"We realize that gays and lesbians have to live somewhere. As Americans they can live wherever they want," says Murray of the FRC. He adds, "We would never try to force them into de facto prisons behind gates. The problem arises when they try to force public policy to recognize their relationships as more than what they are."

Murray sees Wilton Station as an example of the homosexual lifestyle presented in a deceptively positive light. "Really, there should not be a public sanction of these [gay] communities. People say, look, aren't these [lifestyles] wonderful? The reality is: They aren't if you look at the facts." The FRC claims, for instance, that children reared by heterosexuals, specifically married ones, experience lower rates of drug use and arrest.

But even if Wilton Station is spared the immediate censure of the FRC or America's Concerned Women, its gay residents won't have to wait long to be condemned: immediately next to the site is Wilton Manors' First Christian Church. "Are you aware that God's words say it is an abomination for man to lie with another man?" asks its pastor, John W. Stauffer, by way of greeting. He describes his church as "evangelical and Bible-believing," and, with no encouragement, goes on to quote Romans 1, which could only be called gay-friendly by the extremely charitable. "Our church is a lighthouse in a dark place," Stauffer explains, "a place for sick sinners who have banded together." He clearly feels the town will get a lot sicker when hundreds of affluent homosexuals move in on the other side of his wall.

The pastor confesses that he's looking forward to the challenge of converting their reprobate minds. (He has already persuaded four of his flock to give up gay sex.) He plans to mobilize his special volunteer unit, "Evangelical Explosion," to visit the residents of Wilton Station, and ask chatty sinner questions such as: "If you died, do you know for sure that you'd go to heaven?" When reminded that Wilton Station, much like heaven, has a gate to bar intruders like him, he pauses. "Well, we could stand out on the corner there ... if they're in their cars, they may be hard to get, but we'll get them somehow."

When told of Stauffer's plans, longtime resident John DeGroot laughs it off: "Everyone has the right to have their head up their ass. I guess some people really like the view."

Wilton Stationites may find it tougher to laugh. This source of irritation is not about to go away. The First Christian Church, which crams 400 people into its building twice each Sunday, has construction plans of its own: It intends to build a new overflow space -- and, eventually, a grand new edifice -- on land it owns across the street. And when that happens, if the Wilton Station dwellers remain reprobate, "We will welcome them again."

Of course, despite Ellis' projection that 60 percent of buyers might be gay, no one knows exactly how "reprobate" Wilton Station will turn out to be. As acceptance of gay life has grown incrementally (the current marriage furor aside), many young gays have realized they don't have to move to West Hollywood or Manhattan (or Wilton Manors) to find an identity, sex and love. "People are coming out in smaller towns and rural areas and leading openly gay lives," says Michelangelo Signorile, gay journalist and author of "Life Outside," a book about the expanding gay community. "There's a growing desire not to be cordoned off in a gay ghetto." Meanwhile, he explains, although ghettos still thrive, more gays and lesbians are leaving them to buy property in quiet towns in upstate New York, or Northern California.

And here is the most bizarre twist in the story of the gated community in America. As gays move beyond the concept of the ghetto -- the cluster mentality rooted in fear and segregated conformity -- the rest of the country seems to be moving toward it. On one hand, you have gay clone style (cropped hair, muscles, artificial tans); on the other, the gated community's approved flower lists and dog restrictions. The difference is that gay conformity grew organically from a need to strengthen identity. In a gated community, it's mandated by deed.

The terrorist attacks of Sept. 11 have arguably been a factor; a lot of Americans now feel targeted the way many gays have all their lives. And the gated community, a refuge from chaos, fits the bill, even if it's not particularly "safe." In California, over 40 percent of all new developments are gated, and while nationally fewer than 10 percent of homes are currently behind bars, according to the Census Bureau's 2001 American Housing Survey, that number is growing.

And then there's Wilton Station. Largely gay and gated. Both segregated and integrated. Heteros and homos living together in a Tiki Hut of harmony. When you consider the spending power of the gay market, says Stephanie Blackwood, it is an "inevitability."

It will be interesting to see how Wilton Station ultimately affects both social and housing trends in this country. If it succeeds without attracting undue controversy, look for other money-hungry developers to clone the formula. You have to give Jim Ellis props for trying something new, which is rare in development circles. "We're rolling the dice in some aspects," he says, "but I'm past being concerned about whether this will be well received."

It will come down to the individual. "The more conservative gay people might find it very appealing," says Simon LeVay, a gay scientist and coauthor of "City of Friends: A Portrait of the Gay and Lesbian Community in America." "For them, it will be the ultimate of respectability, like moving to a gay area without having to deal with the raunch."

For others, Wilton Station's promise of escape may prove illusory. "There will be some people who will think I'll be safe in this little gated enclave," says Signorile. "If that's why they're doing it, it's a bit delusional. It's like creating a giant closet, and staying in it, instead of confronting the homophobia that's still out there."

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