The Case for Conversion Therapy to Force Gay Male Bottoms to Become Gay Tops
An analysis of contemporary mores among Gay Men and the pitfalls in making homosexuality a viable lifestyle
The Case for Conversion Therapy to Force Gay Male Bottoms to Become Gay Tops
An analysis of contemporary mores among Gay Men and the pitfalls in making homosexuality a viable lifestyle
By
David Gottfried
There is a Spector Haunting Gay America. All the forces of the doddering “New New Left” have marshalled their minions to deny it. Madonna and Kamala Harris, and Oprah Winfrey and all of the “colored girls” in Lou Reed’s song “Walk on the Wild Side,” are united in denying the revolting visage coming out of every Sushi Bar, Piano Bar, and Bar for derelicts where people spend their money in the bathroom buying crack and fentanyl.
It is the spectre of a jaundiced, jaded, juggernaut of unspent jizz (cum) that has congealed into overwhelming hate.
Yes, the cutesy queens that academic nincompoops (Footnote 1) heralded in halos of ballerina white are not always the spright hot homos of the 1970’s, such as Paul Lynd on Hollywood Squares. They are nothing like the stars in “Brokeback Mountain.” They don’t write poetry like Allen Ginsburg, establish great bands like Brian Epstein, or write the magic bullet prose of Andew Kopkind. (Footnote 2 – I urge you to read the footnotes. One of the footnotes has a prize in the form of a clip of Frankie Vallie from 1967)
They are instead dyspeptic, despondent deranged fucks who overflow with bile and spleen with the stench of a Chinese Wet Market specializing in the organ meats of rats and bats infected with Covid.
Maybe that last sentence is a bit over the top as it sounds too much like your humble narrator. But remember what you should have learned in introductory courses on psychology: The pathological person has the same deviations as the normal only in a more exaggerated form. And so my mishigas (Jewish for craziness) is something that afflicts all gay men but in my case it is accentuated and inflamed because I am a tad sensitive. (Footnote 3)
Very simply, a very huge proportion of gay man are constantly at the brink of a psychological meltdown or thermonuclear explosion because they AINT GETTING LAID.
And why are they not getting laid ? Because there is a severe imbalance between the number of gay men who want to fuck and the number of gay men who want to get fucked. Very simply, the great majority of gay men want to get on their knees and suck Daddy’s commanding indomitable cock. Very simply, the great majority of gay men want to spread their legs and experience the gratifying aggression of a cock pounding their ass.
Of course, some academics and scientists have put blinders on their minds and endeavor to arrive only at those insights which tickle the fancy of the lords and ladies who go to Hillary Clinton soirees. And so they will say that gay men just have a special gene which programs them to fall in love with Barbara Streisand, Bette Midler and Bea Arthur because they know, they just most certainly know, that the prevalence of bitchy middle-aged broads in the pantheon of gay heroes cannot possibly have anything to do with bitchy middle-aged women in their childhood.
Now I am sure that some gay men have a special gene that inculcates a predilection for mascara and masochism, but in the United States of America there are tens of millions of homosexuals. How can one assume that every homo has the same genetic mishigas.
I fault the gay community for that which I fault Freud. Freud said that because he saw boys with Oedipal complexes in late 19th century Vienna, all boys, whether they were in Timbuktu in 1222 or whether they were in Madagascar at the time of the earliest Indian raj, had Oedipal complexes. Freud felt free to extrapolate from one time and one place to the whole of human history. And gay people are also guilty of erroneous extrapolations when they assume that the case of one fabulously rich and annoying child of Jewish mercantile parents from Great Nech New York represent the Alfa and Omega of Gay experiences. (I don’t mean to attack my coreligionists, but I suddenly remembered a very pampered pussy, who purported to be the progeny of the Rothschilds, who made the gay film director in “The Producers” seem rugged. Perhaps, I should be more gentle. My guess is that he died of AIDS a long time ago.)
I think that a lot of gay men want to be bottom, not because they have a genetic disposition toward the feminine, but because they simply need to get spanked, by a Dad, and they weren’t spanked in their childhood because so many Dads today are either too soft, because they went to college and imbibed the blubbery scholarship which says be nice, be soft, and never assert paternal discipline, or total wimps and are, in short, heterosexual faggots.
For whatever reason, men have a weird fucking relationship with discipline. They hate it, but it gives them a feeling of security. Actually, Freud, who is considered a leading homophobe by the intellectually illiterate ignoramuses of the Ivy League who have deified queerness and Bette Davis queenliness, said that homosexuality was ubiquitous among men and was tied to discipline.
