What I am about to talk about here might cause (Triggers) in some.
If you feel emotionally weak, perhaps it would be best you opted not to read what I'm about to write herein. Friday August 25th, 1979 was the day I lost my heart and virginity...if you can call it that. Perhaps it was not my virginity but more aptly my manhood that was forcefully robbed and stolen from me. Being a heterosexual man, and living with an unspeakable affliction for the last twenty-nine years has caused me heart-wrenching pain, guilt and utter shame for almost three decades.
Through all those years I have always questioned what part of my manhood still remained intact. I'm not the effeminate type, but; admittingly, I am an emotional and sensitive man. On Friday August 25th, 1979 could have been like any other normal day. Immature at the age of twenty-three, still a virgin looking for a girlfriend to love and call my sweetheart. I went out alone in the evening to a popular downtown dance club bar. So what the hell does a young horny 23 year single man do at a night club ? Drink copious amounts of beer and watch the young sexy woman gyrate their asses on the dance floor. Seemed like the normal thing to do for me. During the course of the evening I ran into two out of town gentlemen and struck up some casual conversation. We mingled around the club on our own. It was shortly after mid-night when caught up with the two guys again. By this time I could feel those beers going down pretty good. I'd say I was a little better than half drunk by then. The two guys told me that they were staying at local motel until they could they could secure permanent residence in the city.
They also told me that they were having a party in their motel room with lots of cold beer stocked in the fridge, with two men and a woman coming over to celebrate. Being naive, stupid, and half in the bag I accepted their invitation, grabbed a cab and joined them in their soiree. After entering the hotel room and sitting in a comfortable chair I must have chugged another four or five beer. I was quite drunk by then. Approximately forty-five minutes later two men and women enter the motel room and joined in the small party. They also carried in two large hockey type duffel bags with them. Some time later I could vaguely remember an argument ensuing between the two men who invited me and the other two men and the woman who arrived. Un-be-knowest to me; I wouldn't find out until a week later that the argument was about a drug deal that had gone sour.
The next thing I remember is was two men opening their duffel bags and two sawed-off shotguns and a handgun which was wielded in front of my face including the two guys who invited me to their motel room. What took place next is something that brings a lot of painful memories even to this very day.
The three of us men were forced to remove every stitch of our clothing and instructed to get on all fours. We were told if we made any sound we would be shot dead on the spot.
For the next five hours they took turns sodomizing and brutally beating us over and over again while the woman fondled our genitals, laughing and ridiculing us while taking turns holding the loaded barrel of the handgun in our mouths. I never thought five horrific demoralizing hours would be such an eternity.
And if that wasn't harrowing enough, because I was the only victim who refused to perform oral sex I was whipped with a electrical cord and later the woman sodomized me with a hot curling iron. After the assault was over and my assailants left, I swiftly got dressed, fled the scene walking around the city for three days in shock. Out of great fear and shame I didn't seek necessary medical care for the serious injuries I sustained with whip marks on my back and bloody flesh burns inside my rectum. I refused to tell anybody, not even my family.
I buried my damned cursed past inside my subconscious for twenty-three years. Nobody knew about it. Four weeks after the incident I found out that one of the male victims who was with me committed suicide a week after the rape. I would find out later that the other male victim who suffered by my side, wound up in a mental health care facility for two years.
It's very difficult for me writing about this, especially when every horrifying detail is like it happened yesterday.
I wish I could articulate the inexpressible painful feeling of being terribly disgraced, by making such a humiliating embarrassing reality so shamefully evident.
Very few people in this world, could fathom in body, mind, and spirit..."unless they too were victims of rape"...the mortifying reality of this reprehensible heinous crime and what it is to feel so exceedingly powerless and crushed in spirit.
My heart had been torn asunder, trampled on, and flushed down the sewer. I was left bloodied with the removed feeling of being a non-entity lost forever in a twilight zone, shattered in worthless pieces of pitiable emptiness. It's a dreadful lamenting feeling when your being degraded to less than that of an animal, ridiculed and mocked by death threats by two savage men and one heartless woman. Sometimes there are days when I think these inseparable haunting feelings will follow me to my dying day.
The only person in humanity who can throughly understand your victimization is another rape victim, who can justifiably say to another rape victim; "Yes"; I truly understand your great pain, for you see, I too wear the stigma and indelible scars of rape.
Twenty-three years later after my haunting past got the better on, and on January 3rd, 2003 suffering a major nervous break down I finally related my heart-wrenching past to medical health officials and my family. The first psychiatrist I saw didn't even believe my past. I'm not going to go into a long story speaking about my thoughts towards the apathetic and dispassionate behaviors that ("do") indeed subsists among "certain" shrinks and medical professionals. It's been one long hell ride since my recovery began five years ago. Today I'm now seeing a very empathetic and compassionate female psychologist who's helping me sort through my painful stigma. Recovery has been very slow, but thankfully I'm still here.
edited at request of the author