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Trading Drugs

Trading drugs? If I wasn’t desperate for rent money and about to go to Burning Man 2001, I would never have let RP bring a stranger to my rented apartment where I grew hidden mushrooms under my bed that even my own roommate didn’t know about.  

But I was, and I acquiesced and a small long-haired, skinny, shifty-but-beautiful-eyed stranger came into my space.  

RP was there too. That helped. Little Brother and the Piano Prodigy were also there, but I hid them in the next room. Little Brother knew about the mushrooms, his job was to distract Piano Player from their presence while keeping them quiet so that RP and The Madman didn’t know they were there. Such complicated dynamics these drug deals elicit.

He looked at a sample of my mushrooms, and asked how much. Before I could answer, he said the magic words “Would you consider trading some bud for those?”

I grinned, rent money suddenly pushed from my mind for the first time in days, replaced by the thought of instant weed.  “Sure!”

He went back to his car and returned with a metal briefcase, complete with combination lock.  He spun the dials, clicked open the locks, and revealed a case brimming with stunningly beautiful weed.  Something in his nature made me nervous, but I went to my room anyway, grabbed a gallon sized Ziploc full of mushrooms, and returned. 

He chuckled and said “I don’t have a scale.” 

“Neither do I.” I smiled.

“half for a quarter” he suggested.


We both picked an appropriate handful of homegrown and handed it to one another.  He met my eyes with a twinkle. I could tell he was as pleased as I was. Trading drugs with growers satisfies an urge to be above the law, above the money system, and to have your work truly appreciated. The exchange requires the ultimate trust, and therefore an intimacy.

Five years later The Madman’s hair was short and he’d filled out into a gorgeous man, so I didn’t recognize or remember him when RP brought him to Burning Man 2006.

One morning early in the week he popped his head into my RV.  

“Hi, I’m The Madman.”

“Hey Madman.”  I felt the shock of instant chemistry. 

Later in the week, on the day I dressed as a giant baby, all in pink and frilly The Madman and I took out the electric bikes he’d built and brought. 

Suddenly it was Black Rock City the video game, these were motorbikes, top speed around 40 mph.  We were sure to hit a Double before we left – the invention of the week – a Volcano bag filled with n2o and weed vapor. No trading drugs involved. 

The first time I took them out we went on a mission to collect my Burning Man 2000 neighbors to shoot the flamethrower with us. It was night, and the bikes allowed us to whiz past the lights, it was sublime, concentrated, a purely sensual experience that required all my focus. I’d never ridden a motorbike.

I took it to top speed on the open playa.  Electric = silent. 

Except a little rattle which he couldn’t stop fussing about. I thought that was cute. The Madman rode behind me most of the way. Respectful, I felt. We didn’t speak much. He traded bikes with me to give me the silent one, which was also the chopper, and badass. Gentlemanly to let me ride the good one, wurnt it?

I remember the trip home, at night, whizzing back through the city streets side by side I called out 

“I wish someone would set off a low-flying firework!”

And it being Burning Man which is magick space, someone immediately did. A red bolt of light flying up over our heads, bursting casting light on our grinning faces as we sped through the city.

At this point I already wanted him, dearly.  I’d been taking every opportunity to mist him down. I noticed his body was rigid, he looked like he could use a massage.  We were always the last two people passing the weed to one another, when the rest of the circle inside the cramped RV was dead.  Eventually we couldn’t help smiling at one another as we passed, I realized he could want me too.

It wasn’t until before we had hooked up but after we knew we would that he recognized me, and while he’d realized it but before he said it, I recognized him. We were up talking late one night, alone.

This was the man I had traded drugs with.

We were stunned. I had no memory of trading drugs until we both remembered at the same time.

He had eaten those mushrooms, and more supplied by me through RP, for weeks. He’d had visions of 9/11 before it happened. He’d told me this, but when we connected it to MY mushrooms I was stunned. I knew he was experienced, but I still felt it was abuse. To be fair, I probably abused his weed too. I can’t remember.

It was by the Venus Flytrap artcar on the open playa that I drew him to me and we kissed. I was shocked by how gentle he was. Soft lips. RP was standing 15 feet away looking at anything but us, scanning with his periphery so as not to intrude. 

