*** Trigger Warning*** (Explicit)

Let me preface this by saying that I have posted part of this story before. But there is quite a bit I left out the first time, because there's a lot that I didn't want to admit to, and I lot I didn't want to remember. Some things I remember clearly, other stuff is sketchy at best. I have found myself disgraced, embarrassed, and questioning my own manhood over this. But I know that I have to let go of this so that it will no longer hold me captive. I didn't see that before but I see it now. I haven't seen a therapist yet, and I know now that I need one. I'm working on that, but in the meantime this is a kind of dry run. I also need someone to understand, and I guess you guys are it. Here goes.

I was raped when I was 11 years old. Twice. I was also raped at 21. The 21 year old will be difficult for me to deal with, so I want to deal with the 11 year old first.

One day at the end of March I went over to my friend's house, after school in the afternoon. I was 11. As always, I knocked on the door to see if he wanted to come out. It was a decent day, as I remember, and all of us in the neighborhood spent a lot of time outside no matter what the weather. His older brother answered the door. I asked if Bob (my friend) were home, and his brother said he was. He invited me in, and said Bob was upstairs. He directed me to go up, and I did, and he followed behind. I thought nothing of it.

When I got to the top of the stairs he was right behind. I saw no one in Bob's room, but his brother said, "There he is!" and pointed to his own room (I think it was his). I went to look, and when I did, he shoved me in the room and shut the door. Turns out that my friend wasn't home, and neither was anyone else. I was alone with this guy, in a locked room. He was probably 16 or so, and a lot stronger than I was. But I was always ready for a fight if one came my way. I had no fear of that. Whatever he wanted I would see to it that I would not yield easily.

That was useless. He grabbed my legs (I distinctly remember that) and had me on the floor in seconds. Still I didn't know what he wanted. At 11, I guess I was still on the ignorant side. Before I knew it my jacket was off, and he was grabbing at my waistline. What the hell? I don't think I said much - don't remember - just resisted as best I could. I wriggled, wrestled, pushed, punched, knocked his glasses off (which made him angry, I think), but to no avail. My pants came down. I think I must have thought that he was going to steal them and send me outside without them. That would have been much better than what happened.

He turned me over on my stomach. I forget exactly how he held me there but I remember being kind of immobile. He undid his belt and unzipped his pants. I was uncomfortable, but still I didn't get it. But when I felt his push between my ass cheeks I knew. Something was terribly wrong with this. I resisted, I squeezed, I tried, and yes, I secretly cried (I guess I wasnít the tough kid I thought I was) but he had me. It hurt like hell. I don't think it lasted long, but it seemed like forever. I didn't want to think about it. I didn't bleed or anything, thank god.

I don't remember a lot afterwards. When he was finished, he told me not to tell anyone. I don't remember what reaction I had to that. I donít remember how I left there. I only remember riding my bike home after, and I was shaking so hard I thought the whole bike would fall over with me on it. And when I got home, still shaking, I kept thinking that my mother would know what happened just by looking at me. She didn't know, of course, but I know I went directly to my room, and said nothing. I didn't want anyone to look at me, for fear they'd guess my god-awful secret. If they didn't guess it (and they didn't), I would never tell. I felt like what I just did could not ever be forgiven, and I would burn in the pits of hell, like those Catholic nuns said I would. I'd just try my best to forget it. I'd face hell at a later date, I guess.

I might have gotten over that. I don't know. But I got it again six weeks later, from the same guy, in a different circumstance. And this time I was stupid.

We had a game that was a lot like tag that we played in a huge field with tall grass, and some tall shrubs. One person was ďitĒ. That person tagged another, and they both became ďitĒ. They tagged others, etc., and the last one who was not it won the game.

A number of us from the neighborhood got together to play. I guess we played a round or two, and who should come along but my perp, Bobís older brother. He wanted to join and volunteered to be ďit.Ē I also think he said he would give us a long count to get away and hide, as he was older and faster than we were. Not sure. Right there I should have known enough to leave. I should have said I had something I had to do. But instead, like a dumb ass, I stayed and played. Stupid. Anyway, we went in all directionsÖ and I went into some shrubs, through thickets into as obscure an area as I could find. He knew pretty much where I went, for a short time later there he was, behind me. He didnít tag me, he tackled me, as he had before, and I knew what I was in for. I should have yelled or something, and maybe I did, but I know I was pretty horrified that he was going to rape me again. It just couldnít be. I know I struggled, and fought, but again was no match. He got my pants down and all the while he was talking but I donít remember what he said. I knew it was going to hurt. I KNEW that. And it did. He forced himself into me again. And again I shed tearsÖ. unwillingly. I hated myself for that. When he was finished, I think I pulled my pants up straightaway and I donít know how that game progressed after that. I think I made excuses to leave, but it was too late. The damage was done.

