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For gay men of my generation especially, Burning Man restores an atmosphere and promise of sexual freedom that was just being eclipsed as they came of age.

This atmosphere was not always as queer as it is in today's Black Rock City.

"When I started going five years ago, Burning Man wasn't queer at all," said M*A*S*Hcara founder Ggreg Taylor, known on the playa as NAMBLA the Clown. "Back when guns were allowed, when dogs were free and it was about a fifth of the size, there was zero queer presence. There were no drag queens at all."

Other Burning Man vets recall early inklings of queer presence.

"I've been going to Burning Man since 1993, and I've always thought that there was a bit of a queer undercurrent there," said Adrian Roberts, editor of Burning Man newsletter Piss Clear. He recalled a friend's 8-foot-tall effigy, dubbed "Flaming Man, Burning Man's queer little brother." The 1995 sculpture was triangular-shaped, had a limp wrist and wore a feather boa.

Piss Clear parked its RV with M*A*S*Hcara this year, but Roberts questioned the need for queer people to band together at the festival.

"I always thought that the idea of creating a gay ghetto in Black Rock City was sort of ridiculous," Roberts said. "You need gay ghettos in real urban areas to create a sense that there is a zone where you can openly be yourself, to create a 'safe space' for queers. But at Burning Man, all of Black Rock City is a 'safe space' for queers. So what's the point?"

As Burning Man approached this year, I was not thinking about gay ghettos or safe spaces. My preoccupations were more along the lines of basic survival and its related discipline: packing. In addition to all the lumber and tchotchkes I needed for my contraption -- a mobile shade structure rigged with a misting system, a thunderstorm soundtrack and 12-foot aqua banners -- I had to pull together six different outfits as well as six days' food, water, ice, condoms, lube, film and everything else I thought I'd need to survive in the desert for a week. And I was sleepless with excitement about the event itself. I hadn't looked forward to anything this much since Christmas as a 6-year-old. Only this time the mystery boxes under the tree contained Tesla coils, flying machines, red laser beams dancing on black mountains, desert trannies painting penises, motorized couches scooting by on the playa and an arsenal of erotic fantasies.

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