Report

It was amazing the changes that could be brought about in the course of a month. Twenty-nine days. Such a short time, isn't it? Just the cycle of one full moon to the next. Less than one-twelfth a year that was, on average, one-seventy-fifth of a life. I would never wish to live it again, but I would not trade it for anything. The results, while worth the experience, are not quite worth it twice. What follows is only the most cursory glance at the month and the reward. An in depth day-by-day recounting is both beyond my ability and desire. Nor is it really needed to understand what happened.

A little over two months ago, I was approached to write an article on the culture of a 'cult' living north of Phoenix. I had a very generous three week deadline, almost unheard of, except my editor wanted five full-length articles. So, before the day was out, I'd exhausted every internet source I could find as well as ASU's research library. The library had a grand total of five references. Two other articles and three books on the area. One of the books was a volume of ghost stories, oddly enough. But, I was an investigative journalist and I would leave no stone unturned.

I suppose I should introduce myself before I get too far into the narrative. My name is Steve Martinez, better known in most circles by S. Martin, a journalist of the oddly esoteric. The stranger the better, in my book. So the assignment was right up my alley.

Now, back to the narrative. The research made me think my best course of action was to actually go there. They'd built a commune, so I dug up the contact information and called the leader. I introduced myself, explained what I'd like and my goals and listened while he said he'd need to confer with their council before he could agree. They were having a regular meeting that night and he'd call me the next day. His name was Anthony Lopez. It set my mind at ease somewhat that there was a council and not just one arbitrary leader. Incidentally, though I didn't know it at the time, that was three days before the full moon.

The next day, true to his word, Anthony called me back. He told me they would allow me to come with a few conditions. I would not be allowed to wander around indiscriminately, could not speak to younger members without an adult around and I would need to stay four weeks. This last was the difficult part. I told him about my deadline.

"I'm sorry," he said very softly. "But, your deadline is not my problem. I hope to see you in two days. We are looking forward to it."

So, it was off to my editor to explain about their requests. We both agreed that the first two were reasonable. I was there to research, not break up their group. My editor was very determined to get the stories so she allowed me five weeks to complete the articles. This was the most generous I'd seen her.

Now, what was it about this community that warranted such interest, I'm sure you're wondering. Well, given our society is historically both atheistic and matriarchal, the rise of a religious patriarchal community was indeed strange and news-worthy. The saying "I'm your mother. I brought you into this world, I can take you out," was not quite as dire a threat as it used to be but it was still far from idle. I'd gotten to where I was through a lot of hard work, possibly more than would have been needed if I had been a woman, but that's how things go. There was still a glass ceiling, though. I'd probably never be an editor, no matter how hard I worked, and that was fine. What woman wanted a man who ranked her? I was high enough up the food chain to attract a powerful woman. One day, I dreamed of being able to freelance and be a stay-at-home dad. It was the Male Dream, after all.

Part of the reason I was assigned this story was the commune was leery of allowing women in. Some of them had fought long and hard to keep their children. Usually, the courts awarded children to the mothers because they could better support them. So, since I was a guy with no inclination toward patriarchy, I got the job.

That night, my sometimes-girlfriend called up. She had a habit of just all of the sudden deciding she wanted to see me, usually just for sex. Part of me wanted her. She was strong, successful, wild in bed. But she was always gone within an hour after the sex was over. Sometimes, I was lucky to come at all before she was out the door again. Utterly frustrating, completely desirable. I didn't know what to do about her.

Sure enough, we were fucking before I'd more than closed the door behind me. On the floor in the foyer, then the stairs, finally in the bed. She was ravenous and I was barely able to keep up with her.

Afterwards, she was sitting in the bed and I was face down, struggling to find all my limbs again. "You know," she said, reaching for a cigarette and a lighter, "you're a really good guy."

Though I still couldn't feel my legs, my chest constricted and my gut grew icy. "Thanks," I said lightly as I could. I reach over to caress her leg. I could blame the trembling on exhaustion. "You're a good woman," I murmured, hoping to somehow soften the blow I could feel coming.

