TO: Homophobes and the Sexually                                                                                HOME Righteous                                                                                                               
FROM: Bill Swart
RE: Sexuality

The recent case of a young man being beaten to death by two homophobes in Wyoming prompts me to come out of the closet and confess: I did not choose to be heterosexual.

And I was not taught by parents, teachers, or preachers to enjoy seeing my cousin with her pants down in our you-show-me-and-I'll-show-you exchange. But it was thrilling enough that I remember the view vividly from 60-plus years ago. Hairless and symmetrical, it was rather cute. At about that same time, age five or six, my only homosexual activity, a playmate and I fondling each other, wasn't even interesting.

And, about that same time, I appealed for sex education. I asked Mom, as she was hanging the wash on the line, what a boy's "peanuts" were for. Very calmly she said, "Someday you'll find out." There was a message in that calm response. We don't talk about sex organs and what they are for. Mother was unprepared. She had not read any books on how to deal with such questions, and there were no newspaper columns devoted to it. Dr. Ruth was but a toddler.

Sex education in school! It's to laugh. Teachers in our town went twenty miles away to buy beer and cigarettes. Teachers or preachers who would have addressed sexuality in our 1930's and '40's town on Monday, would have been assisted in loading their belongings in the Model-A Ford on Tuesday. So I enrolled in the school of my peers, attending street classes, and back-seat-Chevy seminars - a roads scholar, as it were.

Well, given that libertarian development, without even a one-semester-hour course in sexual orientation, how, why, and when did I become heterosexual? I suspect it was at the moment Dad's lucky sperm wiggled its way into Mom's ovum. Maybe if a different sperm cell had won the race, or if Mom had ovulated from her other ovary, I would have been homosexual. Who knows?

I'm glad that particular combination of genes got together. I do wish there had been a good-at-hitting-baseball gene in the package. Fifteen more IQ-points and a full head of hair at age 69 would be nice. But I'm mostly satisfied with me. I'm especially grateful to be heterosexual. I should hate to have missed the excitement of seeing Sonja Henie's pants as she skated, and of seeing my cousin with pants off. I savored that masochistic necking in the back seat as a 16 year-old until the testicles ached (boy, that hurts). And then, and then, there was making love on our honeymoon (and again last Sunday) with my wife.

It's not that my sexuality was a fertile bed of stamens and pistils. From circa age ten, when puberty struck, until marrying at age 32, I was one of the most sexually frustrated mammals in the solar system. That's not to claim I was a virgin at 32, but my sexual activity had been sparse enough that I might as well have been.

Could I, if imprisoned for years, or marooned on an island with another man, willingly become homosexual? I don't think so. The thought of being sexually touched by another man is unpleasant.

So, since the thought of being sexually touched by a man is not pleasant, what should that say about being ogled by a man? That, being ogled, is one of the reasons for opposition to homosexuals in the armed forces. I know, for a fact, that, in the army, I was seen naked in the shower by homosexuals. Ogled? I don't know. They didn't pant or drool.

In my lifetime I became friends with three men whom I knew to be homosexuals. One was as handsome as Rock Hudson. So, "Rock" we'll call him. Rock was built like a prize fighter. One guy in town, a tough customer, good with his fists, roused Rock's ire, got knocked on his keister for it, and didn't get up for a while.

Rock made a pass at me once. I made it clear that I was not for him, and that was the end of it. I'll tell you this about Rock. If I were to go up against some badasses in an alley, or against enemy infantry, I would like to have him on my side. It so happens that, while I had no wish to share a bed with any of the homosexuals I've known, I would have welcomed them beside me in a fox hole. Barry Goldwater, no raging libertarian, he, pointed out that a soldier doesn't have to be straight, just has to shoot straight. Wish I had voted for Barry.

To those Supersoldiers who get their noses, and maybe other appendages, out of joint about being ogled in the shower by a homosexual, I say lighten up, most of you are not all that attractive anyway.

One of the most asinine policies ever concocted by the asinine military "mind" is the don't-ask-don't-tell policy. If that policy were followed, it wouldn't change anything. The homosexual would still be in the barracks shower, ogling away, but not telling. It might be better to know, so we oglees could strut a bit.

Recently a career navy man was given the boot after it was learned that he was homosexual. Then, when it was revealed that his sexual orientation was discovered through extraordinary naval snooping, he was reinstated. I note that, before his sexual preference was exposed, his homosexuality didn't run his ship aground, didn't increase the AWOL or suicide rate among his shipmates, and didn't curdle the milk in the galley. So, how is it that after he slipped out of the ship's closet, he suddenly became a threat to the vessel, to his mates, and to national security?

Margaret Mead, I think it was she, quipped that she didn't care what consenting adults do as long as they don't do it in the street and scare the horses. I don't care either, as long as they don't scare the horses or interfere with what I do in my bed. I'll stay out of their beds, and I expect them to stay out of mine.

And that's what the Supermale homophobes should do. It's what the Superchristians such as Pat Robertson and Jerry Falwell should do. I wonder, was their passage from erector sets to erections so different from mine? Did they ask Mom or Dad what their peanuts were for and get a straight answer? Were they sex-educated? And then, did they decide to be heterosexual? Boy, reflect on that for a minute! If they did, it raises some sticky questions about heterosexuals! Could it be that God created genetically pure, NO-CHOICE HETEROSEXUALS, like me, and pro-choice heterosexuals like Pat & Jerry? If so, for what sex does a pro-choicer truly lust in his heart?

And, even stickier -- if upon reaching an age of sexual-confirmation (maybe the first Sunday after the first wet dream), Pat & Jerry reviewed their sex-education notes, revisited pertinent biblical references, and had to consciously decide to lie down with females instead of males -- should they be allowed to procreate?

Trouble is, we don't have a reliable test to distinguish HETEROSEXUALS from heterosexuals. Until we do, we must not judge Pat & Jerry. We can, however, urge them not to recruit.