The Top 10 Horniest Cult Leaders Of All Time (Part One)
Problem: You are an ugly, obnoxious sociopath shunned by society, even those parts of it with really low standards like the music business, BUT you still want to get laid. The options open to you are few and most of them involve sending money to a broker in Eastern Europe who may or may not be scamming you as he plays the role of cultural ambassador to his cousin Svetlana. The other option is to start a cult.
Throughout history cults have given the demented both a soapbox from which they can preach their babble as well as the ideal opportunity to get their freak on with the deluded folks buying into the particular brand of BS. When it comes to nailing confused strangers, even Club Med places a distant second to cults. If you’re looking to take over the world with your cult, the two most effective tools at your disposal are the strength of the philosophy you’re espousing and sex. Given that the philosophies of most cult leaders are moon-barking insane, sex then becomes an important part of cult life and can be manipulated in one of two ways – you can preach indulgence and “free love”, or you can insist that your members exert strict control over their nether regions, while observing no such control yourself. Either way, you’re getting laid.
Here then is Part One of our list of The Top 10 Horniest Cult Leaders of All Time — those who sexed up their cults good, some for cheap thrills, some for power and some, it would appear, just to give the rest of us some creepy mental imagery.
10.) John Humphrey Noyes
“The Oneida Perfectionists”: Like everybody else on this list, John Noyes had an ego of polar-ice-caps-before-global-warming-like proportions. As a young man, he underwent a religious transformation, coming to the conclusion that he was “perfect” because he had surrendered himself to God and therefore anything he did came from his pure heart and was beyond questioning. What “perfectionism” actually meant to him was the ability to act strictly on impulse, with no regard for anyone else. “Upset I booted your poodle into the next postal district? You would be, you’re not perfect.”
Noyes went about “perfecting” things for the rest of his life. He found marriage to be in need of perfecting when the wife of a close friend made a pass at him while the two were out on a garden stroll. Noyes decided the best solution was to formalize the practice of bedding other people’s spouses, and thus the Oneida Community, a 300-person strong wife-swap spectacular, was born. Everybody became married to everybody, so the next time somebody got a bit frisky with ole Noysie on a garden stroll, all bets were off.
Despite being a colossal egomaniac and the kind of guy who outlines a great plan that results in him bedding your wife, he did actually do some good — apparently coining the term “free love,” a boon to retro 60s T-shirt sellers, and being one of the first to advocate “male continence” or what we might call getting off one station early… i.e. the pull-out method. He thus avoided having a massive horde of cult kids running around, whose presence, as any modern-day cult leader will tell you, is sure to send the Feds around snooping.
Noyes disbanded his colony in 1887 and, like many eccentrics before and after him forced to flee American law, he fled to Canada, to Niagara Falls, where he no doubt spent many a meditative moment comparing his own libido favorably to the force of that natural wonder.
9.) John Kilminster, Satanist (circa 1995):
John Kilminster is the bored suburban dad of horny cult leaders. He is referred to in Nigel Cawthorne’s handy pocketbook “The World’s Greatest Cults,” as having been “a furniture-maker, chess champion and pillar of the local Conservative community.” Given that description, it’s not a great leap to also conclude that he was the kind of the guy who couldn’t get laid in a woman’s prisons with a fistful of pardons, so when it came to some extramarital frolicking, he needed to get creative. He went for it — founding the “English Church of Satan,” which he announced in the local newspaper. That he started his church by putting an ad on the same pages selling used lawnmowers and deals on roofing is ridiculous, that the cult’s first meeting took place at a Little Chef fast-food restaurant, and do-it-yourself werewolf kits were passed out to the assembled takes it to a level of farce that would not be seen again until the Nicolas Cage remake of “The Wicker Man.”
Still though, people did get laid. Kilminster promised free love to his attendees, so of course men came, but surprisingly so too did women. The highlight of club nights was when Kilminster would lie in a coffin while his followers pranced around naked under their black robes chanting for his “resurrection.” Once he had been sufficiently resurrected, Kilminster would pop out of the coffin and, just like in the Bible, an orgy would commence. It was all creepy fun and games until one of Kilminster’s acolytes accused him of spiking her drink. The case went to trial and he was exposed publicly — much to his chagrin as his wife hadn’t known anything about the cult till that point.