After that I avoided him totally. As a consequence I also lost a friend, since I wouldnít go back to his house anymore. And I spoke to no one about it. That would have been macho suicide, admitting to guilt, participation, depraved behavior, and all that, and I got into enough trouble in other ways as it was. This was the beginning of my shut-up-and suck-it-up mentality, my macho attitude, my detachment. I was always one of the neighborhood guys, but I felt a lot different after that. And, fool that I was, I thought I could get away with hiding it forever.

I have tried hard to forgive that 11 year old kid. I actually cried about him. Tough for a guy like me. All he wanted to do was climb trees, play ball, ride bikes, maybe work on his slingshot. But he participated in something he knew was wrong, very wrong, and he even did it a second time. And he should have said something. There and then. He might have been scared that no one would believe him. But it might have stopped the assault from happening again. As it was, he found that there are some things that real men, and real men-in-the-making, never spoke about. Pretty foolish.

Fast forwardÖÖ ten years later. A 21 year-old young man. Reasonably handsome, athletic guy, who didnít quite know what he wanted to do with his lifeÖ. And the memories of what happened at 11 were dormant. He made sure of that.

This is more difficult to deal with. Itís the same, but it isnít. I am trying move along in recovery by admitting that this happened. In its entirety. Much of it I remember, but I know there are some things that are cloudy, and still other things I canít recall. I have buried this for a long time, but I canít anymore. I didnít know it then, how it would come back at me, but I know it now. I hate to think of myself as part of this, but I have no choice. Itís my story, and Iím not proud of it. Please try to understand.

I have to preface this by stating that I was probably not the most innocent of guys as a teenager. I was a user Ė not of drugs, but of girls. I was responsible for a number of boyfriend-girlfriend breakups. I made many empty promises just to get a night in the sack. I used my popularity and my status as an athlete to get what I wanted, and now I can call myself what I was Ė a dumb jock. I am ashamed of it now. I was inconsiderate and heartless, and selfish. And in ways I think the story that follows was a payback for the shit I did. I donít know. Maybe others can see a different side. If it was a payback, then I am paying, for sure. But itís pretty harsh. God forgive me for this.

I was 21; it was summer, and I was working as a lifeguard, as I did for a number of summers. Some of us decided to get together one Sunday night at a bar. I arrived there a bit early, or maybe the others were late. I donít remember. I went in, and got a beer from the bar. I noticed that there was a young lady, maybe 24 or so (older than I was I thought), at the end of the bar, by herself it seemed, and she was decent looking. So in order to kill time, I thought I would make some time with her, although I never expected anything to come of it.

I donít remember a lot of that conversation, but I remember being a flirt and her flirting right back. I think she mentioned that she had just broken up with her boyfriend, and was lonely. Something like that. I think I gave her the same kind of bullshit line (not sure), and since I was by myself at that point maybe she believed me. It wasnít a terribly long conversation, as I remember. Her name was Tina, Nina, Dina, whatever. Well, one thing led to another. She was alone and would I like to keep her company for an hour or so?.... Her place wasnít far away. All the while with her hand on my thigh and midsection. She felt the rise in my jeans and appeared anxious. So was I.

Off we went. I remember little of how we got there. We went to what I thought was her apartment. Later I realized it may not have been hers. Without delay she took me directly to the bedroom where she undressed me. She also stripped to her panties. As we got comfortable, the door to the bedroom opened, and four guys came in. I had never seen them before. I remember thinking that this had to be her boyfriend, and I thought he and his buddies would want to beat the shit out of me. Being a fighter by nature, I tried to ready myself for it, buck naked as I was. But everything happened so fast. She grabbed her clothes and left the room. I never saw her again. These guys immediately attacked, and wrestled me into a face-into-the-sheets/blanket position, arms twisted behind me, kneed in the balls, ass in the air. Very little was said, until one guy pulled out a knife, I guess he was a kind of leader, and he made sure I saw it. He saidÖ. do as youĎre told. Dumb shit that I was, I still didnít know what they wanted. Until one of them made comments about my ass. Tight. Fuzzy. Sweet. Man-bitch, they called me. Over and over. Thatís when I knew. And I was locked there. No way out.

I kept my eyes shut for a lot of the time. I remember tensing my body so completely they had a hard time moving me around, and entering me. My fists were clenched even though they were twisted behind my back and being shoved into my shoulder blades. I clenched my teeth and I think I even tried to hold my breath at one point. I refused to cry. Not like that 11 year-old kid did. Hell, no. No tears. I would not beg for mercy, or plead with them to stop. No way. That would have shown weakness. I was too fucking stubborn. Too macho I was. And too stupid. But I know at least two hot tears oozed out. I wiped my head in the sheets so they wouldnít see. I donít think they did.

I refused to say anything, except what they made me say. The first one started and I refused to cry out. So fucking painful. PAIN. Take it, man-bitch. PAIN. A lot of pain. I didnít want to be there. The knife appeared again, and I was told what to say. Say it. Fuck me hard. Say it. And I did. But only twice, I think. Maybe three, I donít know. They wanted me to keep saying it but I wouldnít. I just stopped. One small battle I won. When the first guy finished the second one started. I still didnít say anything and I think that got them annoyed, so they got pretty brutal, and pounded the fuck out of me. They wanted me to hurt. And I did hurt, but I would be damned if I would let them know it.

