Just Another Dysfunctional Sex Healing Retreat
Chapter 51 of Neophyte: My Life In A Sex Cult
This is a chapter within my memoir, Neophyte, about my time in a harmful cult called the Deer Tribe Metis Medicine Society. It is not meant to be read as a stand-alone post. To view all book chapters, click here.
The Deer Tribe is a dangerous cult. While they present themselves as a spiritual community offering healing and empowerment, their practices are rooted in manipulation, control, and cultural appropriation. Like many cults, they offer moments of genuine connection and personal insight — but these are strategically used to gain trust and draw people deeper into a harmful system. Readers are encouraged to read the entire book before forming opinions about the Deer Tribe.
Chapter 51
“I think you should do the West Lover’s mask demo!” Necea said, eyeing me with a gleam in her eye.
“Absolutely not,” I replied immediately.
“Oh, come on! You would crush the West Lover’s mask!” Brian Hayes exclaimed.
It was Tuesday night before the annual Phoenix January Q, and I was sitting in a booth at Z-Tejas, a local Tex-Mex spot, with the team: instructors Necea, Brian Hayes, and Catrina Novak, along with neophytes Rafael and Michelle. Our Q schedules were spread out as we divided up the teachings and demos. Dinner was done, and the instructors sipped margaritas while we planned out the weekend.
Catrina, Michelle, and Rafael jumped in, practically begging me to say yes. A rush of warmth filled my heart. They really believed I could do it. But as I thought about what the West Lover’s mask involved—sexy, sultry stripteasing to channel the wild, lusty lover inside—I felt a wave of terror. They didn’t let up, and in the end, I caved.
That Saturday during lunch, I sat on the floor next to Michelle in one of the spare bedrooms where we had gathered for our usual staff meeting. Rafael, now a Q intern, was typing notes on his laptop from the debrief he had just received. Q interns had more responsibility than neophytes. They led teachings and got personalized coaching from the instructors. In return, they were expected to step up their medicine gifting.
After my exchange with Maya Bishop, I made it a habit to discuss medicine gifting with every teacher before working with them. I never wanted to be called out like that again. Before committing to this Q, I had a conversation with Catrina.
“Anything is fine,” she had assured me. “Obviously, it’s different when you’re an intern because we’re teaching you how to run workshops so you can make money. We do expect interns to reflect that in their gifting. But it’s not expected from neophytes.”
As we ate, Brian, Necea, and Catrina talked among themselves. Brian was doing that thing where he talked about us neophytes like we weren’t even there.
“…and that’s the problem with neophytes today. They don’t have a strong work ethic. Remember neophyting for Swift? We did everything—cooking, cleaning, sweeping floors. We partnered with whoever we were told to. Can you imagine saying no to Swift about anything? He would’ve shredded our egos! But today’s neophytes have preferences. They want their feelings considered. They have no idea what we went through to earn our Q mantles. They take for granted that what they’re getting from us is the equivalent of a college degree. Imagine how their attitudes would change if they were paying us twenty grand for this training.”
I glanced at Michelle, curious about her reaction to Brian’s words, but she looked bored and remained focused on her food. I figured this wasn’t the first time she’d listened in on one of Brian’s rants.
Necea’s eyes shone as she reflected on her beloved SwiftDeer. “Oh my gosh! Us have preferences? Yeah right! I’ll never forget when SwiftDeer partnered me with a man I would have never chosen for myself. He was fat, bald, and sweaty. His sweat just poured down his body and dripped all over me! I even told SwiftDeer I didn’t want to work with him, but he said to me, ‘Find something beautiful in him.’ So, while I lay on my back, feeling his icky sweat all over me, I looked into his eyes. And you know what I discovered? His eyes were beautiful. That’s what I focused on, and it was incredibly healing.”
“Hey Necea, that’s really lovely. Thank you for sharing such a beautiful story,” Michelle gracefully interjected. “However, I want to draw our attention to the time. The lunch break ends in fifteen minutes. Can we go over my South Lover’s mask demo?”
“Thank you, Michelle. Yes! What do you have in mind?”
“Okay, so I want to demonstrate the Shy and Curious lover’s mask by acting out a situation I experienced in my life when I was a teenager and bought my first vibrator. In the skit, I could talk about my first time self-pleasuring and then maybe bring in one of you guys to observe me.”
Necea gave Michelle a strange look. “O-kay… but why wouldn’t you bring up one of the participants?”
“Because I no longer feel it’s ethical to have these kinds of interactions with participants,” Michelle replied, her voice firm and steady. “I’m currently taking counseling ethics in my master’s program and learning about the power imbalances that exist between clients and authority figures.”
“Well, this is a Q workshop, and we know from experience that it’s more effective for participants when they can engage directly. It helps them push their edges.”
“Well, I am no longer willing to do demos with participants. That’s an ethical line I will not cross.”
“Fine,” Necea’s voice was edged with frustration. She turned to me. “Would you be willing to take Michelle’s place? You do a wonderful South Lover’s Mask!”
“Sure,” I replied, feeling thrilled to step up to the task and in awe of Michelle’s gumption.
After we wrapped up the meeting, Necea pulled me aside. “Your instinct to step up decisively when Michelle couldn’t hold the space was a true reflection of your nature. That’s your commander in action—silencing those ‘pretender voices!’ Take this in and integrate it as a victory!”
Saturday night.
