Something Wild

1988

Me and my husband and child in 2003. This was taken at Christine’s baby shower in the dining room of Joost Ave.

I was 24 and my friend Steve invited me to a party. Then he hedged and said it wasn’t exactly a party, but more of an event. He went on to explain that the event consisted of playing social games.  It sounded a little weird, but I trusted Steve so I agreed to go.  The party was called a Mark Group and it was run by More University. 

I was pretty shy back then.  When I realized the games involved sitting in a circle and asking people questions about getting off and what they did for fun, I chalked it up to leftover hippie business.  But I stayed.  At the break, a charming, short, smiling man approached me.  He introduced himself as RJ.  I’d been hit on plenty of times at this point in my life, but RJ’s attention seemed more sophisticated than the 20-something guys I was used to, or my college boyfriend.  First, he was older.  That gave him cred in my book.  Secondly, he had these happy beautiful women with him.  They smiled and laughed at what seemed to be inside jokes.  They poured on the charm.  I thought the uber-happiness was contrived, but I was still intrigued.  In 20 minutes, they made me feel special, beautiful, interesting and most of all, powerful.  I liked what I was hearing, and this happy little group seemed to have cornered the market on fun.

Kim, Wendy, RJ and Sheri with some “marks”

At that time, RJ and crew were taking courses and living a communal lifestyle in San Francisco.  The Welcomed Consensus hadn’t been established, but the More House (an East Bay sensuality community) information was flowing from their smiling faces.  We exchanged phone numbers and within a few days I was invited to their house in San Francisco for a party.  This wasn’t a Mark Group party.  It was the kind of party I was used to–drinking, loud music, laughter and flirting.   

I remember the rum and Coke drinks and how they eased the discomfort of being the guest of honor.  RJ put all his attention on me and, while I was enjoying the validation, at some point one of his “girlfriends” started to resent it.  I was surely confused about who was who and what the rules of engagement were.  He was married to Wendy, but he was very touchy-feely with all the other women.  The alcohol didn’t help clear the confusion.  So I ignored the elevating bad vibes from Sheri and the other women.  RJ seemed to enjoy the female drama. 

RJ asked me to go into his bedroom and I did.  We got cozy on his bed and fooled around a little.  We both were high on rum and laughing.  He asked me questions about my orgasms and what I wanted.  It all seemed fun and silly and drunk.  Then Sheri burst into the room followed by Wendy and some others I don’t remember.  Sheri was pissed.  I didn’t know what to do.  The accusations flew–something about breaking a screening agreement.  I had no idea what it meant, and I just wanted to get out of there.  RJ took it in stride.  He actually seemed to enjoy it.  I left and as I drove home I thought, “I’ll never go back there!”

More Fun

But I did go back.  RJ kept up the contact and it wasn’t long before I went to his salon to get my hair highlighted.  He had a charm that was engaging, street smarts (bad boy), and he knew how to empower (manipulate) women.   Eventually, I made it back to the house and made friends with the women.  I really liked one in particular–Christine.  She and I hit it off immediately.  We were aligned in our partying ways as well as our avoidance tendencies. 

Christine and I back in the day.

What I didn’t know was that I was being groomed to join the cult.  After a few months of playing on the perimeter, the question was posed: “Why don’t you move in?” The timing was perfect.  I had been looking for something to distract myself from facing the inevitable question, “What am I going to do with my life?”  Interestingly, my new friends had all the answers and I was enamored by the attention, the power, and feeling part of a life-changing community.  “They” became “Us.” 

I made up a story about renting a room with friends to my family.  I still felt I had to get approval from my parents about what I was doing.  I knew they would not be supportive of me moving into a commune that focused on female orgasm.  By the time I moved in, I had only experienced the fun side of this group.  Gourmet dinners, parties, shopping, gossiping, and ultimately, purpose, even if it was hedonism.

Grouping

Living at the Joost house was a whole other world.  I am an introvert and dipping my toe into the commune waters and retreating to my solo lair had been perfect, but in the communal house there was no escape.  I was overstimulated with no opportunity to recharge.  I couldn’t even shower without someone coming into the bathroom to use the toilet or brush their teeth. The close proximity to my new family was confronting enough, but the constant meetings, withhold sessions, and dissection of potential recruits (“marks”) was more than I could bear.  Christine became my partner in getting into cult trouble (breaking the rules).  We often escaped the house.  I wasn’t sure why she wanted to leave, but I was happy I could join her.

I grew up in a functional family.  No yelling, fighting, or violence.  The first time I saw violence in a home was at the Joost house.  RJ’s fun party persona soon slipped away and his dark side emerged.  He is an emotional predator (his own hubris words).  I learned another hard lesson: alcoholics are unpredictable.  They bring chaos.  In RJ’s case, chaos meant violence, as well.