Freud said that the military, the church and professional sports were all fueled by homosexual libido. The private takes from his sergeant, the parochial school student endures from his priest, and the athlete suffers from his coach a level of degradation and psychic despoliation that no manly man would ever consent to.
When male discipline is meted out to a boy in his childhood, he does not need it in adulthood. The homosexual, in many cases, has never experienced the sort of male discipline that inoculates him from the desire for this discipline in his adulthood.
But in any event, the preceding discussion of one of the many causes of homosexuality (Footnote 4) is somewhat removed from the central issue of this essay, the imbalance between bottoms and tops and seething dissatisfaction among gay men.
Of course, you will tell me that this is all in my head, that since I am unhappy, I long to imagine that unhappiness is running rampant across America. Although I fully concede that my mordant desires are such that I wish that my surroundings would burn the way my brain burns, you must admit that my wishes are coming true.
You can sing hosannas to American ingenuity and capitalism all you want, but the American people are going over the deep-end. Large numbers of American girls want to kill themselves, and large numbers of American girls, in something analogous to the tectonic collisions that cause earthquakes, have decided that they are really boys. The number of boys going to college keeps shrinking. Meanwhile, the lords and ladies of prissy, bitchy Martha’s Vineyard feminism are sure that equity for woman, in collegiate sports, is one of the overriding needs of American youth.
But you may reply that gay people are really doing swimmingly, that almost all gay men are comfortably coupled-off in the faggotty bliss of antique shops and the pot pourri of privileged accoutrements that brighten up the empty soul of the Cape Cod squire who behaves like a dowager.
I have known a succession of gay couples where one erstwhile lover in the arrangement said sayonara with suicide. I knew a gay guy whose sex life managed to fuse fist-fucking, prostitution and injectable speed: He got Johns to put up the money for injectable speed, he and his john shot up with speed, he fist fucked the bottom John for six hours (neither party ever having an erection) and he would go home with a measly 60 dollars. I knew a gay guy who fell off of a perch in Studio 54 and died. I know three gay men who went to the hospital for pneumonia immediately following 3 day binges of speed and not a second of sleep. I know gay men who are like the character in this Lou Reed song:
Face it: Most people who purport to be happy are merely pretending to be happy. The overarching political imperatives of the gay rights movement make honest discussion impossible.
As I said, the imbalance between tops and bottoms is one of the causes of this dissatisfaction. Of course, almost all bottoms can top. It’s not as if bottoms can’t fuck; many of them can fuck just fine. Rather, they just don’t want to do the fucking. They want to sit back like some glorious Greek boy of antiquity getting Shtupped by Aristotle.
Many bottoms, quite frankly, are out of their fucking minds as their unrealized sexual needs brew and fester and their brain becomes as putrid as an infected appendix ready to burst. Don’t believe me? Go to where it’s at. If you want to know what’s going on in the gay world, don’t listen to wooly-headed ladies, who love fags, who have been writing odes to sodomy since they realized they could never nab a straight man who would marry them. If you want to understand what homosexuals actually live and do, venture into the world of pornography, dating sites etc.
As I write this, on all of the major web sites for sexual contacts, there are about 10 quick connect ads, posted by bottoms, for every quick connect ad posted by a top. (The imbalance is not that lopsided among all users taken together, but for those people online who need it now, who post ads for immediate sex, 90 percent or more are bottom)
Some bottoms have completely crossed the line: There are some web sites where bottoms post videos of themselves shoving dildoes up their asses. In the videos, they are alone. They have no lover; they have no fuck buddy. They are so out of their minds with horniness (it’s more than horniness) that they have to publicly exhibit their ass to the nation at large.
They advertise their posts with titles such as “Faggot ruins ass with Monster Dildo.” Sometimes, they crush their balls with “sex toys.” I once attended a conference in which a lesbian doctor alerted gay men to a rash of hideous disfigurements she saw among gay men whose sexual “play” went seriously awry.
WHAT IS TO BE DONE
A Russian novel, sometimes cited as the incitement for the Bolshevik revolution, bore the stark title: “What is to be Done.”
And what is to be done about the metastasizing madness among gay men. Clearly, there must be fewer bottoms and more tops.
There seems to be only one answer: CONVERSION THERAPY TO TURN GAY BOTTOMS INTO GAY TOPS until the number of tops and bottoms are roughly the same.
I am sure that many gay men will shriek and howl at such a suggestion. Doesn’t it call to mind conversion therapy designed to turn gay people straight. And isn’t conversion therapy painful.
Of course, conversion therapy is taxing, torturing and pretty damn painful. But medicine is often painful. When one has a leg infected with gangrene, do we blow kisses at the leg ? No, we amputate the damn thing. And attributes which reek of fulsome and devastating pathology may require amputation.
