Kissing

At Burning Man 2010

Our neighborhood had a kissing booth.  It was usually staffed by young Europeans guys and American girls. I think when it wasn’t staffed it was open for whomever. Some of the European guys were amazing looking, well one was.

It was conveniently located on the way out to the playa and/or on the way home and near the port-o-potties. Can you say ambiance? It just didn’t matter. My first morning trip to the loo, I was dressed and fresh and feeling fine. I saw the young guys in the booth and smiled and one kept calling to me, I just smiled. He was gorgeous.

I did my business and as I was riding back home, decided to swing up. He started talking to me in a charming accent, smiling, complimenting me and why not start the day with a lovely long sweet kiss? Which we did.

I saw him several times over the week. He liked the mornings. He always called out to me. I always went over, except the one morning I hadn’t brushed my teeth yet, so then I just smiled alluringly. Our kissing got much better and hotter. He was from Belgium, so that’s what I called him.

P and Bird were with me on separate occasions and were duly impressed with me and Belgium.

Friday afternoon he said, “Come to our Karma Sutra party tonight.”

Of course! I asked him what time and he said 9. I half jokingly asked if it would be going on later and he said no.

I figured he didn’t understand me and said “Your Karma Sutra party is from 9 to 11?” And he said yes. I just smiled and said OK. He pointed out the purple RV and said to knock and ask for him. We parted with the best kiss ever. Really.

P had met someone from their camp earlier; we were kind of intrigued to see just what went on there. It was our night to explore the neighborhood and we couldn’t resist.

Long after nine, we rode up and knocked on the purple RV door. A man and a woman were waiting to get in, they said something like couples and single women were invited. P hung back a little.

A seemingly stern older German guy with a white brush haircut opened the door – no smiles, no hello. I had seen him at the booth. I glimpsed in and saw a couple men who looked just like him on mattresses, I believe they were naked. I sweetly asked if Belgium was there. He said NO.

So I asked, “What do you do in here?”

He said, “We make LOVE. “

His accent was so strong and he punched those three syllables like cement on stone, he slammed “love” the hardest in his guttural thick accent. What it sounded like was this:  Here, we torture and maim humans, cut them up, cook the flesh, devour with blood spilling down our naked bodies and scatter the remains in the desert. (Read with your best German serial killer accent).

Ok, I said. Great. The couple calmly waited to get in.

P and I rode off for other adventures, minus karma sutra. We only had another day and a half, I didn’t see Belgium again but didn’t look too hard either. He had been pure beauty, sensuality and joy for me.

I told the campmates and strangers/friends the story and “We make LOVE” became a fitting punch line to many giddy conversations, I probably over used it a bit.

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