, and a Surprise Marriage Proposal at Burning Man

Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek behind doors left slightly ajar. This week, the Williamsburg Bisexual Enjoying Sex, Drugs, Glitter and a Surprise Marriage Proposal at Burning Man: Female, freelance writer/editor, Williamsburg, 30, bisexual, in a monogamous six-month relationship.


11:15 a.m.: Wake up snuggled with the Boy in flannel sheets in the spare bedroom of his friend’s apartment in San Francisco.

Ordinarily, a strange bed is excuse enough for some kind of fooling around, but we’re running late and we forgo sex for a quick shower, the second-to-last real shower before a week in the desert and dust of Burning Man.
2:30 p.m.: Shopping on the Haight for a few last-minute accessories: neon yellow fishnets; metallic tights; white sequin tutu; a couple of pairs of colorful panties with ruffles on the bum; gold zebra-striped cowboy hat; pink and white goggles (for dust). One of the things I love about Burning Man is you get to dress up however you want and wear all sorts of things that might not fly elsewhere.
11:10 p.m.: In traffic en route to Reno, talking about previous burns (the Boy has been to seven, I’ve been to two, and this is our first together), the Boy mentions how one year driving solo he stopped at Mustang Ranch, the famous prostitution house near Carson City, Nevada. I ask him if he participated, and he tells me the whole story — the verdict being it’s sort of underwhelming when you order sex from a menu and have to keep changing condoms every time you switch from one girl to another. I’m surprisingly unperturbed — I’ve never had a boyfriend admit he’s been with a prostitute before — and a little turned on. The idea of the Boy being with another woman is kind of sexy.
2:10 a.m.: We are crashing out for a few hours in our friend’s hotel room in Reno and I have work to do. But we have the room to ourselves, and sex and one last, warm shower is definitely on both of our minds. It’s been a few days since the shag in the back of the rental car in the airport parking structure.
2:50 a.m.: It’s on, and it feels just so damn good. We don’t use condoms.
2:58 a.m.: The phone rings. It’s the front desk. “Hello, Mr. —?” “Yes?” “We have a male visitor here to see you?” “Send him up, please.” It’s our other friend from S.F., who’s also crashing for a few hours. “Well, that couldn’t have been timed any better,” the Boy says. Agreed.


6:25 p.m.: Long day of traveling and we’ve finally turned off the main road. I’m nervous, anxious, excited. Everyone’s heard horror stories about relationships at the burn: rampant infidelity, disillusionment, arguments. Your life, your soul, and all your relationships, platonic or romantic, are put under a magnifying glass with no white noise of life to soften the reveal. I wonder what this year is going to mean for me, and for us.
11:45 p.m.: We’re about ten minutes away from arriving at camp when the Boy brings up the conversation about how we’re going to “be” at the burn, which is a talk I’ve been meaning to instigate. As a couple, it’s essential to set ground rules out here. My thoughts on the matter: I’m here to be here with him. I want to share this with him; I want us to be partners in crime. As far as other people go, I’m fine with flirting and some lighthearted kissing with other girls, but if anything is going to go further it’s the two of us in it together. I’ve had threesomes before and would love to have one with my boyfriend. (He already knows this.) I believe sexuality is a sliding scale and I am most definitely attracted to women and men; while there is nothing like being with a man, women are sexy as hell. I tell him I have no interest in being with another man out here, which is the absolute truth. He’s visibly relieved.


9:05 a.m.: We haven’t slept much; okay, we haven’t slept at all. Too much going on in camp with people arriving and setting up our own little domain. The Boy looks surprisingly sexy in a utilitarian kilt and these furry black boots that he bought on super sale at some après ski shop in Colorado years ago. I know he’s free-balling. It makes me kinda horny to think about how close and accessible it is. I’m looking pretty damn cute myself, in the white sequin tutu, semi-sheer tights, and cowboy boots.
5:45 p.m.: A girl wanders through our camp to say hello to everyone. He nudges me and says that might be an option. My interest is piqued: Have they hooked up before? Is there an attraction there? She doesn’t immediately strike my fancy but I’m open-minded.
10:00 p.m.: We’re finally in our tent together and “we’ll be right out” turns out to be we’re down for the count. Neither of us orgasm but there is some seriously sensual touching going on.


3:30 p.m.: There’s a joke among people who know me that I like to glitter people. So naturally I can’t resist Glitter Camp: You step onto the tarp to signal that you want to be glittered and someone — in my case, a woman — addresses my needs. I unzip and roll down my white dress so she can rub me down with gold glitter on my arms, stomach, chest. It’s a fabulous look for the playa wedding we’re on our way to attend.
5:05 p.m.: All day long the Boy has been dropping mentions of how he wants to take me somewhere out on the playa (“the playa” being the catch-all phrase for the vast desert space that Burning Man inhabits). I’m game. I’m neither opposed to discreet-but-public sex, or throw-me-up-against-a-shadowy-corner-of-a-labyrinth/art-installation-and-fuck-me sex. But then, this isn’t all that different from my normal M.O.
6:30 p.m.: Back at camp, the Boy and I jump in on dinner-prep duty. I adore cooking with him. The whole time we’re prepping and cooking, there’s cute banter, kisses that linger, a couple of deftly copped feels. The best part is I know I’m driving him as wild as he is me.
8:20 p.m.: We are committed to going out tonight, so we decide to get ready separately, to ensure we don’t get sucked into the tent again. I’m wearing tiger boots, plus black fuzzy D&G pants, and a white rabbit coat, the later two objects being items that previously belonged to the Boy. Damn, he’s good at this costuming thing.


