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Israeli Man at Burning Man

I am supposed to find someone, for some forgotten reason. Not looking for my first Israeli lover. Finding him is an accident. And so I visit a camp I never would, full of people, and ask around. I don’t find them. Instead, I find Nisim. A hot Israeli man.

This hot Israeli man knows the person I am looking for. I am there with my #1 Wingwoman, and this is how she earns that title. Nisim is tall, and shy, and beautiful, and Israeli, and young. And she sees the spark between us and pushes us into each other. She knows I like Israeli men.

“She used to be famous at Burning Man.

And indeed I did, but now that doesn’t matter. 

He is sincere. The Israeli man looks me in the eyes and asks me why it is, this 21st consecutive year of mine, that I still go.

“Because each year I learn something new about myself.” I answer, and turn the question onto him.

“I grew up in a very Orthodox Jewish community in Israel. I am here to explore my sexuality.” he says, in that direct, honest, unfettered, innocent, and misguided way that can only happen at Burning Man with Israeli men.

“You should explore it with her.” my wingwoman says, winks, and walks away.

And so I am left there, with this black haired beauty, with eyeliner and no shirt. A beautiful innocent young Israeli man looking to be a satyr for a week.

He looks at me, I look at him. 

“Do you…?” he asks.

“Yes.” I interrupt. 

And we snake our way through the camp, which by my eyes seems designed to trip anyone who isn’t sober and thoroughly familiar with the topography, like, a fuckyou from those who set up the camp. I make it through unscathed, however, dodging errant slicey rebar anchoring and random pools of water that were supposed to evaporate before nightfall.

And this cute boy, my first Israeli lover, he takes me to a hexayurt, which is at least better than a tent. He is sharing it with someone, the virgin doesn’t know how it’s built or what went into it and yet that’s where he lives, out there, in the middle of the desert, putting his faith in others.

Israeli Man at Burning Man, Israeli Men, Israeli Lovers

We are kissing to the harsh light of his LED lamp and I shut it off in favor of the red EL-Wire glow from the horns I am wearing. And then my first Israeli lover wants me naked, and so I am, removing all the accoutrements that go with survival in this harsh environment, and all my bling and trinkets that go with this culture I helped define.

“Usually I don’t like any hair at all on any woman. When I see that it’s like a visceral reaction of disgust. But it is so beautiful on you…” the Israeli man says, marveling at my blond, sparse hair that patterns thicker over my calves and thickest under the arms and on my pussy. 

Burning Man can change your tastes.” I say.

“I want to please you.” he says, looking me in the eyes. I sense he wants to earn something.

Taking his hand in mine, I kiss each finger, slowly. Then sucking on his first finger, whirling my tongue around it. Then I place that wet finger directly on my clit, where it meets the hood, and whisper to him all the ways I’ve learned to classify movement. Harder, softer. Circles. Friction. None. Back and forth. Specific, broad. 

His eyes widen and his nostrils flare. 

“Oh wow it gets me so hard when you tell me exactly how you want it. It’s like you trust me to understand you.” I love his virgin Burning Man vulnerability and wide-eyed empathy, and his Israeli accent.

Of course I do. I’m Jewish.” I wink at him. He smiles, my first Israeli lover. But not my first young lover.

A tribute to all Israeli men, Nisim makes me come in under two minutes, swift and adept and eager to learn. I lean over him, kissing him. He runs his hands down my back, around my hips, to my neck and face.

“I want to see you sucking me.” he says.

And with that his campmate half enters the hexayurt, sees with a shock that I’m there, and exits.

“Have many girls here?” I ask my first Israeli lover.

“No women. Just you.” he says, bashfully. I smile at his shift of language and respect for women.

“I am sure your yurtmate understands then.” I say, pulling him out of his pants. “Do I still get to suck this beautiful cock?”

He shudders and his cock drips with precum. It’s lean, good-looking, and of course – circumcised. 

I trained on Kellogg cut, corn-fed cocks – after all, I’m American. And here we are, on US Federal land. And here I am, sucking the cock of this hot Israeli man a good 20 years my junior. My first Israeli lover.

He curls his hand around the base of his cock blocking off his balls from my view and squeezing more blood into himself. I use one of my hands to intertwine fingers with his, and help him get leverage to add the pressure he likes into his hip. 

“How do you know what I like?” he asks.

“You just showed me.” I say with a shrug, and flick my tongue under the head of his cock, testing his most sensitive parts. His back arches and looking up at his face I see a furrow in his brow and know he doesn’t want to be teased.

I take him to the hilt immediately and that’s what he wants. Nisim wants no guilt, no creeping thoughts conditioned into him by his religious training. He wants me to suck him like it’s all I want in life. He wants no pause for remorse and I give him none. I suck him hard, fast, and according to all the words I just taught him for telling me how he wants it.

“Faster, harder, suck my cock.” he says, for the first time in his life without holding back.

And I do, and I take his hands and put them on my head, and I suck him deep and let him fuck my mouth and his hips buck and within a minute he’s shooting his load deep into my throat and I swallow it immediately, suck and pull the last drops out of him until he stops me and he sits straight up and kisses me, deeply.

“That was the best blowjob I have ever had in my life, that I ever could imagine, and better than anything out of my fantasies…”

“Let’s leave it that way.” I say, gathering and affixing all my accessories. I kiss him deeply.

He walks me out of the maze of passive aggressive camp design and I unlock my bike, stroke his stubbly temple, and bike off, never to see him again.

My wingwoman, though, does. Randomly, days later. She runs into him on the way to the burn, amongst tens of thousands. He is tripping, she reports, or dazed, and looking for some woman who probably isn’t into him the way he is into her. I laugh when she tells me this.

“All part of the learning.” 


Read more about Burning Man: Persian Stripper

Like stories about age differences? Here’s more:

Becoming a cougar: The Persian Lovers: Becoming a Cougar

Indian lover in Muscat: The Indian Lovers: Ramadan

Flashback to when I was 19 (this one is about a younger woman/older man): The European Lovers: Amsterdam (Live Sex Shows)

Other One Night Stands:

1: The Persian Lovers: The First Persian

2: The Russian Lovers: Russian Kazakh Lover

3: Johnny the Cheesemonger

4: Nigeria is the Future

5: Stuck

6: Tantra


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