at Burningman, I was walking along with a bunch of people I was camped with that year. We were walking along the Promenade, a 3 mile strip of parties, raves, clubs, art, dancing, music, etc., when we came across a circus tent which screamed to be looked into. There was a rather ominous man clad in black leather at the entrance who told me that I could only come in if I was prepared to confess my sins. I, clad only in a sock hung from my genitals, entered the tent ready to confess.
What I saw when I entered is nothing short of stimulating. I panned across from left to right soaking in all that I saw. To my left was a man, nude, tied by the wrists to a hook above his head. Walking about him was a woman clad in black leather holding a cat o’ nine tails, who occasionally used it on him, asking if he was sorry for what he had done. There was also a gymnast horse with a nude woman strapped to it so that her torso was parallel to the horse. Walking about her was a leather clad man brandishing a paddle.
To my right was a pair of St. Andrew’s crosses (that’s an X as opposed to the T). Both occupied by nude men. One was being whipped by a larger woman, clad in leather, and the other by a man…
This man was Hispanic, about 5’5″, and had long wavy hair that went down to hiss butt. He had a long flowing skirt on, and wore nothing above the waist except for his two nipple piercings, one on each nipple. He had a goatee, and his lips were pursed in such a way I thought I was looking at a demon sent straight from hell.
Also on my right was an arch, 6.5 feet high, 5 feet across, with metal rings every foot or so. Under this arch was a man who was tying a woman up by several of these rings, using a great deal of nylon rope.
In front of me was what really scared me. A carpeted path with many people kneeling in line. Not sitting, standing, or lying… kneeling. The path led to a man sitting in a throne, who seemed to be passing judgments. He was easily the most impressive person in the room. He had a large build, clad in leather, boots that went almost past the knee, hair that went to his shoulders, and the scariest eyes I’ve ever seen. They were a pale blue that seemed to fathom the deepest darkest secrets you don’t even tell your diary. Those around him called him Archbishop, or The Judge.
I knelt in line, which was rather uncomfortable not wearing any pants, behind a guy who seemed to be rather scared by his surroundings. I was too, but more like that anticipation of something unknown and exciting. He looked like he was going to soil himself. After a few people moved up in line, he ended up getting out of line and leaving. The entire time in line I wondered, “What am I going to confess?”
Person by person saw The Judge, was then led to one of the devices listed earlier, and was brought back to the judge. Before I knew it, I was next. I was as nervous as I’ve ever been, and didn’t really know what I wanted to confess yet.
I knelt before the Archbishop. It was then I first looked into his eyes, and realized that I couldn’t pull anything over on this guy. It was then that I realized what I truly wanted to confess. Only he and I know what I said, and I’m going to leave it that way, if you all don’t mind. He nodded, leaned to his assistant, and had me taken to St. Andrew’s cross to have my sins absolved.
I was led to the cross by a larger woman in leather. She was wearing a nametag that said “DADDY.” I didn’t catch her name, and didn’t think to ask, given the name tag and what her current task was. She went over the safe words, Green, Yellow, and Red. Their meanings can be assumed. I Never said Red.
I was whipped, paddled, scratched, the works. When I thought it was all over, she stopped and asked me to say a number. I’m a math man, so I immediately thought of 2685. I don’t know why, I’ve just always liked that number. Given my position (hands cuffed in leather to metal hoops at the ends of the tops of the X, legs the same at the bottoms), I thought that a smaller number was likely going to hurt me less. I said 14. She said that’s an awfully big number. Fuck. Well, I’m a gambling man who doesn’t second guess instincts. I reaffirmed that I had to go with my gut. That was when I heard the most terrifying noise of my life.
She cracked the bullwhip, warming up. She was a pro, as were all the people in the tent. I was assured of this before I was strapped in. Assurance or no, I was scared as hell, and excited twice as much. She knew her distance and started in. My job, other than learning the pain involved with leather on skin, was to count the hits.
I lost count.
I’m guessing that I got hit 16-18 times. Bare back. After she was done, she asked if I was okay. A single tear fell, and I said yes. See, the thing about getting hit with a bullwhip is that you can only remember two things, how much it hurts, and what got you there to begin with. I felt extremely bad about the sin I had confessed. Not because of the whipping, but the whipping made the rest of my brain to shut the fuck up so it could really think about what I did. 100% of my brain was at work on this one, and I felt extremely bad for what I did.
I went back to The Judge. He was currently talking to someone who said they had nothing to confess (asshole). The Judge pointed out that this was, in and of itself, a sin. The judge sent him to get atoned by one of the less gentle looking of the people there. Somehow I don’t think the guy minded.
He then brought his blue telescopic eyes to mine, and asked if I had atoned for my sins. I said I had. I knew that I was speaking the truth, and so did he. I got a certificate, a temporary tattoo, and one of the most religious experiences I have ever had.