Something was off. I felt it the moment I passed one of the bedrooms where four couples were doing the Dominant Submissive Lover’s Mask exercise. Three of the pairs were deep in their practice, completely absorbed in their little worlds, lost in the “bubble” they had created to give and receive pleasure without distraction.
But something about the fourth couple’s body language unsettled me. The woman, a freedancer in her mid-forties with shoulder-length brown hair and a quiet voice, sat stiffly at the edge of the bed, hands folded in her lap, eyes downcast. Her partner lounged beside her, one arm propped behind her as if he owned the space. As I studied her face, alarm bells went off in my head. She’s not okay.
Without hesitating, I turned and went to find Necea. I walked into the master bedroom and spotted her on the reclining sofa, deep in conversation with Catrina.
“Can one of you go check on one of the freedancing women? I think her name is Kate. I’m concerned.”
“Yes, I’ll go,” Necea said, getting up. I led the way to the bedroom door and motioned to the couple inside. Necea stepped into the room and sat down beside Kate. I kept my distance but stood close enough to the door to observe what was happening. A few moments later, Necea ushered Kate out of the room and into the bathroom, closing the door behind them.
While I hovered near the door, curious to watch what unfolded, my attention wandered around the room. My ears perked up as I overheard a conversation between Brian and Rafael.
“This is an unproductive pattern of yours.” Brian’s voice was stern as he addressed Rafael. “Numerous times this weekend, I’ve given you an instruction, and instead of following it, you ask questions or offer suggestions. When a lead instructor tells you to do something, you do it immediately and without question.”
Several minutes passed before the door finally opened. Necea’s eyes scanned the room, and when she spotted me, she motioned me over. “Please take Kate to the bedroom and let Catrina know she needs to do some giveaways. I’m going to talk with her partner.”
I did as Necea asked, escorting Kate to the bedroom and relaying Necea’s request. Catrina gently touched Kate on the shoulder and guided her to lie down on her back. “Can you bring me a marriage basket?” she whispered. I quickly headed to the instructor’s table in the teaching space, where the marriage baskets were stowed.
Once back in the room, I handed the basket to Catrina. “May I stay?” I asked, and she nodded. Keeping my distance, I watched as Catrina laid the basket on Kate’s womb. For the next twenty minutes, she spoke softly to Kate, guiding her through a series of giveaways.
Later, after Kate had left, we convened as a team so Necea could fill us in.
“Oh my gosh! That is the first time I’ve done a coaching session in a bathroom. And it smelled shit in there! I never imagined I would do a coaching session in a bathroom that smelled like shit. Wow!”
“What happened?” Rafael asked.
“Kate told me they started out the exercise with her as the Sub and Mark as the Dom. You’ll never believe what Mark said! He asked her to touch his cock! Kate even told him, ‘I don’t think you can ask me that.’ Mark responded, ‘I’m the Dom, so I’m leading the exercise. I want you to touch my cock.’ Kate insisted, ‘No, the Dom is supposed to ask the Sub what they want.’ But Mark kept insisting that wasn’t right and demanded she touch his cock!”
“Wow,” Michelle responded.
“Okay, but here’s what Mark said. After I left Kate with Catrina, I went to speak with Mark. I asked him outright, ‘Mark, what did you say to Kate?’ I wanted to see how he’d respond. He mumbled something, so I pressed, ‘Mark, answer my question. What did you tell Kate to do?’ Finally, he admitted, ‘Well, I told her to touch my cock.’ And I said, ‘Mark, you know that as the Dom, you cannot command the Sub to do anything. We made that crystal clear in the teaching.’ And he said, ‘Yeah, I know.’”
No one spoke for a minute as we contemplated what Necea had shared.
“I know a little something of Kate’s past,” Rafael said softly. “She was sexually abused as a child. It was quite serious, apparently. It was cultic sexual abuse.”
“It’s very interesting that she was paired with Mark tonight,” Brian remarked. “She dreamed this in for a reason. I hope it has been healing for her. She didn’t give her power away, you know. She stood her ground against Mark’s demands. This could be a turning point for her.”
It would be a year before I would wonder why, in a workshop meant to be healing and safe, someone like Mark was allowed to stay instead of being immediately kicked out.
Sunday afternoon.
“We are ready for our West Lover’s Mask demonstration!” Brian’s voice rang out, signaling Rafael to start the music. With a blast, the song I had chosen, “Strokin’” by Clarence Carter, filled the room.
Every nerve in my body pulsed with fear. I didn’t want to do this, but there was no backing out now. I forced a smile onto my face and strutted into the room. Clad in the lacy red lingerie that Necea had gifted me, I knew I looked the part. But inside, I was reeling with panic.
The song was four minutes and thirty-eight seconds long. I had to embody wanton sexuality for that entire time, and I hadn’t a clue what to do. I tried to recall what I had seen other neophytes do for the West Lover’s Mask, but I couldn’t get my body movements to match the pictures in my mind.
So I awkwardly paced back and forth at the front of the room, each second stretching into an eternity. When the song finally ended, I walked out, projecting an air of confidence. But as soon as I was out of sight of the group, I fled to one of the empty bedrooms and collapsed into a chair. I felt rigid and frozen, a stabbing sensation quaking in my solar plexus. My breaths came in rapid, short bursts. My thoughts were a jumbled mess as I replayed the scene in my mind. I felt overwhelmed with shame, and with a deep sense of agony, I realized that what I had just done could never be undone.
Go to Chapter 52.