7:45 a.m.: We make it back to camp well before the sun is high noon, but still, it’s not going to be a very long sleep before the tent heats up. We’re contentedly tired, and a little high, and more than a little horny. He pulls my pants down just enough so he can push my thong to the side, pressing inside me once he’s hard. I am so turned on by being in partially compromised positions, by which I mean lightly bound, restrained or otherwise encumbered.
11:10 a.m.: We wake up in a sweltering hot tent to the sound of a friend walking through the camp announcing that a daytime Art Car voyage is leaving in ten minutes from the camp next door. Fuck, we love those guys. We have to get on that shit. Quick but thorough body wipe down with baby wipes (the classic playa shower); costume change; re-stock the portable cooler with beers and hydration; couple mushroom capsules; and we’re off on a trip, in more ways than one.
9:30 p.m.: Another long, gorgeous day at the burn. Belly contentedly full. A little buzzed off of the margs we’ve been drinking for the past few hours. (Our camp hosted an unofficial happy hour, that turned into a boozy sunset viewing party that turned into barbecue for dinner.) I’m in the tent, supposed to be figuring out what to wear for the evening, but I am in no mood to be rushed. Instead I’m reclining on the air mattress, fantasizing a bit about the sex we’re about to having.
9:50 p.m.: I’m casually touching myself and getting ridiculously turned on. The Boy stops by the tent. I mention to him that all I really want right now is a glass of wine and his undivided attention. He knows what that means. He goes and makes good with the kids leaving camp and is back in about 60 seconds flat, shoes off and climbing into the tent. The sex that follows is something kind of magical. Maybe it’s the air mattress being partially deflated, allowing him to sink into me and penetrate me in a way you don’t get with the resistance of firmer beds. Maybe it’s how aroused I was to begin with. (I had my first orgasm almost immediately.) Maybe it’s the kinetic energy between us, the outpouring of passion and love. Whatever it is, it rocks my world.


1:30 p.m.: First shower of the week. Mulling over how surprisingly tame our sex life has been here. I figured by now something sort of out-of-the-box would have happened. At the same time, the sex and intimacy and connection between the Boy and I has been really special. It’s been intimate and sweet and soulful. I feel our roots growing deeper together and getting more and more intertwined. I’m happy.
3:50 p.m.: The Boy and I are holed up in a shady corner of a treelike sculptural installation deep out on the playa. We just had an incredibly honest conversation about our relationship that made us both a little teary, in the good kind of way. Neither of us knew what would happen this week, how it would be to be at the burn together — to the point that he set up an exit strategy that would have the option for us to leave separately, if that’s what we needed. Instead, what’s happened is the absolute best-case scenario. He tells me how happy he is to have me in his life, and that he’s never loved me more. The feeling is mutual.


4:15 p.m.: Get back to camp from an amazing Art Car ride. We stopped at a bar out in the deep playa, visited some of the other NYC camps, kicked back to a super sick sound system, plush pillows everywhere, swigging off a bottle of sparkling rosé. Our friend and campmate, and one of the Boy’s best friends — let’s call him Dude — announces that he’s proposed to his lady, and that we all should get “double married.” What?! We’re ecstatic to hear the news, and laughing hilariously at his proposition. The Boy says, “Well, that’d be great and all, but, Dude, I haven’t proposed to her yet.”
6:40 p.m.: It’s the evening of the burn, the night when they burn the man statue at the center of the playa. It’s a celebratory night, and I’m wearing a white knit gown and the tiger boots. The Boy is in his zebra tuxedo. He’s been following me around all afternoon. I finally call him out on this behavior, and ask him what this is all about. He asks me to marry him. It goes a little something like this, “Baby, I love you. I absolutely can’t imagine being with anyone else. Will you marry me?” Oh. My. God. Waterworks ensue. Tears of joy. It’s not even something I have to think about. “Yes!” Apparently, we’re getting double married.
9:45 p.m.: Fucking rental car. It overheated on us multiple times on the way in, and now the lights inside have gone all crazy flashy and then it completely died. It’s burn night and I’m officially engaged. We’ll deal with it in the morning. Except, well, I can’t stop worrying. I’m sitting in the front passenger side of the car sideways, door open, fretting to myself. The Boy comes over. We start making out, passionately. Suddenly I am so horny. He slides my dress up and climbs on top of me and fucks me there and then and it’s mind-blowing. That’s one way to take my mind off things. I feel infinitely better. We rejoin our friends in their RV. I make the announcement: ” We just had sex in the front passenger seat of the car. It was amazing.” They look at us and we all start cracking up. “Fuck that car,” Dude says. “Yeah, that car definitely just got fucked,” the Boy says. Fuck yeah it did.

TOTALS: Four acts of sexual intercourse, one in a rental car; one gold glitter application; one successful marriage proposal.

The Williamsburg Bisexual Enjoying Sex, Drugs, Glitter, and a Surprise Marriage Proposal at Burning Man