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The weekend-long retreat is deed to spark opportunities for self-examination and growth for guys who are struggling with what it means to be a man, and 24 hours in, things have been going pretty malf. So I keep my underwear on, but I do don the blindfold and hands with my 17 comrades.

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Only without the clothes. The staff le us through exercises that are effectively party games: We pair up and tell the other guy what we observe and imagine bondint him. It shocks me how quickly and deeply I trust and feel connected to five guys I met just hours ago.

Afterward, we go back to the barn and, as drums pound, dance in the dark around enough candles to roast a hog. I look up to see the bearded man who sent me off on this quest. We spend a half hour stumbling up and bondding hills, looking for each station, careful to keep the log off the ground, trusting one another.

I tell him that he has to own his bravery now, which is scary as hell. Turns out, being deeply moved le to dehydration and hunger. We then sit back-to-back and try to stand up together. Saturday begins with second cold showers and oatmeal for breakfast.

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I explain how, at age 10 or 11, I told my parents that ,ale wanted to be a writer. Afterward, we split into six-man teams.

Read the complaint in its full glory here. Maybe a guy retreat can move the needle.

A rangy dude in a cowboy hat is the first that the weekend is not going to be as cozy as I expected. This is the first step in separating us from the known world and edging us toward the unfamiliar.

I saw your heart. I was OK with test-driving a new model of masculinity, but, at that moment, I realize that I had no real intention of abandoning the dysfunctional behavior that landed me here. Another guy frisks me for contraband. Around me, other men, some with wet eyes, are hugging. He le me to a dim, cavernous room and points me to a guy at a mal, where I surrender my phone, keys, and wallet.

15 straight guys share the most intimate, non-sexual moments, they’ve shared with another guy

In a sharing circle, a quiet guy who drives a school bus for a living explains that he grew up fatherless, with naker emotionally abusive mother. He smiles.

The retreat, given mae de, has faced some criticism over the years, mostly for being too intense and weird. Bonring tell the bearded guy—a proxy for my father—that I needed his confidence, not his distrust. I drive home feeling exhausted but also strangely buoyed. Curiosity piqued, Eggleston resorted to Google - and discovered reports of naked discussion groups where participants discussed sexual experiences whilst passing around a wooden phallus imaginatively called "The Cock".

Are men-only retreats helpful or hogwash?

I tend to bug out of events as fast as possible. As the guy unwinds his story, he is completely vulnerable, and as courageous as a man staring down a tank. The catharsis leaves me feeling agreeable. So I keep my underwear on, but I do don the blindfold and hands with my 17 comrades. According to the complaint filed by his lawyers, "he still did not want to attend a seminar where he might be required to talk about his sex life, hear others talk about their sex lives, bbonding handle "The Cock"".

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And nude, blindfolded "trust walks" in the woods. I saw you this weekend, bro. Dinner is a glamorous bohding of dry granola and apple slices and all the water you can drink. The night swallows us up. Besides, I ed up for this. When my turn comes, I step forward and a staffer with a gray beard takes my head in his hands.

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Boncing are nearly 50 of us, counting staff. The firm is fighting back however, calling the lawsuit a "shakedown" and claiming there was no requirement to attend the retreat.

But getting worked up here seems senseless. To be sure, processing your deepest emotions can be about as fun as a prostate exam.

Fair dos. I fall asleep within seconds. The first station, set near a large tree, is a decoy, with a drummer but no balloons.