Save the electric grill; we will need it later. But for the present phase, more pleasant stimuli will be needed. We may start with an appropriately firm but comfortable bed, and put our ex-homosexual thereon. Now, not too suddenly, we gently, carefully introduce a nude female (if our patient is of a carefree, adventurous nature), or an enticingly negligeed one (if our patient is shy). I must leave it to the doctors to solve such minor side-problems as whether the female's possible pregnancy is of any importance, and, if it is, how to circumvent the restrictions against the use of contraceptives. Assuming these and other difficulties are removed, we are ready to proceed with our treatment.

On the sidelines, we assemble as many doctors as we can. These will constitute the cheering section. Lighting is subdued; romantic music is playing.

Now the female must use all the feminine wiles which her instinct and training can supply her. The cheering section eggs the patient on to conquest, urgingly, but not distractingly.

When the patient at last touches some part of the female (assuming this much success), an automatic device at once injects him intravenously with a shot of extract of beefsteak, and the cheering section bursts into applause and shouts of praise, such as, "Good man!" and "Wow, what a man!" and, "Boy, are you a lady-killer" and, "Say, did you see that stud?" Experience should soon indicate how much of this treatment is required. Once the patient is cured into heterosexuality, however, it may be necessary to break out the electric grill again and shock the fool off that beefsteak extract and out of all that woman-chasing.

Now if I had an uncontrollable urge to pinch every attractive man on the street, and a bunch of black eyes to show for it, I think I might be interested in this "shock therapy." But I think that, even then, I'd be likely to start licking the backs of their necks, or some other such nonsense. If I could be shocked into an all-out aversion to other men, I dare say I would develop massive muscular spasms or a serious mental illness. But I doubt I very much if I could be electrified into heterosexual desire.

You see, my homosexuality is not a simple compulsive act. I am not compelled to do anything sexual. Rather, I have, as everyone has, what we might call a kind of "world-view" or an "outlook on life." In my case, it is a homosexual view or outlook. And its homosexual aspect isnota separate "thing" that suddenly appeared on me like a wart. My whole outlook -with its homosexual character-grew up with me. Its homosexual bent may indeed have been provided by far earlier and more impressive "shocks" than any the doctors can give with their silly grill.

Has it occurred to them, I wonder, to try it as a new and better method of Cooking hamburgers commercially?

mattachine REVIEW

FICTION

Good Old George

GEORGE WAS an extraordinary fellow.

MARSH HARIS

I liked him enormously, but hadn't a particle of respect for him. He was totally unscrupulous, had the ethics of a snake, and was the very personi fication of immorality. And yet for all this he was perfectly charming, presented himself to me as the most lovable of sorts, and had a first-rate mind that reduced clever people to a state of pea-green envy. He was the sort of man one simply had to admire-even if he didn't.

I have known George now for some seven years, during which time he has continued to shock and appall me, and at the same time I cannot think of a single person whose company I prefer more than his. Except of course Robbie.

But then it was George who introduced me to Robbie, and although at the time the circumstances seemed preposterous, I am now impressed by the logic of it all. Who else but good old amazing George could have come up with something like Robbie? In fact, I wouldn't be at all surprised if George has not been the one to introduce Robbie to all Robbie's acquaintances. No one but George is capable. And deservedly so. George deserves Robbie; Robbie deserves George; they both deserve me, and I suppose I deserve