She lifted my hand from her leg. "Not for you. I'll give you two hours to get your shit and get out. You can even take a shower if you want."

'Well, that went better than you thought,' part of my brain quipped while the rest of me went numb. 'At least she dumped you at her place,' it added as I pushed myself up. Silently, not looking back at her, I went through the house, picking up my clothes and the few things I'd brought over, a razor, a toothbrush, a comb, before leaving without a shower. I couldn't stay longer. As it was, I barely got to my apartment and locked the door behind be before my control snapped. I don't know why, though. It's not like she was more than a fuck buddy. And, yet, I broke down. I guess it's hard on the ego to be dumped, especially after wild sex.

I called off the next day. My editor had heard, somehow. She told me I could have the day, but I had to get the story. It was what I expected, more even.

I spent most of the day sleeping. It was better than getting smashed, I figured, since I had to work. I had ice cream for dinner. Pistachio, which I only eat when I'm depressed because I can tell myself the green color means it's good for me. I know it's a lie, but at the time I can believe it.

By morning, I did feel better, mostly. I mean, she basically was a fuck buddy, a damn good one, but we didn't really have anything else between us. But, damn, it sure sucked to be dumped after fucking like that.

The drive was uneventful. About an hour through Phoenix, then another two hours into the high desert around Sedona. The place was pretty enough, but not really my thing. I mean, it was red dirt and mountains. Yay-skippy. Not like there wasn't mountains around Phoenix, too. Sedona was pretty much a po-dunk nothing town, anyways. Too far away from everything unless it was for one of those 'back to nature' retreats women sometimes went on. No draw really for guys, so why was there a commune here?

With most of the roads being dirt and unmarked, I got lost a couple of times and the battery in my car almost ran out before I found the commune.

Anthony was there, waiting for me. That surprised me because I hadn't confirmed I'd come or when I'd arrive. He waited for me to roll down the window before coming over.

"Welcome Steve. I'm Anthony. May I join you? I'll give you directions to where you'll be staying."

Nonplussed by such directness, it took me a moment to reach over and toss my pack into the back seat. "Yeah, climb in."

As he walked around, I realized it wasn't his directness but his sanity that surprised me. Even after our phone conversation, I half expected a wild-eyed, raving lunatic with an overgrown beard he was drooling into, like the old time patriarchal ravers from way back in history. They were the objects of ridicule and warning tales. I could remember in school, being called a 'patriarch' was nearly the worst insult possible. Patriarchs were ostracized along with the girls who didn't chase the boys and the slow kids. Anthony was clean cut, though, not even a mustache, and not drooling. Things were possibly looking up for this assignment.

And then there was the whole religion thing, too. Everyone knew that science was truth. No one needed to look farther than that for an explanation of how everything worked. As far as the 'why we're here' and 'what should we do' questions, the answers were even closer. Girls became providers, both of physical comforts and life, and boys became supporters. It worked for our parents, their parents and so on, as long as anyone could remember. Why mess with a good thing?

Anthony opened the door and drew my mind back to the present. "Straight ahead and then take the second left," he instructed.

While we drove, he explained that the group wasn't really patriarchal in so much as they had no real interest in being around women. I missed most of what else he said because that just blew my mind. No interest in women? How could they not be interested in women? Aside from the sex thing, which was fantastic, there was the whole having a woman come home especially to you, the joy of raising her children and everything else that was part of every man's dream.

"Turn here," he said, pulling my brain out of its shocked stupor.

"Sorry," I muttered, turning down the indicated dirt path.

He laughed a little. "It's a lot to take in. Maybe I should have waited until we were at my place before telling you that." He pointed to a nice looking one-story ranch house. "That's my place, where you're staying."

As I was pulling into the driveway, my battery died. I had just enough momentum to get into his garage and to the charging station in it.

