Larry asked me to dye him purple. A helpful soul at heart, I readily agreed, and we headed off to a camp that had kiddy pools and huge spray bottles of food coloring.

He stripped and I went to work with the spray pump and the nozzle. After a few coats had dried, he was a pretty satisfactory, slightly streaky, deep violet from head to toe.

"I love you," I began to sing, "You love me, we're a happy—" By then Larry had grabbed one of the bottles with an enraged roar. I took off running but I was too late. I arrived in camp cursing and irritated. My favorite red sarong was a blotchy maroon. My legs and face were streaked and speckled in lavender.

It was siesta time, the sun was beating down with midday force, and several members of Index were sprawled asleep in our front shade structure. The library was closed, and the rest of the camp had probably fled in search of cooler venues where they could lie on Astroturf under gently hissing sprayers and wait for the sun to set.

I was too preoccupied with venomous epithets for Larry to notice Tanya emerging from behind her car until she spoke. "Hey, Vinnie," she said, walking over. She was nude except for flip- flops and sunglasses. My muttering stopped dead.

"Amanda told me how long your tongue is," she said. "You don't have to show me." She brought her fingers up to my chin and gently shut my jaw.

I swallowed hard. "Happy birthday, Tanya. I like the suit."

"You do? I made it myself." She did a pirouette. "With a little help from my parents."

"Please do that again," I begged.

"This?" She started to take another turn.

"Stop there!" I demanded when she was halfway through, and took her shoulders in my hands to pause her.

"What are you doing?" she complained mildly.

"Staring at your ass," I explained. After a long moment, I took my hands away. "Okay, that wasn't nearly enough, but it'll have to do for now."

She turned around and looked at me appraisingly. "Looks like you had a little accident, Vinnie."

"Turns out Larry's not a big `Barney and Friends' fan," I explained.

"Jesus, I'm not even gonna ask," she said, shaking her head. "I was about to take a shower. I think there's enough water if you want a short one after me."

"Sure... uh... want some help with yours?" Hey, no harm in asking.

She looked skeptically at me. "I dunno if I can trust you to behave yourself."

I looked stricken. "Do you want me to!?"

"Mmmm, we'll see. Come on."

Our shower setup was typical. A pole to hang your Sunshower™ bag from, a wooden pallet to stand on, two minivans and a bed sheet arranged for a modicum of privacy.

Tanya took her Sunshower off the hood of her car, and we tied it to the pole. I turned the nozzle, and the warm water started to trickle out. I held it over her head, and she turned and rubbed herself under the little stream, dark skin glistening as the day's dust ran off onto the ground.

Of all the experiences that week, the one that stays with me most vividly is the unaffected, casual grace of Tanya turning her lithe body under her little stream of Portland bottled water. Inches from her turning body, holding the stream in which she bathed, I still felt like a secret voyeur at a private ritual, like Actaeon trespassing at the bath of Diana, on the cusp of metamorphosis into a mute beast forever after. And Actaeon's punishment did indeed come to me, for I cannot tell of what I saw. My eloquence isn't equal to the task. I saw Tanya naked. She's a hot babe. She looked real good. Woo.

I shut the nozzle and stood back. I like wearing sarongs at Burningman—they're simple, they're cheap, they're cool in hot weather. The absence of pockets drives me crazy, though. I had no idea what to do with my hands, and crossed my arms self- consciously.

Tanya poured a little peppermint liquid soap into her palm and covered herself with suds. She arched her neck one way and then the other as she ran her hands over it. Her plump breasts shook as she soaped them. She streaked her flat belly with pale suds, whitened the thick black curls of her pubis as she ran her hands between her legs.

"Do you—" my voice broke.

"What's that?"

"Do you want me to do your back?" I managed to get out.

"Sure." She looked at me for a moment. "You might want to take off your tent first. —I mean, your sarong."

"Um—"Unable to think of anything to say, I undressed and stepped up onto the pallet, prick bobbing with each step. I moistened my hands and Tanya poured a little soap into them. She turned away from me and I started rubbing it into her shoulders. "Oh, that's good," she purred. I moved my hands down under her shoulder blades, and then ran them over the small of her back.

"Keep going?" I asked.


I ran my hands over the firm, high swell of her ass with a sigh of pleasure. I lingered over the taut skin there for as long as I dared, massaging the firm flesh with the heels of my palms, before moving on to the backs of her thighs. Tanya spread her legs invitingly and thrust her ass out. I took the cue, and ran a hand up the skin of her thigh to slide along her already-soapy vulva. She sighed in pleasure, but warned me, "Don't get the soap in my pussy—it stings."

"Okay," I said, and ran my hand up along the crack of her ass, feeling the knot of her asshole as my fingers glided over it. "Should I wash you here, too?" Please please please please?

"If you don't mind."