Also, I am sure that many gay bottoms will not want to be forced to become a top. But a five year old child does not want a penicillin shot when he has a fever of one hundred and five and a strep infection. Do we listen to the child ? Of course not. And we cannot defer to adults when the interests of the group outweigh their personal desires. (We drafted men for WW11, Korea and Vietnam, in contravention of their preference not to go, by the millions) Since gay men often extol the importance of group solidarity and all things gay, they must realize that the needs of the gay community override their personal preferences.
(I really didn’t want to sound like a son of a bitch from hell, but my life in bitchy, cunty New York, a hothouse of thieves and con artists who subscribe to the ethos of the queen of all the queens, her eminence, Judge Judy the Injudicious, has made skewering sarcasm the life of my pen)
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Footnote 1
An intellectual is someone who likes to manipulate and play with ideas. He is not necessarily a person who manipulates ideas in a logical fashion, and he may be as alienated from the rigors of syllogistic reasoning as a freshwater salmon is from flying in the sky like a rabid bat. And, when academics have tried to interpret gay people, and especially the vortex where gayness and politics come together, they have exhibited astonishing and apish stupidity, but of course they made their Moronic comments in a tone of voice infused with all the piss elegance of Gore Vital and Truman Capote, all the breathless vulnerability of Jackie Kennedy, and all the tedious faux intellectual nerdiness of the Science Guy on NBC or some other horrid network I never listen to.
For example, this is the psychedelic stew of unreason that Herbert Marcuse, a leading leftist academic, conjured when he opined on psychological regression, homosexuality and socialism:
Marcuse said that when we regress from the grey flannel, rigid male domination of the genital stage, and flutter into the beatific oral and anal stages, we become more tolerant and usher in something akin to Scandinavian socialism.
Man, what was he smoking. Bloomingdales Queens licked idols of Nancy Reagan (I knew a crazy queen who was smitten by what he termed his Dominatrix Boss, and he made a statute of her which he worshipped) and, ala Roy Cohen, are George Santosing up to every chi chi brand name in Corporate-Fascist Americas. (I should hasten to add that I think that some of Marcuse’s ideas sizzled with brilliance.)
Footnote 2
For twenty years, I have been having ideo-verbal orgasms over this sentence, from Kopkind, in an issue of the New York Review of Books from the autumn of 1967:
“The Civil War (race riots, student demos) and the Foreign One (Vietnam) have murdered (bourgeois) liberalism in its official robes.”
Footnote 3: I know what many of my readers assume: If he is this crazy, it’s because he has schizophrenic genes. In the 1970’s, the pseudo intellectuals of New York magazine, and the New York Times Editorial Board, reached a verdict of sorts: Psychoanalysis has failed; therefore, it’s time to exonerate the pathogenic Mommie and conclude that sick shits have sicko genes.
Ah but these idiots never knew how psychoanalysis could make people stark raving mad. Sample my Freudian Mother: When I was 12, she was known as the woman who scavenged through the rat-infested basement of our apartment house looking for old playboy magazines. She gave them to me hoping to espy a tenting in my trousers. She was dedicated to mental health, and she gave me these magazines to foster the development of a heterosexual orientation.
AND MY CASE IS FAR FROM UNIQUE: In the latter part of the 20th century, one of the foremost Freudians who castigated homosexuality as illness was Dr. Charles Socarides. His son, Richard Socarides, was gay and was President Clinton’s liaison to the gay community. Perhaps Dr. Socarides’ constant fear that his son might go gay made the son go queer out of rank disgust. And so psychoanalysis, which sought to “cure” homosexuality, actually can cause the orientation.
Footnote 4: Homoseuxaliy has a zillion and one causes that the dimwits, the latter-day Freudians and the dreary, dying feminists, are wholly oblivious to. For example, years ago I read real academic gold when I came across a passage of Camille Paglia’s regarding male homosexuality.
She said that male homosexuals are not born gay. They are born artistic. Because they are artistic, their male relatives avoid them like the plague and their female relatives adore him like a little lord Fauntleroy in a ballerina’s tutu. As I read Paglia, I remembered: When I was a child, I was totally turned on by lights and colors and candlelight dancing on chandeliers and gleaming cutlery. I expressed my awe. (My first word was light, which I uttered at eleven months.) I still remember a male relative looking like he was ready to vomit when I said a chandelier looked pretty. (From what I have heard, his son went queer.) Man, if I had grown up a Medici, I would have fitted in just fine. Moreover, given my love of Rock n Roll, if I had been raised by Italian artists, I might have become one of the Four Seasons and become as cool as Franky Valli. And I would have had lots of veal parmigiana heros to boot.
You have to hand it to Camille Paglia for really hitting a home run with her analysis.