"Looks like we just made it," he laughed. After helping me plug in the car, he grabbed a couple of my bags and led me into the house. Along the walls of his hallway, he had a lot of art work, mostly nudes. I'd never seen so many naked guys before. Some were playful, some were downright erotic. It was weird. I didn't know where to look.

"In here," Anthony said, opening a door to a room that was thankfully free of nudes. He put my bags on the bed. "We're having a meeting in about two hours. It's going to be here, and will give everyone a chance to get to know you and you the chance to see us. We have regular gatherings for everyone who wants to come on the full moon and council meetings are held biweekly for representatives. I'll explain more about that later." He turned to open the closet, showing me it was empty save for a few hangers and then opened the door next to it to reveal an en suite bathroom. "Freshen up, unpack. When you're ready, just continue down the hall."

"Thanks," I said, mumbling a little because I was uncertain what to think with all the pictures in the hall in light of what he'd said in the car.

He stopped in the door way and turned to face me. "We wanted a chance to tell our story without feeling as though we were being punished or judged for it. You're the first man who's approached us for not just an interview but actually to find out about us." He smiled and turned to the door jam. "The reason I insisted on a month was so that you could see our way of life and come to an understanding of it. Tonight, you'll see as an outsider, which is good. I expect you'll be up very late taking copious notes. I encourage it. In a month, you'll understand."

"What? Not going to add 'as an insider' to that?" I demand. This is supposed to be a cult, after all.

He shrugged. "Our goal isn't to gain 'converts.' Our goal is to be understood. We do not force anyone to stay or join. That would defeat our purpose." The whole time he was talking, he was staring at the door jam. He turned to me. "Those who join us have a predilection to it. We don't want anyone who doesn't."

"Predilection?" I echoed. There was something more to what he was and wasn't saying.

He shrugged. "You'll see." With that, he left the room.

More confused than I had been before, I unpacked. I set up my laptop, using the retinal scanner to get into my locked profile on it. The way it was set up, even if someone tried to wipe the harddrive, whatever was behind the retinal block would remain untouched. I didn't totally understand it, but that didn't matter for using it. It also automatically backed itself up over a secure FTP connection to my account on the newspaper's servers, also retinally coded. Behind that lock, I had a journaling program. In there, I typed up my impressions and our conversations.

Yes, the full and exact accounting of everything I experienced is in there. I can't bear to go through the whole thing again and it's too raw to allow you to read it. I can go to specific dates and specific parts for dialogue, but I can't read the whole thing. Maybe when there has been more time and I'm more ready to face the emotions and memories that will surface, I'll go through it again and lay down a proper memoir instead of this haphazard recounting.

That night is now a blur of faces and impressions. I know my notes on it are indeed copious. For now, there are three major impressions and several supporting ones that stand out. The first was that everyone was so friendly and open. Usually gatherings of guys are full of backstabbing and bitterness. It was refreshing to just be 'one of the guys.' Everyone seemed relaxed in a way that I'd almost never seen. Even in the saunas I'd been to, where it was only the guys, there was always the subtle tension about attracting a woman.

The second thing, probably the biggest, was they kissed. I don't mean like the slutty bar kissing another guy because women find it hot and you'd never do it sober kissing. I mean real, honest kissing that usually led to bed with the one you were kissing. And holding hands. And acting like they were dating or married. I mean, I'd done the bar-kissing thing before, but I'd never seen two guys kissing like that. None of them tried it with me, though. I'm not sure what I would have done. Part of me wanted one of them to kiss me, the other part of me wanted to run and hide in my room until morning when my car would be charged and then run back to Phoenix.

The third thing was the ceremony itself. It's mostly a blur of impressions now. There was talking, a bonfire, dancing, hand holding and singing. It was definitely different from anything I'd ever seen or heard of before in any reported 'religious outbreaks.' Religion was almost always depicted as violent, wild, irrational thing. But, these guys seemed really calm and peaceful.

