Well; all I can say that as a 51 year old "heterosexual male"; who has nothing to hide I'd say most men would either feel too much shame, guilt, or even possibly pride to admit that he himself was raped by men or a woman.
Rape instills an unspeakable stigma for a lifetime in ("any person") afflicted by such an inhumane callous act. Before I met my beautiful compassionate beloved wife in 1990, I myself a young 23 year old male back in the summer of August of 1979 was Gang-Raped and tortured at Gunpoint by two and a women.
("The Day I Lost My Soul")
If you feel emotionally weak, perhaps it would be best you opted not to read what I'm about to write herein. The early morning five hours of Saturday August 25th, 1979 was the day I lost my heart, soul, 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 thirty years has caused me heart-wrenching pain, guilt and utter shame for 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; admittedly, I am an emotional and sensitive man. Saturday 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 date and grow to genuinely love and call my sweetheart. I went out alone in “late” in the evening on Friday, August 24, 1979 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 young sexy woman on the dance floor. Seemed like the normal thing to do being a young heterosexual male. 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 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 motel 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 entered the motel room and joined in the small party. They also carried in two large hockey type duffel bags with them. Sometime 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 and a half 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 down 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 with a gun to my head the female assailant sodomized me with a hot curling iron. After the assault was over and my assailants left, I swiftly got dressed, and 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 painful lesion whip marks on my back and bloody flesh burns and traumatic bruising 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 were 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 or speaking 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 you’re 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 thoroughly 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 breakdown 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 behaviours that ("do") indeed subsist among ("certain") shrinks and medical professionals. It's been one long hell ride since my recovery began five years ago. I’ve seen a number of psychiatrist’s and psychologist’s who are to some degree helping me sort through my painful stigma; bearing in mind though that there are extremely limited resources for any male rape victim. Recovery has been “very slow“, but thankfully I'm still here.
Note: If it had not been for my beloved wife today I would not have survived this. I owe all of who I am too my wife and much much more.