The Erodome
Burning Man Evolution 2009 — Poly Paradise camp
Off to the side of Evolution 2009 Burning Man, a white geodesic dome stood at the corner of a camp called Poly Paradise. My home camp, that year, it was a good one — a mellow scene that had a meals policy of feeding anyone who wandered in from the playa, whether they lived at the camp or not.
I visited Erodome on the afternoon of my first full day. At 10 meters wide and just as high, it was cavernous, with sunlight through its plastic sheeting skin and glowing soft white.
Ventilation ducts allowed a gentle, cool breeze through the space, which was divided by hanging cloth sheets such that none of its eight spaces could be seen from any other; or rather, the view was obscured somewhat, to give the illusion of privacy. Sound of course could pass freely through the psychedelic-patterned tapestries.
Locals referred to it as the Erodome, an open-access, free-love space. Anyone could play there. Just one rule applied — to be part of anyone else’s scene, they had to invite you. And it was not intended as a living space but rather a loving space.
I visited the Erodome the first time to see what it was like. The space felt perfect for its purpose, and the air moved gently and the colored sheets rippled gently. As I stepped out of the dome, a couple was walking in. He had a mature, friendly face, dark blonde, with a West Coast kind of ease about him. She was alert and quick to make contact with her bright green eyes that felt illuminated by her soul. Blonde bangs framed the top of her face and a braid ran down her back.
He glanced at me and she smiled at me as we walked past one another. I stepped out into the Burning Man afternoon. The edge of the dome was close to one of the avenues, actually, close to an intersection. The designers of the camp had placed it there, probably for fun or as a little architectural joke.
Night and day within the dome there was always the sound and feeling of people on on the street…increasing as the city’s population arrived. Soon there would be a modest throng of humanity traipsing past the dome.
I turned to walk away when I heard her moan. A warm flush went through me.
I am not sure how I was so bold but maybe it was something in her eyes that consented to walking back into the dome. And the infallible pull of the deeply erotic. I stood in the entryway, chose a direction, and ended up in a space across the space from them.
I could not see them due to the hanging blankets, but I could hear them vividly making love. I was sure he was going down on her. His moans were muffled and hers were calm and clear. Long and mingled with deep breaths. She knew how to let herself be eaten.
Without thinking I set down my green Three Continents bag and undressed, slipping out of my Birkenstocks and my cotton shorts. In my bag were a diversity of toys. The Erodome has lube stations, complete with gloves and a washup area, though I preferred my own supplies. I stood there naked in the dome, in my not really private space, as their love happened to one another. My prick was stiff and aching to be touched, which I did. At first timidly then more boldly.
I drifted into my private pleasure, breathing deeply, when first I heard him groan with his mouth full of her, and then she shuddered out her voice, vibrating with the slow pulses of her freedom. Hearing and feeling her cunnilingus orgasm I moaned and breathed deeply as I surrendered to revealing myself.
She called out gently in return, softly, responsive and my heart throbbed as I let out more of my pleasure. He then began thrusting her. I could hear his pumps and their voices sang that song. In response I laid down on the air mattress, drew a dildo and a bottle of lube out of my bag and first massaged then fucked my ass.
It was never so easy. Never so easy to model my self penetration anything – in this circumstance on her response to being penetrated. I studied her voice and emulated the feeling as I thrust myself, first slowly and then more powerfully. I moaned in rhythm and would feel self-conscious about being heard by a man. Her delicate roaring of self existence encouraged me deeper regardless, despite that, and I would emulate her.
Then I was kneeling up, penetrated, facing into the room and looking into a glowing pastel nautilus rainbow.
Which began to spin. They were now making love aggressively, fully, gently and so beautifully and I did as well, rocking on the silicone cock deep inside me, grunting delightedly and drinking in their pleasure while making a light fountain of my own.
We slipped into sync, and then deeper, and again, as if hypnotizing one another. I moaned, aware of some tension associated with him hearing me, and I massaged that like a tight spot in my aura and let go of my shame in a bright flash of warmth and freedom. I moaned for him, to reveal my self delight to him urgently.
I was, before I knew what would happen, approaching orgasm, approaching that spot where no matter what I would not be able to grasp the edge and hold back, present of mind enough to place my palm in front of my deliciously aching cock.
I dropped down harder onto the dildo beneath me and that set forth my climax. At that moment they moaned uncontainably and floated us all up to a new level of sensation as my semen spurted into my palm extravagantly as I watched it happen.