As we walked back, I asked “Hey Madman… Uh, what’s your sign?”

 He chuckled. “Cancer”

 I beamed, me too.  “When’s your birthday?”

“Ju** **”

I thought he was fucking with me.  “No it’s not, that’s my birthday.”

 “It’s mine.” he said.

“No, it’s mine too, you’re fucking with me.” I enforced.

“No, you’re fucking with me, this was all planned out.”

 I turned to RP.  “RP, do The Madman and I have the same birthday?”

“Yup” said RP.

That’s RP, not too forthcoming with details. The next day RP and I are alone and he’s like…

“You know how you can be a little intense sometimes?” RP asks.

“Uh, can’t we all?” I say.

“Well The Madman is more intense. Like a lot more.” he says.

This is the only warning RP gives me that I am entering into a relationship with a man with Intermittent Explosive Disorder. Mind you he also brought this man up into my home for trading drugs. Perhaps a few more details on The Madman’s extreme tantrums would have been prudent.

Then again, I’d already seen them and all his mental illness by the time I actually moved in with him and tried to have a relationship with him. So much for prudent.

He made me scream with pleasure. We were making out on the cushions and mattresses outside at my camp when he asked if I’d like to move inside. And so we did, into his trailer, where I stayed for the next 48 hours.

We’re in the back of his trailer, in the king size bed. We’ve been making out for hours. Gingerly touching me, my face, my body. Soft, perfect kisses. Intense looks. Deep presence. Slowly, sweetly stripping me. 

He jumps up and runs water over his rough hands to clean them, then comes back with a sheepish grin on his face. 

“I didn’t want to touch her with dusty hands.” he explains, softly placing his hand over my mound. He slides himself next to me, propping himself up on an elbow, shaking his head to move his hair out of his eyes. “Hi.” he says, beaming at me.

“Hi.” I reply as I look back at the love streaming out of his face. 

He delicately runs his finger from top to bottom of my pussy like he is stroking a flower petal. Softly, softly gathering juice as he pushes ever-so-slightly between my lips at the bottom, slowly bringing it up my lips to my clit. 

My lips slowly part as he repeats this a few times before sliding a little further inside my lips and massaging them around my clit in tiny, detailed, slow circles. I tremble with anticipation and attention. The Madman continues his circles of my clit allowing them to widen slightly and only deepening as my lips part to let him further access to my clit. 

In no time, I am aching for his cock

“I want you desperately.” I tell him. He smiles and continues staring in my eyes while circling my clit gently with his finger. My cunt throbs. I lose track of time, I’m soaking.

I feel my orgasm coming like a drop of rain in a pond, rippling out through my body and a cable wheel pulling weight. The wheel tightens, the cables lose slack, and there’s another drip in the pond and another, and another, and then a pause foretelling the coming rainstorm. The wheel loosens as he continues his precise, gentle, loving circling of my clitoris. 

And then my clit sings, the thunder rolls, the lightning flashes, and the rain falls in torrents, clattering on the surface of the water, the wheel catches gear and pulls the cable taut and I explode into the most powerful orgasm I have ever had, screaming and screaming his name.

All the while, he smiles, looking me, kissing my face. Neck. I listlessly grab for his cock.

“Please, give it to me.” I beg him.

“You want me inside here?” he asks, every so gently dipping his finger inside me just the tip.

“Yes.” I beg.

“No, you’re sure?” he asks like he can’t believe it. I’ve never wanted anyone’s cock more in my life at this moment. I don’t tell him that. 

The condom is on and he’s about to enter and he says “I know this sounds stupid but I can’t. My back is killing me. I have broken vertebrae and they’ve been really acting up. I can’t move that way.” 

And so it is not our first time. But it is our best time.

At Burning Man from what he said I thought he was out of the trade. He said he built things, only grew for friends. Perhaps that was true, but soon afterwards not so. Soon afterwards it was his major source of income. The trade surrounds him, supplies him his friends, his worth, his life.

A few months after Burning Man I grew some mushrooms to refresh my spores. I traded them to The Madman, for some weed.

Sex with The Madman

Drugs with The Madman

A Man I’d Never Have Met Without The Madman


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