The rest of the evening was strangely subdued. They still went out as group, moving from dance camps to tiny home-made bars to chill lounges. The larger dance camps could be huge, hundreds of dancers under a dome bouncing in front of a stage where a professional DJ is throwing beats. Others were tiny; sometimes literally some guy with a computer on a folding table, hooked up to a couple speakers, while three people bopped their heads in time with the tunes.
The Bonobo Girls enjoyed themselves, but it was as if they were all distracted that evening. They would often huddle in twos and threes, talking in low voices. Lots of hugging, and some giggling. They each went to bed alone that night.
The morning found Anne and Sarah biking together towards Center Camp. Center Camp was the huge communal tent at the center of the campground, and the only place where you could buy coffee.
Sarah had thrown on a black bikini top and slipped on a pair of shorts. Anne had a tank top on, and a pair of loose and poofy pants. This was morning, pre-coffee. Whatever clothing was on hand was the guiding principle. Sara had pulled back her blonde hair in a loose ponytail and thrown on a sun hat. But no bra, Sarah noticed.
They were standing in the short line for coffee when Sarah finally brought up the topic of the other night's discussion.
"So, have you thought much about it?" she asked.
Anne, of course, knew what she was talking about.
"You know, it was fantastic to say these things out loud. But, what does it mean? What am I supposed to do? I can't go around groping guys, it's not what I want anyway."
"What do you want?" asked Sarah.
"I don't know. Some kind of connection. Yeah, a touch, physical contact. But not just that. But I also don't want to have to spend an afternoon talking to some guy. The whole point is that it's different from what we did before. I've been on dates. It sucked then, and I don't want to do that now. So maybe we should just forget it?" Replied Anne.
Sarah was silent for a while. A part of her agreed with Anne, agreed that it was hopeless to think they could be as free as they had described. Free of shame and judgement. But another part of her was screaming silently, screaming that if they could not be free at Burning Man then what chance of being free, ever. The thought of coming home to her apartment, never having even tried to loosen the shackles that held her back, that thought squeezed her heart like a fist, stealing her breath.
They moved in the line, ordered their coffees and walked towards a clump of dusty couches that had been set up nearby.
"Or...", said Sarah, taking a sip of her coffee,"we apply our new principles to everyone. What if you were totally honest with a guy. If you told him exactly what you wanted. He can say no, or you can say no if he acts like a douche."
Anne looked unconvinced, but nervous. Sarah knew a storm of thoughts and emotions were swirling in Anne's head. Sarah looked around, taking in the thin crowd that wandered around Center Camp. Her eyes fell on something.
"Come on," said Sarah, getting up and offering her hand to help Anne up.
She led Anne towards a deeper corner, to a set of padded benches that had been set up close to the edge of the tent, where the fabric met the ground. It was not a private space, but it was away from the main flow of people.
Seated on a bench was her target. A young man was seated there, in his late twenties, handsome in a hippy way, with a mass of dark curls pulled back in a short ponytail, dressed only in loose-fitting tie-dye pants.
She made Anne sit on one side of him as she sat on the other.
"Hello," she said, smiling brightly. "My friend has something to ask you."
Anne laughed softly, shaking her head in disbelief. But she looked up and found the young man's eyes. Sarah saw a new resolve build in Anne.
"If you don't mind, I would like to touch you. Just to feel your face, maybe your chest. Just that, " said Anne.
The young man smiled. "Sure."
Anne reached out with her right hand and brushed his cheek with the tip of her fingers. She traced the line of his jaw, curling around his ear.
"Should I do anything?" He asked.
"No," replied Anne softly. "do you mind?"
"No. It's kind of relaxing. A little weird too, but it's cool," he replied.
Sarah watched, sipping her coffee.
Anne followed the curve of his neck down his shoulder, then running her hand down his arm, lingering on the swell of muscles. She took his hand in hers, feeling the strong sinews that moved beneath the skin. She brought his hand to her face, gently placing it on her cheek.
"You can touch me too if you want," she said.
The young man squared up to Anne on the bench. They both were gliding their fingertips over each other's arms and shoulders, staring in each other's eyes. Their other hand rested on each other's knee.
Anne's fingers traced a a long arc across his chest, tripping across his ribs, following the fold of his waist before resting on his sternum.
After a hesitation, he did the same, though his fingers by necessity traced the underside of her heavy breasts on their way down. He too rested his hand on her sternum, his hand nestled between the warm cushions of her bosom.
Anne was starting to breath heavy, her eyes still locked on his. She could feel her nipples tighten, pushing against the fabric of her tank top. Her hand drifted to the side, her little finger brushing against his small nipple.
He mirrored her, his hand dropping to the side to cup her breast, his fingers bumping against her hard and thick nipple. He couldn't resist a quick look down, taking in the deep cleavage her shirt revealed, and the hard nipples pushing against the fabric of her shirt. His hand gently hefted the weight of her breast, his thumb brushing against her nipple again.
Anne moaned.