Egg shells

This was the 80’s, in 1992 the U.S. Surgeon General ranks abuse by husbands to be the leading cause of injuries to women aged 15 to 44.

The women at my new home spent those volatile moments trying not to poke the beast that raged inside of RJ, distracting him with sexual displays or ridiculous laughter and dancing.  It was uncomfortable and often terrifying.  I didn’t fear for my life, but the excuses for the violence held so tightly by the women started to shake my functional beliefs.  I started to believe the group’s viewpoint that the women were responsible for RJ’s outbursts, that one of us was creating this violent response. I found myself articulating these beliefs to friends and family.  Pretty much every person I told that women are responsible for men’s violence was rightfully worried for my state of mind.

I chalked up that concern to lack of insight, strengthening  the Them-Us dynamic.  I started to distance myself from my outside “unenlightened” friends. I stopped returning calls and avoided my parents.  Yet, I still hadn’t bonded with all the women in the house.  I was still an introvert trying to cope. 

Friends

I coped by aligning with Christine.  I felt safe with her.  I felt an authenticity that I didn’t feel with the other women.  Even though I came to realize everyone was being gamed into playing their part, Christine felt the most transparent. Sheri and I had a rough start the first time I was invited to the house.  Wendy seemed to be trying to hide and not make waves, which seemed to piss RJ off more than being overtly bitchy.  Christine was the scapegoat.  On one hand, she stood up to RJ and took the brunt of his anger and on the other hand, I could see she was hijacked by his historical control of her. 

Newman’s Boxing Gym

I started to wonder which role I was going to play.  From what I could see, no one was safe from an inevitable RJ blow up.  It looked like the best role was to be his favorite.  RJ always had his alpha partner.  She would sleep in his bed and spend most of her time with him.  It also was a stressful job because of RJ’s nature.  When I lived in the house, Sheri was his favorite.  I don’t know how the other women really felt about their roles, but for me it was a combination of competitive rivalry for the top spot and terror about having the impossible job of being RJ’s handler. 

Head bitch

The times I did capture the role of the “most fun” in the house, it gave me a little buzz.  RJ and I spent some time together out of the house without the entourage and it was fun.  He had charm, an infectious laugh, and clever observational wit.  I told him, “Sharing a partner is not my idea of fun,” and he laughed at me like I was a naïve little girl.  At these moments, I felt safe voicing my core beliefs about relationships. We were alone and the other women weren’t around to chime in.  It felt lighthearted and philosophical.  

He said that, “Men are insatiable, women are not.  When a woman feels satiated or ‘full’ wouldn’t it be nice to have another woman take him off your hands?  It’s the perfect model to get what you want–take care of your man and have the most fun with your chosen family.  Win-win. Who wouldn’t want that?” 

Me.

I knew I didn’t agree. I’ve never agreed with that, but I  went along with it because I didn’t want to be the unfun one, the prude.

None of the women I met in the group were fools.  They were intelligent, powerful, and beautiful women.  That dynamic also played into creating the marketing 101 rule of social proofing: if the cool beautiful people were all doing it, it must be good.  Nobody wants to be the odd one out, even in a cult.  Especially in a cult.

What?

Christine and I left the house often.  It was during those escapes that I learned more about her history with RJ.  It was surreal.  I had lived a pretty sheltered life and the accounts of her relationship with RJ from such a young age were disturbing.  I couldn’t even process it. When she told me their sexual history started just after her 13^th birthday, it had a ring of a rehearsed narrative about it–how great it was, how she chose him, he saved her life, blah, blah, blah–trying to convince herself.  I chose to believe it was her decision and she was capable of making it, even at that young age.  I was pretty deep in by now and Christine is a powerhouse.  If she said she was in control, it was hard to doubt her.  Only years later did I ask myself, “What the fuck?”

It was when my sister heard the story of RJ and Christine at a party on Joost Street that I finally got to thinking how wrong it was.  It was that same night that RJ spoke over Christine mid-storytelling and said, “Stop talking about that, Chrissy, you’re going to get me in trouble.”   Did he actually care or feel some remorse?   I don’t know what goes on in anyone’s head, but my experience was that RJ was truly worried about getting in trouble, not that he thought it was wrong.

I also thought there must be something wrong with me.  I knew it was wrong for a 32-year-old man to have sex with a 13-year-old, but the cult dogma of women choosing and being responsible played against my values.  I thought I must have been a clueless, sheltered, and Catholic conditioned teenager because I hadn’t made the same adult decisions.  I hadn’t been confident like Christine and forged my way in life at the tender age of 13.  I hadn’t even been on a date or kissed a boy at that age.

I soon let go of my horror of that beginning of RJ and Christine and moved on with my own thoughts.

Don working me out in the gym.