As the night wore on, some of the guys took off their shirts. Women went topless when they wanted to and we guys enjoyed that, but guys kept their shirts on. I couldn't keep my eyes off their chests, even though I knew it was rude. But it was just something I hadn't seen since high school gym class, where we learned the secret guy art of changing clothes without revealing any flesh while peeking to make sure you look 'normal' or 'better' compared to the other guys. But, they just put themselves on display and my eyes were drawn like magnets to steel. It was worse when Anthony started drawing on them. Circles around their nipples and navel, lines across their chests. It was almost a road map of 'touch me here.' The guys being drawn on let their heads fall back and they had expressions like they were being fucked slowly on their faces. I didn't look down. I didn't want to know.

I guess I remember more than I thought. But, the memories are becoming more painful than I really want to deal with right now. The conflict between what was and what I was brought up to believe should be was intense. The group broke up around midnight and I spent about three hours leaving notes before going to bed. I had a headache long before I got there.

The next morning, though waking at eleven almost isn't morning anymore, nor is it the next day since I went to bed around three am, but we'll go with 'the next morning' for narrative simplicity, I showered and stumbled out into the house. My head still felt heavy and everything seemed surreal. I managed to find the kitchen by following the smells of coffee and bacon.

Anthony was barefoot and wearing white flowing pants. I followed his legs up because I was mostly still asleep. When I realized he wasn't wearing a shirt, I looked away and back to where his eyes should be. I barely managed not to ask him to put on a shirt. It was his house, after all. I gave him solid eye contact.

He looked amused. That didn't help. "Do you like eggs?" he asked. "I could fix you some if you want. I'm having a BLT."

It took a couple of tries before I could say, "BLT is fine."

"Does this bother you?" he asked, waving to his body. The motion of his hand drew my eyes down again.

What was I supposed to say? I mean, he looked good. His skin was tanned, his body looked like he put time into it. He could be a model, if he wanted to be. The only odd thing was that his hair was long. I'm not sure why I hadn't noticed it before. It fell nearly to his waist. Hair like that was a woman's glory. Most women wouldn't even look at a guy who had better hair than they did. It was the woman who was supposed to shine. It took a moment to remember he'd asked me a question. I shook my head. I felt my face go warm and I didn't trust myself to speak.

At least he didn't smirk at me. If he were deliberately trying to make me uncomfortable, I would have at least said something nasty, if not hit him. After I shook my head, he turned back to the stove. I didn't know why, but my eyes insisted on checking him out the way I normally checked out women, roving his body, following his hair, watching his ass dance as he moved. Why was he still wearing pyjama pants?

I mean I was a guy who very much liked women, so why did it matter if another guy was wearing loose pants that flowed like that when he moved? Why did it matter his hair was longer and more flowing a blue-black than any woman I knew.

It had to be because I was still hurting. That's what I told myself. Simple rebound. It was time to get to work, now that I new what my problem was, even if it was stupid.

"So, how long ago was this commune established?" I asked.

"It's more of a community than a commune," Anthony corrected, though the way he said it wasn't as if he upset, just a correction. "I moved here five years ago. The community's been here, in this location, at least thirty."

"Five years isn't very long," I comment dryly. "How did you become the leader?"

Anthony laughed as he layered lettuce and tomato on the bread. "I was asked to move here. Surely you did some basic research before you came?" He looked over his shoulder as he asked.

My face burned with shame. I'd been hiding in bed instead of doing my job. "I got some really bad news the day before I came out here," I mumbled, my eyes going to the table.

"I'm sorry," he said and it sounded like he meant it. He didn't say anything else until he was bringing over the plates with sandwiches and cups of coffee over to the table. "I was a city council member in Los Angeles before I came here. My supporters believed I could have become mayor. So, my career was railroaded. My personal life became very public. To save those around me from the pain of being dragged through the mud with me, I left. That was actually about a year before I came here."

"Time for the media to get bored?"

He gave me a sour look. "Yeah."

"Did you put yourself up as leader?" I asked before taking a sip of coffee.