At some point one of them wanted me to suck dick, and I wouldnít do that. If any of them had forced that issue I know I would have bitten it off. And maybe Iíd be dead, but better that than live with more degradation and no dignity. Being dead couldnít be worse than this was. So instead they used my head like an unhatched egg. Two of them (I think it was two) took turns and sat on my head, rolled around, while one rode me like a fucking bronco, in their words. To add to my indignity, I had a hard-on, and they noticed with their sick comments.

This is god awful. I canít say to you how much remorse I feel over this. Makes me sick. Even as I reread it.

They continued, brutal. Like it, donít you, man-bitch. Up your hairy fucking hole. One after the other; when one finished the next one started. Five or six times, Iím not sure. At one point I was trying not to think about any of it, and if they were going to kill me then I was hoping it would be over quick. I tried to block it out. Go ahead, kill me now. Maybe thatís what they had planned. Just do it and get it over. End it. I had a fleeting thought of that. So I tried to pretend I wasnít there.

But I was there. For me to admit this even happened is shameful. Dear God. I am so sorry for this. I feel like a jerk.

Finally, after their sick fun and their comments, they let me up. The guy with the knife told me to get my clothes and get the fuck out in 10 seconds or heíd use the knife. I didnít look at him or any of them because if I did I would have fought. Hard. It was the only thing I knew how to do. My rage would have dictated my actions. Looking back I think I should have fought when they let me up, and I shit on myself for not having done exactly that. I might have been injured, or worse, killed, and it would have meant police involvement, a different crime. If that happened then these guys would never have done that again. To anybody. And I might have prevented it. I could have been somebodyís hero, right in that split second, and actually turned this into something at least a little positive. But no. I grabbed my clothes, somehow awkwardly got into them (I donít remember) and left. So in addition to being somebodyís man-bitch, I was a coward. Never in my life had I ever walked away from a fight. This has been a burning issue with me for a long time. I could have stopped them from doing this to somebody else. Iíd be devastated if I knew these guys did this again, and they probably did. I could have taken being stabbed with a knife a lot more easily than being sexually assaulted like I was and then having to live with the fact that someone else might have been brutally manhandled after me. Guilt, big time. I guess that comes with the territory.

So when it was over I was tossed out. Kicked to the curb, like so much trash.

I never said anything to anybody. Couldnít. A lot of my friends were all unemotional, macho type jocks, as I was, and there are some things that ďreal menĒ never spoke about. This was one. I didnít think anyone would believe me, and it just wouldnít be worth the trouble it would rake up. I just pretended thereafter that it didnít happen. I thought I got away with being able to bury it. Those four bastards banked on the fact that I would shut my mouth, and they were right.

Was this payback for all the dumb ass shit I did? Iíve thought about it, and I donít know. Thatís another issue Iíll deal with elsewhere.

So here I am, in the present day, years later. Married. Three nice kids (we had a fourth but he died some years years ago). Good job. Accomplished athlete. Marathon runnerÖ.Hawaiian Ironman triathleteÖ..Empire State Games gold medalistÖ.. community EMS volunteerÖ.coachÖ decent lifestyle Ö and a woman who loves me for some reason I canít quite figure outÖ. All overshadowed, brought down by the fact that I was fucking raped. I think Iíve tried for much of my life to make up for what I did. In my own mind I was never as good as anyone else because I had a shortcoming, so I tried to work harder. Longer. Prove to myself that I could still be somebody. Maybe make up for the fact that I could have been somebodyís hero, once. But Iíve also been a supreme ditzbrain, and emotionally detached. These assaults have made me look at my entire life again, and I canít make a lot of sense out of this. Thereís so much I donít understand.

This is the first time Iíve told the full story. Itís scary. I donít have a therapist yet, although I am trying to get the courage to do that. And my wifeÖ. How could I tell her? This is not the kind of pain I want to cause for her. Ever. She means too much. And as for you who read thisÖ..maybe you can learn. I hope so. This has been a kind of confession for me, and I feel I need to be forgiven. Itís been rocking my ass for a long time. I was sure I could bury it, and I kept trying, but it would come back to me, in waves, stronger than the one before, but once again, stupid. Dumb shit that I have been I just didnít realize that I should have said something, done something. Acted. I am learning, however, from my mistakes. I want to try to take care of this. I am not that dumb shit I was. No way. I am going to move ahead. No matter how deep the pit that Iíve fallen into, I must. Of that much I am certain. Just not sure how, yet.

Part of me died when all this happened. I want my body back, my heart back, my soul back. And I will get them all back. I will. I know all this is in the past, and I want it to stay there. I donít want to carry this stuff around every day anymore, the way Iíve been. I feel better for having released it (itís taken me a long while to write this), but please accept my apology. It may sound stupid but I feel as though I need some sort of forgiveness. I donít want anyone to hurt from reading this Ė or to hurt like I did.