With his big afro, long flowing robes and ability to vomit gold eggs at will, it’s of little surprise that Sai Baba rose to the top of the guru racket during the 1970s, and he continues to hold sway in Indian political affairs. The 80-plus-year-old Baba is renowned for producing objects out of thin air or, in the case of the golden eggs, from his own body. His followers call these acts “manifestations,” but you may know them as “cheap parlor tricks” that make him about as much of a miracle-maker as your uncle who always found a quarter behind your ear (and occasionally pocketed it, the cheap bastard).
Baba is viewed among his followers as an incarnation of Christ, a living god in other words, but for many the most blinding Saul-on-the-Road-to-Damascus revelation has come behind closed doors at the guru’s ashram. A BBC documentary (entire video available here) revealed that behind that placid smile and beneath that peaceable afro beats the heart of one horny, licentious operator. Baba’s modus operandi according to the sources in the BBC doc is to invite young men into his chambers — the invited are thrilled at the attention, until, that is, the Baba breaks out the massage oil, hikes up his robes and introduces his guest to the secret swami.
Much like the Catholic Church back in the day, the Sai Baba foundation has done everything in its power to silence these claims and dismiss them as baseless. Despite all of the vast and varied claims against him from around the world, and spanning from the creepy to the criminal in the case of some allegations against him, Baba seems untouchable. An article in Salon (click here) quotes a devotee of Baba, basically admitting he’s a perv, but arguing that “any sexual contact Baba has had with devotees — of whatever kind — has actually been only a potent blessing, given to awaken the spiritual power within those souls. Who can call that ‘wrong’?” Also, when Baba asks you to pass the loofah sponge, doing so is something in the order of a sacred offering.
Charles Manson, likely the most recognizable nutter in all of cultdom, spent much of his early pre-cult years in prison where he learned the valuable lesson that men 5’1 in stature get raped frequently. Equipped with this knowledge, he sought ways to compensate for his pint size by manipulating and BS’ing those around him. Enter Scientology, which Manson studied in prison and which equipped him with enough mystical-sounding bosh to last him through many a long-night’s campfire-side acid trip.
In any other period of American history, a guy like Charles Manson would have went straight back to prison or he would have become an itinerant worker, going from roofing jobs to picking fruit off of low-hanging trees. This, however, was the 1960s, so when this disheveled looking psychotic troll started preaching his gobbledy-gook, there were many — mostly middle-class suburb-raised young women — willing to listen, and, more importantly to Manson, to shag anyone at any time. Manson would initiate his recruits with an LSD and sex session, later choreographing orgies. Manson became popular among Hollywood types for his ability to bring loose crazy women to parties, but what he wanted more than anything was to break into the music industry. His only problem: an utter lack of talent. Angered by this, Manson got progressively crazier, his orders eventually resulting in the famous Manson murders, which sent ole’ Chuckie M’ back to the Big House, and no doubt to the kind of loving to which he had once been accustomed.
A tie here for the two irreverent reverends who presided over Agapemone, Greek for the Abode of Love, or, as the B52s would have it, “The Love Shack.” As a young reverend in the Church of England, Henry Prince (left) believed that the voice he was hearing in his head was God, and took it upon himself to blast his congregation as ignorant and slothful. This being the 1800s, and with any form of entertainment being welcome, the people liked this and he became popular, but church officials, realizing he was insane, did not, and eventually gave him the boot. Prince then set up his first Abode of Love, appealing to well-heeled spinsters and unmarried women of the congregation. What started off in one house soon expanded to an all-out Shangri-La with Prince, his religious fervor mellowed by the good life, at the fore. Prince needed manual labour so he found some 200 men who thought of him as a living God to work the land. These poor slobs were given the privilege of being dubbed “saints”, while living in separate houses from their wives (and even they were the ones who Prince had passed on).
Prince told the faithful that he was immortal and with a lifestyle like his, he surely must have wanted to believe it, but, alas, one day he dropped dead. Rather than coming to the conclusion that they had been victims of a long and humiliating con, his supporters stuck together and a successor to prince, John Hugh Smyth-Piggott, was crowned.
The new messiah may not have had Prince’s religious roots, but he was every bit the horn-dog. Smyth-Pigott, who a historian remarked was “If not a sexual maniac, at least a man obsessed with sex in his daily life,” died in 1927, and the House that Love Built closed its doors shortly thereafter.