“Ooooooh, Rosebud. Look at you!” Max slides her feet into a pair of well worn hiking boots. She’s gone full on Lara Croft gear today, complete with some kind of cross-body holster in which she’s slid water and gatorade and what looks like one of those Leatherman multi-tools. “All excited to slip on a mask and get it on in the sex hall?”
Do I want that? “Maybe.”
“It’s basically just a masked ball. There’ll be lots of little secret spaces where people can do fun things. It’s all weird and mysterious.” She jiggles her eyebrows. “I’ll loan you something to wear.”
When Max completes her look with round goggle sunglasses straight out of a post-apocalyptic film, I see exactly how she got her name. “Sure you don’t want to come hiking?”
“Nope.”
Her grimace ruins the look, but it makes me laugh. “We’re literally going out into the woods to get it on, Gracie. How is that not what you love?”
“Too many people.”
“There’ll be people tonight.”
“Did you not say something about large object insertion?”
“I did.” She snags the water bottle from her holster and licks the cap.”
“I’ll pass.” I do my best not to show my discomfort. No point yucking on my bestie’s yum, right?
“Okay. Well, try to get into some trouble while I’m gone.”
She presses a loud kiss to my cheek before sauntering away, all confidence and joy.
A couple trans friends of Max’s stroll by, holding hands. They wave casually, their smiles friendly. I smile back, barely noticing their nudity, but sort of entranced by how content they look. Immediately, I reach for my sketchbook, doodling happy-looking people with massive smiles.
I draw the lush layers of trees overhead, then let my eyes slide down the skyline to where the forest is darker and mysterious. What is that? I lean forward and squint at what appears to be a boulder. Nah, the shape’s too regular for that. After a couple minutes of squinting and sketching, I realize with a jolt that it’s a sculpture of a large human head and it’s staring right this way. It’s too close to a group hard at play, but once they leave, I’ll investigate.
I need to see it close up.
I flip the page and, without intending to go there, draw pieces of last night. Dark background scratched deep into the paper, a woman, tall and scared, her shoulders curved under the weight of fear and other inexplicable things. With an indrawn breath, I hint at a shape—more shadow than human.
Something makes me look up again at the sculpture lurking in the shadows across the way. There’s a heft to it that draws my eye like a magnet. I scrub my pencil at an angle, working to give my shadow man that same rough texture. It seems right for him, sort of brutal and raw.
The Overlord springs to mind.
I squirm, the drawing forgotten in my lap. A few minutes later, I get up, a little self-conscious, and head into the tent, zipping it shut behind me.
I spend half the day in there masturbating and emerge in need of food and a shower. I grab a quick sandwich from our supply and head over to the shower cabin. Like everything here, it’s a shared space, all genders combined.
Luckily for my sense of modesty, it’s empty when I arrive. I hang my towel and clean clothes on the wall and juggle my toiletries into one of the few enclosed stalls, then undress inside. The shower’s hot, the water pressure hard. It’s heavenly to get clean after all I’ve done. I shut the water off and wrap up in my towel.
Something clangs rhythmically beyond the closed curtain of my stall. It takes me a few heartbeats to figure out that someone’s hammering at a pipe and a few more to realize that it’s not some kink thing—it’s a plumbing thing. Feeling foolish at the slight fear I felt for a second, I reach out for my clothes.
They’re not there.
Okay, now I panic. I’m in nothing but an old towel that barely covers my privates, so I can’t go out and check, not with someone working what sounds like a few feet away.
I reach out again, patting the wall where I’m sure I left my stuff. Shit. Why isn’t it there? The hook’s empty. I look around, feeling like I’ve stepped into another dimension, knock my shampoo onto the floor, then immediately follow that with my razor. The handle lands at my feet, but the head shoots off who knows where. “Shit.”
The clanging stops.
I stand still. It’s silly, right? They know I’m in here. They’re not there togetme. I’m just…
Hiding, apparently, in the stall, wearing nothing but a too-small towel.
“Here.” I jump at the sound of the low voice.