I laughed aloud. "Mind? No." My fingers slid along that groove. I pressed the tip of one finger against the little ring of muscle, then moved outward in slow spirals, gently cleaning her.

At first she pressed back against my hand, swaying her hips a little, but then she stood straight again. "Soap's stinging a little back there," she complained.

"I'd better rinse you off then." I turned on the nozzle and ran my hands over her shoulders once more, helping the water send the soap suds running down her legs and between the boards of the pallet to the muddy playa surface below. Her back rinsed, I directed the stream between the cheeks of her ass, and followed it with my fingers, gently wiping off the last residues of the soap.

Turning off the nozzle, I asked, "Is that better?"

"I think so," she said, "it's hard to tell yet."

I leaned in close. "Well, I know a way to check."

"What do—Oh, Vinnie, are you sure?"

"It's my pleasure. Really." I knelt behind her on the rough pallet and parted her shining dark cheeks with my hands. I pressed my face against the cool wet skin of her ass and flicked my tongue against her perineum. She groaned and pressed back against me. I ran my tongue up to her asshole and ran the flat across it several times, then beat the stiffened tip against the very center.

"Oh god," she said, "So what's the expert's opinion."

"More research warranted," I insisted, voice muffled.

"I think it's all right now. Come on up and help me rinse." Reluctantly, I got to my feet and took up the nozzle again. She rinsed herself down, then stepped to the side of the pallet. "And now..." she said.

"And now," I echoed, and stepped close to her, encircling her in my arms, my rigid cock pressed against the cool skin of her stomach.

"And now," she kissed me lightly on the lips, "we wash you. " She twisted away from me, and took up the Sunshower nozzle. I grumbled a little, but I came along. I was soon wet from head to toe and Tanya began soaping me, starting at my back. Her strong little fingers dug at the muscles of my shoulders, loosening knots I had been unaware of. With the rest of my back, she was less lingering, doing a thorough but efficient job on down to the backs of my knees.

"Turn around," she directed, then began at my shoulders again, running her hands over my chest, down across my ribcage, running her palms across my neck. She lingered on my stomach, letting the tension build, then, looking me in the eye, took my swollen prick in her soapy hand. With a little Mona Lisa smile, she stroked it for a moment, then ran her fingers over the tight skin of my balls and moved on to soaping my thighs.

"Is the soap stinging your penis?" she asked.

"A little."

"We'd better get you rinsed off then." She directed the water at me, and I rubbed at my skin, rinsing the suds off my body. When I was clean, she turned off the nozzle.

"All better?" she asked.

"All better," I assured her.

"Are you suuuuure?" she teased.

"Oh." I may be slow, but I'm not stupid. "Perhaps There Is Some Soap Remaining On My Tender And Engorged Genital Regions," I proclaimed stiffly.

She giggled for a moment, then got back in character. "We'd better find out," she breathed huskily, and slowly knelt in front of me. She took my cock in one hand and, eyes locked on mine, took the head into her hot mouth. I groaned aloud.

"Jesus," she hissed, "Keep your voice down!"


"`Sokay," she said soothingly. "Now, let's try this again." She brought her mouth over the head of my prick once more.

"Oh my god, Tanya,' I whispered hoarsely.

"Better," she said, and began bobbing her head on my prick as her hand squeezed the base. It didn't take many minutes of this before my hands gripped her shoulders and I gasped that I was about to come,

She sucked hard at the head of my cock while her hand slid along the shaft. In a few moments I groaned as quietly as I could and my prick pulsed in her mouth. She swallowed loudly and stood, brushing off her knees. "I don't think that was soap," she said,

I hugged her tightly and kissed her, her tongue darting into my mouth. "Oh wow," I said. "Oh wow, oh wow, oh wow. I don't think you owe me a backrub any longer."

When we gathered for dinner, the temperature had dropped and the wind was picking up, casting a thin layer of fine dust over every exposed surface. Looking out at the upwind horizon, the clouds coming in were heavy and dark. "Anyone been listening to the radio?" I asked.

Moe said, "Radio Free Burningman says wind and 40% chance of rain."

Tanya was surprised. "Rain? In the desert?"

"It happens," I acknowledged. "I'm more concerned about the winds. We should batten down the camp a little before setting out for the evening."

"You got plans?" she asked.

I picked up the events guide and paged through it. "Hmm... There's an exploding meat performance at midnight."

"Exploding meat?"

"Yup. A bunch of performance artists with cow livers and pyrotechnics. Folks say it's very memorable, but it's important to bring a raincoat or clothes that don't stain. Oh, and earplugs—apparently the soundtrack is pretty loud."

"Sounds like Gallagher on PCP. What else you got?"

"I'll probably see if I can find a good drum circle at some point, do a little dancing."

"That sounds good."

"Won't you join me, then?"

"I should be delighted, sir."

to Chapter 1 ⇐
⇒ to Chapter 4

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