His face became wry. "My reputation preceded me. I was asked to apply to the council repeatedly." He sighed. "The council meets biweekly as both a law and order body and as a social group of sorts. Almost everyone goes to the meetings. We have one representative for every hundred in the whole community so people feel they're represented but we can maintain order during meetings. We're up to fifty representatives." He said the last as if he were rather proud of the fact.

"How long before they prevailed on you?"

"Two years before I agreed to be a council member. The council persuaded me to take leadership about six months ago." He took a bite of his sandwich.

I followed suit. It was good. Better than any other BLT I'd ever had and I knew where all the good sandwich shops were. "This is good," I said around a mouthful.

He laughed. "After you eat and wake up a bit more, we can take a tour and I'll answer your questions as we go."

"Are you happy here?" I ask without meaning to.

He looked at me and I realized his eyes were a rich brown, chocolate brown, not golden brown. And, he looked like he was taking my question seriously. Fuck, he's gorgeous. If he were a woman, I'd be all over him.

"At first," he said slowly after I'd almost forgotten I'd asked him a question, "I was still upset and angry. Anywhere you go, your problems follow you. That's a lot of the reason I kept saying no to the council position. I had my own problems to work through." He sighed. "No matter where you go, you always have yourself, after all."

I nodded. "Yeah. I know someone who's miserable and keeps moving to try and fix it." He also didn't want to hear he might be his own problem.

He nodded at my comment. "I had to work on my own issues first." He shrugged. "I was allowed to do what I needed, so now I'm happy."

"Allowed to do what you needed?"

"No one is forced or coerced into anything. Those who come to us are welcomed, given a place to stay, made aware of the community rules, which are pretty standard to the state laws. We only really add that is that they are not to inform others of who's here for the protection of the community members." Before I could say anything, he explained, "Some of our members were in abusive relationship. We do what we can to protect them here."

"Oh," I said dumbly. I knew it happened but no one liked to talk about it. "I understand," I mumbled. The request was directed at me though he didn't come out and say it. But false names were easy enough. I'd half planned on using them anyways.

He nodded once more. "When you're ready, then."

I finished my sandwich and coffee. Before I could take them, Anthony cleared my plate and cup for me.

"Thanks. And, I just need to put on my shoes and I'll be ready to go."

He laughed softly and it was such a nice laugh. "If you need to make notes or look anything up, you're welcome to. We're not in a hurry."

I looked at the table. Why the hell did I do that? I don't know. I was reacting like he was a woman and flirting with me. I shook my head and forced myself to look up at him. "I can make notes later. I'm good for about twelve hours before I need to memory dump or get things mixed up."

I should have kept my eyes down. His smile was too pretty for a guy. I fought against the warming I felt in my cheeks.

"Well, then we'll go as soon as you're ready."

There was no way this was anything more than me feeling good because I was doing my job and he was being nice. Rebound, nothing more. I went into the room with this going through my head. I sat on the bed, facing away from the door as I pulled my shoes. When I stood, and turned around, he was leaning against the door frame. He'd pulled on a gauzy white shirt over his pants. If anything, it made him look less dressed. Fuck, what was wrong with me? I didn't overreact to a woman I liked this badly.

"If you want to drive you can," he said. "Or, I'll drive. Up to you."

I crossed the room and was just a step away from him. He didn't step back, didn't move except to look up at me. It was then I realized he was about two inches shorter than me. "I trust you to drive," I said. Fuck, was I flirting? I shook my head. "Sorry, that sounded..."

"Like you trust me to drive," he cut me off dryly. "I'm guessing you broke up just before you came up?"

We didn't drive around. I fell apart. I'm both not surprised and ashamed of myself. I cried in his arms. He held me and let me talk. We didn't leave the doorway. By the time the sun was sending orange light through the window, my head was on his shoulder and I was calmer than I felt before. Anthony was stroking my hair. He never pushed, never forced anything on me. I felt so at peace, just sitting there with him.

Somehow, I do remember how, I just don't want to go into it right now, he slept with me that night. It wasn't anything sexual, I just was held while we slept and it felt so good. He did protest, but I insisted.