Although my sanity was still intact, it was now reduced to a tiny corner in my mind. The more time I spent in the Joost house, the more house meetings, Mark Groups, and charity work I participated in, the more I developed a serious cognitive dissonance.  Subconsciously, I knew I had to get out of there.  Honestly, my introversion saved me.  I was constantly uncomfortable being around all those people in that house.  I was going nuts in my head. I defended RJ’s violence and caught myself explaining “heavy pressure” to my closest friends.  They became worried.  I was also “encouraged” to invite my friends to Mark Groups. 

Pivotal

My best friend since Kindergarten was battling cancer.  I spoke to the group about how helpless I felt to assist her.  She was dying. The group consensus was that my friend was being a “victim” and I should not play into that narrative.  In fact, invite her over to the house so we can “talk” to her.  That was a pivotal moment for me.  My sanity came blasting back into my consciousness and I thought, “This is C-R-A-Z-Y.  I have to get out of here.”  I wish I could say I calmly confronted the group at a house meeting and said, “I’m done, I’m moving out.”  But that was way too functional for me at that time.  Instead, I non-consciously started acting out. 

The “screening agreement” that RJ was accused of breaking on that rum and Coke night had been made clear and would solidify my commitment to the group.  Screening meant being tested for STD’s, including HIV.  Once the tests came back clean, the agreement was that I would only make out, have “DO-dates”, or sex within the screened group.  To be honest, it terrified me.   I didn’t see the benefit of being part of what I came to describe as a harem.  No matter how many times the other women exalted the perfection of one man and many women, deep in my core, I knew it was not for me.

I felt like fresh meat.

Until the results of those tests were back, I was safe.

And then they came back.   

I was cleared of all known STD’s and HIV.  A celebration was planned.  In More University philosophy, a part of turn-on is anticipation.  Talking about what will happen adds excitement.  My new family began to tease me about what was planned.

Screened

I had heard about some of the other screening parties, AKA orgies.  I was to be the main event.  I knew there was no way I could go through with that.  Now, it was just a matter of escaping.  The night this was to all go down, one of the family members tried to kiss me in the kitchen.  His name was Harvey and he was the only other male in the house at that time besides RJ.  I liked Harvey.  He was delightful, but I was absolutely not attracted to him.  No matter how many courses I took on sensuality and letting go of conditioned, puritanical views around sex, I just couldn’t put aside my “old-fashioned” ideas of one man, one woman and chemistry.

As it was in those days for me, I started drinking to calm my nerves.  I wrestled with the decision to just get drunk, numb, and go through with it OR stand up to these people and say no.  I compromised.  I got drunk and ran away when no one was looking.  I made a bee-line for an ex-boyfriend’s house and promptly broke my screening agreement.   I skulked back to the house a day or so later. Christine was once again first on the Shit List.  I don’t think I spent one more night in that house.  RJ was really angry and  told Christine to kindly Get the Fuck Out and take your blond girlfriend with you.

We sped off into the night and the next chapters of our lives.

Connection

That was 30 years ago.  Over the years, Christine and I would joke about the adventures we’d had at the house.  Even then, I didn’t say that I thought what RJ did was criminal.  I have 2 children and know I would work tirelessly to put RJ in jail if he did that to my daughter.

I still had a casual relationship with the Welcomed Consensus.  I occasionally checked in, introducing them to my new husband and hosting their teenage daughters, Ginger and Mallie, at my home in Europe, but I was never part of the inner circle again.  Christine and I remained close friends. 

Denise, another survivor of the cult, at Joost Ave in 2003 for Christine’s shower

And then it happened.  It all came crashing down and now I was hearing the real trauma that her relationship with RJ caused.  I’d never seen this woman shed a tear in the 25 years I had known her.  And there we were one rainy day sitting in my car and she unfurled the whole sordid story.  Some of it I knew, of course, but there was much more,  more disturbing, and more criminal.

Not long after that rainy night, Sheri contacted me.  I was back in San Francisco and she asked to get together.  I agreed.  I wanted to see her and get a feel for her take on Christine’s withdrawal from the group.  I wanted to make it known where I stood on the matter.

When she showed up at my house, she had Mallie and Ginger with her.  She hadn’t told  me she was bringing them and only as I was making tea for everyone did it dawn on me that this is their M.O.  How could I have forgotten that there needs to be a majority when they do reconnaissance? Because that is exactly what they were up to.

This visit was about finding out what was going on with Christine.  We exchanged the usual pleasantries, sipped our tea and then it came: Sheri mentioned RJ was going to be in San Francisco the following week and he’d love to see me.  I said, no, I would not be visiting RJ.  Sheri asked why and I told her because I support Christine, she is my friend.  We all knew what that meant.  I chose my side.  They left promptly after.

I have some regrets in my life: that I wasn’t with my friend when she finally succumbed to cancer, that I let down people that I love, and that I didn’t speak up about RJ sooner.

I went to Pride last year and an LGBTQ activist stood on stage and said, “If you see something, say something.”  It brings tears to my eyes to write that.

If you see something, say something.

Jennifer