My hand was full full full when the warm jets relinquished and I raised my hand to my mouth as I heard them kissing one another in delight, I slurped myself loudly and filled my mouth with myself moaning in short breaths and swallowed and received me with my mouth full, stunned and loving kneeling up breathing fully as they giggled and whispered. Through none of these experiences did I ever see them; one of us would always leave before the other.
The next day I was roaming around the city — Black Rock City — and felt a pull back to camp. I soon realized it was a tug in the direction of the Erodome, so I approached from outside the camp, slipped around the dome and into the door.
There did not seem to be anyone there. So I went into the little cloth booth where I had left a big round masturbation mirror for use in any sexual scene that might call for it…and the I was in one. I stripped and sat down on the tarp floor and spread my legs into the miror, watching myself get hard. I was facing outward against the luminescent white wall of the dome, toward the street and into the mirror.
I reached for my green bag, lubed a dildo, and watched my face as I penetrated myself. This is one of my little rules. Whenever I first self-penetrate, I look at my face to see it happen and to make my feelings conscious.
This is where I was when I heard someone, two people, slip in behind me. Then I recognized her giggle, which evoked the vision of her adorable face and blonde bangs.
They sliped into their own little section of the space and it’s not long before I hear his muffled delight and then she sings out her good feeling. His mouth is in her cunt again. This is what they love to do. I am masturbating to their cunnilingus. This time she cums hard and fast and then says to him, lay on your back. I know what’s going to happen. She’s going to mount and ride him.
And she does. I pump my cock and look at my face and try to hold my gaze. I keep avoiding myself, then looking back, gently guiding myself back. Saying words to myself helps me hold my gaze but I forget this right now.
I cry out and my unrestrained moans join theirs. My core is speared with a thick replica cock as she straddles and fucks herself full of him, intent on satysfying herself. I hear him orgasm vividly, gorgeously, as she does this. In one moment I am spinning and in the next my mouth is full of my semen and I swallow vocally — intentionally — so I was sure they would hear me swallow myself to their bliss.
Then I hear her moan a little. Then I hear his muffled delight. He is eating her. He is licking himself at the same time. She is moaning more fully and I think she’s masturbating while he goes down on her.
On the third day it was late dusk into evening. The city seemed to flow in slow motion. I mindlessly drifted through camp and into the dome. I heard them. They were deep in, somewhere hidden off to the side in the dark space. I stripped and sat down where I was, in the middle of the floor, facing the entrance, and masturbated to their fucking, hoping someone would walk in on this scene.
The last time it happened was the night of the burn. I was back at my campsite arranging my cameras. This was a big night to photograph. When I was done I put my cameras on the back seat of the car, and walked toward the dome.
Far to my left, the arms on the Man were still down, meaning the ritual was not imminent. I went to the cloth section with the mirror. It was dark. Intuitively I stripped and left my clothes in a heap. This time I would masturbate standing up. It would be particularly embarrassing if anyone saw me doing this, which is why I wanted to do it.
Of course in that moment they slipped in. Her voice was so distinctive. But this time they sat down in one of the sections and were silent, and still. Maybe they were listening for me, or just listening. I knew what I wanted to do and what the seemed to be annointed of that hour.
I stood and leaned back a little and studied the shape of myself in the dim light. At first I heard some passers-by on the other side of the thin wall of the dome. I felt a sudden urge not just to cry out, which I did, but also to speak to myself.
“Thank you for doing this. Thank you for doing this Eric.”
I breathed and moaned. I spoke again. “I thirst for your semen, Eric.”
I stop, panting, astonished. I resume, loudly. “You’re a mirror masturbator. you drink your cum.”
A silence seemed to fall over all of Burning Man. I tried to hold my gaze in the mirror and speak again, almost singing, knowing I was felt.
“Thank you for your semen.”
That did it. I was slipping irrevocably into a deep, gorgeous orgasm when my voice spoke again, carried on a moan: “Forgive yourself Eric.” Then into my face, cumming into my palm, “I forgive you, I forgive you, I forgive you,” cumming to those words.
Then I was looking at a palm full of my slippery squirmy seed. Disoriented, and wondering what to do with it, the eew factor rushing in.
“Thank you for your semen Eric” and I filled my mouth, sucking, whimpering and grunting a little, holding my liquld for a long time in the perfect silence. I don’t remember choosing to swallow. I remember the feeling of my semen sliding into my belly.
Some moments later I was slipping into my clothes and across the camp toward my cameras. The Man’s arms were up. The ritual was soon to begin.