I remember waking up and thinking I was sleeping with a girlfriend. I was curled up around him. Before I was fully awake, I started kissing his neck.

It was startling when he said, "Unless you really want to finish that, I'd suggest you stop." His voice was very soft, and I didn't know him well enough to know if he was upset or angry like a lot of the guys I knew would be. In fact, if any of them had been in bed with me, they would have probably decked me for clinging to them.

I moved back away from him and muttered that I was sorry as I buried my face in the pillow. "Sorry," I said again.

He slid out of the bed before touching my arm. "I just wanted to make sure you were aware of what you were doing. I'm not upset and I don't want you to be."

I looked up and found him sounding by the door. He was facing out the door, looking over his shoulder at me. I took a deep breath and said, "Thank you."

He smiled at me, still over his shoulder. "Not a problem." He walked out of the room, pulling the door closed behind him.

That day, we drove around the community. It was an actual small town with two grocery stores, a bank, a few convenience stores, a school, everything you'd need in a town. A lot of the roads were unpaved, but Anthony explained that they'd opted for improving the school instead of roads in their annual budget meeting. The school allowed the fathers who wanted to bring their children provide for their education, giving them some leverage in court battles.

The town hall was the largest building. Anthony explained that they planned for their council to grow. They had one representative for every one hundred residents. When they reached one hundred representatives, they were going to set up a higher council for decisions that needed to be made rapidly. They would start with one high council member for every ten council members until they reached fifty. "At this time, we don't see growing larger than that, but there are provisos for it.

"You've put a lot of thought into this," I commented.

"We have to file with the state for permits for everything. We're working on the incorporation paperwork." He sighed. "We're not entirely sure we want to incorporate as a city because we have more freedom as a town, but there are benefits to it, too."

We discussed the benefits and drawbacks over lunch in a diner and most of the afternoon. It was relaxing and invigorating to talk to him. It surprised me that a lot of our views lined up. It was easy to talk to him.

When we got back to his house, I went into the room to type up notes and he went to take care of chores and prepare dinner. While I was writing, he brought in coffee and a map. He didn't linger in the room, though, which was both a relief and a disappointment. It showed he was earnest when he said he wanted me to present as much information as possible, but I liked talking to him.

After finishing my notes, I went out into the kitchen I wanted to know more about the ceremony the fight night but I wasn't sure how to ask. I didn't need to agonize, though. He explained it to me over dinner. It wasn't the most comfortable conversation. It boiled down to an old cult that worshipped the moon and its influence over us, especially women. Men used to cry out to the moon to ease their woman's agonies. It later evolved into a bonding ritual among those men who preferred each other's company. I tried not to think about that part of it too much as he continued to explain that the community used it as a bonding ritual for those who joined and wished to reaffirm their connection to the community. He was matter of fact about it and open with me, but more blunt than I was really ready for. I appreciated the information and trust he was showing me, especially given his experience with the press.

After dinner and dishes were done, we moved into his living room. It was a cozy room with a long couch flanked by two overstuffed chairs in a soft brown suede. We sat on either end of the couch. I told him about my girlfriend and how she broke up with me. I really hadn't planned on telling him about that, but it just flowed and felt right. It felt so good to be able to just talk about it with someone who was sympathetic. I cried again and he held me, though it wasn't as bad as the day before.

I rested against his shoulder, just relaxing. I didn't feel any pressure to move or speak. I could just be there and he'd let me. I started just talking about what ever came to mind. I covered everything from college to my best friend in high school to my mother and dad. I pretty much told him my life story as we sat there on the couch. He listened to me and was just so easy to talk to. I'd never had that type of connection with anyone else before.

When I started yawning, he led me back to the room and said good night at the door. It was the first time I ever wanted another guy to kiss me. He didn't though. Just said good night at the door and went down to his room and closed the door behind him. I spent at least an hour agonizing over how stupid I was being before I drifted off to sleep. I wondered if I was being stupid. Wondered why I wasn't freaked out that I felt so comfortable with him.