(This has been posted before but I am creating a post with all three parts in one so that I can provide a link to my entire story in my sig.)

I don't think it would be good for me to tell my whole story all in one sitting. Too overwhelming for me. Been there done that. So I thought I'd start with the first episode and go forward from there when I feel ready.

I was a little boy maybe five or six and was at a downtown bus station with my mother. I went into the restroom and had just got situated on the toilet when I noticed a golf ball size hole in the stall partition. I also noticed a man's eye on the other side of it. When the man peering at me on the other side saw that i noticed he stood up and stuck his penis through the hole.

I was scared and didn't understand this. What was I supposed to do? Why was he doing this? I ran out and, since I still needed to use a bathroom I ran into the women's restroom. I remember feeling like everything was wrong. I didn't belong in the women's restroom. A lady asked me why I wasn't in the men's restroom and I didn't know what to tell her.

This story is, in a way repeated later on. Only the hole in the partition becomes my butt hole and the ladies restroom that i go to for safety becomes support groups for survivors where i am the only male in attendance. It's hard to be a male survivor because you already feel like you have been femalized and then to go to support groups and be the only male just re-enforces that feeling.

And they tell you " You're not alone." but you still feel alone because you are different; you are a male. This is why I am so glad i found this website. It's the first support group (of sorts) i have found that doesn't make me feel like i'm back in that ladies restroom. I mean, nothing against women; they can be supportive too, but to hear from other males who have been through what i have is more relief than i can express.

Part two

OK. I'm expecting this to pretty much be the easy part..it's part three i'm mostly worried about triggering myself with. This stuff has fortunately been worked through pretty well with a very good therapist i had about fifteen years ago.

I only have vague bits and pieces of this in my mind since i repressed a lot. When i first started regaining these memories my first memory was actually not of the abuse it's self but of a feeling i had when i was eleven or twelve. I remember the feeling of not knowing how to act. Feeling afraid of not acting normal for fear of someone getting suspicious, yet at the same time not feeling normal and not feeling like i was up to the job of acting normal. This was my first clue that something had happened to me.

Then i started getting tiny flashes of things like crying and squeezing my pillow tightly in my hands and someone saying to me "Just relax."
My mother was sick and was either in a hospital or in a nursing home..she had a lung condition and i was in a foster home.

There was a teenager living there with me and i recall being fascinated by his model cars. I wanted to put one together myself but didn't have the money to buy one and i just remember that at some point i did have the money to buy one but that there was some horrible secret associated with that. Something that soured the whole thing for me and i remember that after i got it i never bothered to even begin to put it together.

I remember a penis in my face. I remember running down the spiral metal stairs to the bathroom afraid i was about to poop and getting there and straining and nothing being there to poop.

I remember being terrified of my foster mother coming home before something was over that i was ashamed of more than i could bear.
I remember someone rolling me over on the bed and telling me that my penis being stiff meant that i liked it.

The funny thing is that my memory of this teen i was living with for i don't know how long is fuzzier than all the other memories and i have few memories at all about that whole period of time that i was living with him.

I remember being in school and thinking about how people would react if they knew i was a homosexual and feeling angry at myself, the world and trying to force myself to figure out a way to kill myself.

Then came the basketball memory. I walked with him to the Jr. high school down the road "to shoot some hoop". We got there and there was another teen there waiting. He and the other kid walked right past the court and back behind the school and i trustingly followed, asking where they were going. They grabbed my coat and lifted it up over my head and pushed me down on the ground. They took turns on me.
OK i'm done. This isn't so easy after all. I'm staring to dissociate again and i keep fading out. That's really pretty much all of it anyway.

Part three

Last chapter...and the worst. Four years ago I was living with a friend in a supposedly very safe neighborhood. My friend never locked the door and I didn't foresee any problem with that. One day I woke up from a nap sometime in the afternoon and thought I heard footsteps.

As I opened the door to the bedroom, suddenly there was a gun in my face and some black guy screaming at me to turn around. I was a good victim and was doing as I was told before I was able to get anything but the most fleeting glimpse of my attacker.

He yelled at me to lie down on the bed on my stomach and put my face into the pillow and told me if he saw my eyes again, he they would be scraping me off the walls. Of course I complied.

By the sounds I could hear what he was doing. He took the fifty that was in my wallet and then he picked up the footlong flashlight I had on the dresser..( I had a job dilivering pizas and needed it to see address numbers at night) and he came over and pulled my drawers down and tried to shove it up my ass, but it wouldn't go in dry, so he went to the bathroom and got some shampoo.

So he fucked me with the flashlight and not gently, but as violently as he could. I screamed into the pillow and he said "Shut up, faggot, you know you like it."

That went on for a couple eternities and then he left me lying there with the flashlight up my ass as he left and I lay there afraid to move for ten or fifteen minutes. Then it was another twenty minutes,..maybe half an hour before I ventured back out of my room and called the cops.

A cop came and took my report and he and his partner went about the neighborhood asking the neighbors if they had seen anything.
No one had.

My friend later kicked me out because he had some half-baked blame-the-victim theory that because I had recently "come out" to him about being bi and the perp had called me "faggot" he came to some conclusion that I had pissed someone off and been targeted by him.

Yeah. He was real supportive. Then there was my other friend who called some days later and could tell something had happened and asked what was wrong. I told him and he said something about how that would never happen to him because he wouldn't have allowed it. I asked him if he would have chose to get shot and he insisted that I wouldn't have got shot had I resisted as he would have.

He's still my friend, but I don't think I'll ever completely forgive him for that crap. Now he wonders why I never talk to him about what's going on when I'm upset. As for that friend I had been living with who kicked me out for getting raped, that was the end of that friendship, though I strongly suspect it was on it's way out since the day I came out to him anyway.

He claimed to be gay friendly, but it was obvious to me he had major homophobia going on. I really don't know why I even told him. I guess it was that or keep it a secret like it's something to be ashamed of and I don't like doing that.

There was a person of interest in the local news recently who might have been the guy, based on his appearance and his crimes, but just as well might not have been. I am coming to accept the fact that I will never be able to say with any certainty that anyone is or isn't my perp, so there is no hope of ever feeling like he is locked up and that I am safe.

Well that's it. Hope it didn't trigger you as much as it did me.

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