I Am Allergic to Burning Man

Ugh, I’m sitting here, after writing five porn reviews, with my fourth nosebleed in two days. I have just returned from an ill-fated, ill-advised trip to the Black Rock desert (home of the hateful Burning Man festival), and I am definitely allergic to something in the desert dust out there. Which is just fine with me, as I never plan on going there again. Don’t get me wrong — I love the desert and camping. But I don’t love allergies and nosebleeds, paying to attend a party that others show up to for free, and no, I have never been to Burning Man and no I don’t want to go. No, SRL has never done a show there (though members have taken their personal machines out there). My first encounter with a "burner" was a guy in a bar several years ago who was showing his pictures, photos of naked girls looking very pissed off, and lots of photos of just their tits. When I went to the Exotic Erotic Ball last year I found a disposable camera on the floor and got the film developed the next day, and the pictures were exactly the same. So it’s like Exotic Erotic, but in the middle of nowhere and you’re trapped for days on end, and you paid a lot of money, and there are a lot of hippies, you’re ruining delicate desert ecology with 30,000 mostly amateur partiers, and you can’t even shoot guns. Well, my weekend wasn’t exactly what I’d call Exotic Erotic in the desert because they were all seasoned partiers and excellent musicians, but I wouldn’t call it the "feel good event of the summer" either. Meanwhile, my pal Thomas house-sat for me and wrote erotic stories about cannibals on my computer, and he was used and abused by my 17 lb. cat, who is a huge love slut. (The cat is the slut — I wouldn’t know about Thomas.) I should’ve stayed at home and answered your mail — I’ve been getting tons of email lately and I will answer you soon.

Let me rewind to last Thursday, because it was a wonderful day filled with sexual frustration and the joy that comes when you discover porn that really does the trick. I am a dirty girl. But I am not alone. I know there are others like me — lots of others. Thursday while working at the Good Vibes store, I surfed porn on my break. That’s usually part of my job, but porn on GV time is seldom any kind of porn I’d get off to, and I almost never get turned on at work — unless I’m working at home, and rarely on Internet porn like I did the other day. Oh, it’s bad to admit that I got turned on at work, but spank me, I did.

I am unabashedly bisexual, though men really rev my motor. Mmmm, men — stubble, broad chests, stiff cocks and hands gripped around them in a fist. I’ll bet about a million other straight gals will agree with me, and I often fantasize — as do other women and oodles of gay men — about sexy men masturbating. It’s a little frustrating that 99.9% of the porn and websites out there show women masturbating in ten million different ways, but few ever show guys. I’ve long dreamed of role-reversal in porn formula, where in each porn film there is the obligatory male masturbation scene, and why not throw in an obligatory guy-guy scene right along with the typical girl-girl scenes in the formula? Oh, I know why — because porn only ever assumes a homophobic male audience, and the people who make porn are suffocatingly heterosexual and quite homophobic themselves. But the rest of us kinky straight and bi folks — and there’s a lot of us — can dare to dream.

I subscribe to Blowfish‘s email newsletter and in their latest issue one of the writers links to a site that caters to a fetish that I’ve been asked about by a surprising number of Tiny Nibbles readers: clothed female, nude male. It’s called CFNM, and it’s where a woman is clothed, sometimes incidentally or sometimes in a way that indicates domination, with a naked man. Think female news reporters and locker rooms, or nurses and a naked male patient. But what I didn’t expect to find on this site is one of the things I crave to see more of — men masturbating for women. (Look for gifs linked to from this page… they’re "for the ladies." Uh-huh.) And then I discovered something else just as hot — a vast, vast site dedicated to pictures of hand jobs. Eh. Wow. C’mere young man, let me objectify you.

So my weekend bombed. But I did have a great conversation with a sexy female trumpet player. She is hot, hot, hot. We stood there in the middle of the desert at sunset in full costume — hers Marching Band uniform, mine long silver gloves, silver high heels, long silver backless gown and piled-high tomato-red Victorian pincurl wig. Waiting for the first of many long waits to come, we drank beer and huffed whippets (remember junior high?) and talked about sex. She plied me for a list of sex acts I’ve never tried. I promised her a list in this weblog sometime this week…

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