I'm sure this is going to a VERY long post... so much to cover.
I very much welcome PMs. I wish these were not locked topics for open discussion.

I was always curious - still am in most things. But in this case I am talking about sexually curious. In my adolesence I did play around a little bit with my friends. It was all very innocent kind of things. I think that is a lot more common place than most say.

I had sex with only two different women by the time I was a senior in college. I had always had a curiosity toward the 'gayer' side of things even though I was raised that this was a terrible, sinful wrong. It even went as far as my mom making statements like: "you can be anything you want in life, but if you were gay I would kill myself."

Online I set up a meeting with a gay man where he would get a hotel room and I could explore homosexuality.

***Triggers follow*** to skip details please scroll to where a say they end. The details are pretty explicit here - but I think needed to tell the story.

I met him, as dicussed. I immediately noticed that he was a good ten years older than he decribed. We had a little small talk first, while we laid on the bed. At some point he reached over and gently grabbed me through the crotch of my pants. I was already hard - I was very wound up thinking about it... wondering about it. When I didn't resist he began to rub me through my jeans. The details between now and when I said no are pretty unimportant and painful to recall. Most of which I do not specifically recall anyway.

Somewhere in there we both got naked. I know I spent most of the time receiving his attention. He tried kissing - immediately discovered kissing a stubbly guy was not my thing... and turned away. He tried several times - eventually gave up. At first it was rubbing, sucking - things that could be done with a woman. It turned into him jerking us both off. Then he turned his attention to my ass. I didn't know what he was trying to prepare me for. By this point I am positive that I was no longer curious if I was gay or not - I had figured out that I was not gay. I grew anxious to just get off and get out and move on with my life. I tried doing things to him - I wasn't into it at all though. I was more than happy to let him do plenty to me - up to a point.

When he moved from fingering and eating my ass to pushing my legs up and moving himself closer I said "no." He smiled and kept pushing forward. I said no and tried to squirm away. I know that I said no several times. He was very close, him against me, but not penetrating.

I was trying to squirm away - doing a pretty good job. He kept saying things like "you want it, you need it, this is what you came here for." At some point is put his forearmy against my neck and pushed my windpipe nearly closed. I could barely breathe at all.

What he did then was awful. It hurt - it felt wrong to me. I don't think it lasted long - but for all I know it did. I did nothing but laid there while he did his thing. Gasping for air. Wondering if I would die. But just... laid there. When he finished his thing - not pulling out to do so - he said to me "see, you loved it." I didn't feel it, but the evidence was all over my stomach and cheast and on him - somewhere in there I shot too. I don't recall it even happening.

I still just laid there. Terrified and ashamed. Eventually, again like before, moments or much longer I do not recall, he got up to use the bathroom. Quickly I grabbed my shorts and bolted for the door. He got there too and tried to hold it shut - I did pull it open and got out into the hallway and ran toward where I parked my car. I didn't check that I had wallet and keys until I was at my car. Thank god I did. I had left behind my hat, shirt, shoes, sunglasses and underwear.


That was how the incident went down for real. How I remember it and the story I believed was given to me very easily.

I pulled the car up to the house I lived in with several roommates. When I walked in the door one of my buddies said "if that isn't a walk of shame I don't know what one is." We worked at the bar together. He told everyone that I got laid with some unknown woman and came back wearing only shorts.

This became the legend that was me. I was a bartender that was known for a one-night stand... speculation about that event was abound and I just went with it. My position and repututation got me laid a bunch, I mean A LOT. All with women. By this time I fully understood a different history and story for the day I was raped.

I was social at work - but didn't develop friendships that mattered - outside of work I was very much isolated and recluse. I did date a few of the girls. I broke off relations after a date of two.

I then moved to another town that I got a professional job in. Now I had absolutely no friends. Somewhere during this time I went to the Internet and again, through curiosity, found another male hook-up. Things were kind of different this time. I was convinced it was just about getting off. I was pretty strict in my three rules: I only receive, no anal and no kissing. All of that was gay - and I was a hetero man that liked to get his rocks off. This was actually sort of true.

It is obvious now that I was putting myself into that same set of circumstances over and over and over. I can't count how many there were... atleast 40. I never had any testing - I was sure that I probably caught something - miraculously I have never had an STD.

I then joined the Army. It came and went in waves... there would be a bunch, then none for awhile, rinse and repeat.

I did this for YEARS. I can't count - but know I've had atleast 100 partners. All met online. All annonomous. At times I was finding a new hook-up everynight. It is really easy to find willing dudes online. Eventually I met my wife and I stopped. But it was still there. I still thought about dudes when I masturbated sometimes. I still wanted to have announomous sex with them.

Eventually my mental health sort of collapsed and I went inpatient for care. My therapist helped me figure out that, since there was so much guilt and shame and self-hatred attached to it all, that there must be some event or series of events that caused this... or maybe that fact that I insisted I wasn't gay was just not the case.

Eventually the onion was painfully peeled far enough away that that first encounter when I was raped was no longer hidden... and we hit on that memory very painfully hard.

It hurts so bad to think about. I have nightmares every night reliving it. My wife says I gasp for air in my sleep, wimper, say it hurts, scream, cry, say I'm scared, beg for help, say I can't breathe - I've even ejaculated during it all. I wake up sometimes remembering the dream, sometimes not. My sleep is so tortured that I am always tired. My wife and I haven't had sex since my doc helped me discover this. I do not get erections unless it's in my sleep or when I first wake up. My libido is gone. I feel very litterally crushed.

It's obvious now whey I became so active. I was very litterally placing myself in that same sort of circumstances over and over and over. I don't know if I was hoping someone would attempt to force me to break my rules to the place where I would either have to fight my way out or turn the tables and do it to them. Even if I thought there would be relief in either case - its obvious that my motivations were a fallacy... even if I made it through it would still have been another traumatic event.

I don't know what is next. I'm scared I'll relapse. I know now, more than ever, that even if part of me is gay - it is not a very big part and that I love my wife and will never stray. She and professionals are the only ones that no about these events... you, the reader do not count - since you have no idea who I am.

I want to heal. I want to stop being raped in my sleep. I want to be able to have sex with my wife again. I want to want sex. I want to stop hurting. I want to stop fantasizing that the rapist met an awful painful death. I want to stop hating. Although I am diagnosed bipolar and OCD and PTSD (from this), I want to feel in control of my own thoughts and emotions again. I want to find a local support group - even though there is none.

Thanks for your time. It did help to write this... as much as it hurt.