Man Raped: No-One Believed Him!

Male Victim of Sexual Assault not Believed


Compassionate Help For Male Victims of Sex Crime

A male rape victim has kindly agreed to share his story with you. It is important because the general community is shockingly unaware of just how many males are victims of rape and sexual assault, and very few people realize how immense their agony is. Sadly, it is a vicious cycle: the conspiracy of silence drives still others to wrongly think they should cower in shame and so they clam up as well. The resulting isolation is as torturous and unnatural as solitary confinement and it fires unfounded but crippling feelings of humiliation and defeat.

His rapists’ criminal behavior was appalling but I regard his parents’ reaction as still more heinous and damaging. To be reeling in physical and emotional pain because of the callousness of strangers is harrowing but to be not believed and, in fact, blamed for the atrocity, escalates one’s isolation and agony to a whole new level.

Everyone should be able to expect support and loyalty from one’s family and if, at the very time one most needs it, they are heartless and falsely accuse, it is natural to completely shut down and isolate oneself even further, mistakenly expecting other people to be even more cold-hearted. Emotionally, this is the equivalent of being rendered too scared to seek medical treatment, causing the wounds to become alarmingly infected.

Like having your leg chopped off, sexual assault might be over in as little as a few moments but no matter how gallantly you try to act as if it never happened, it can leave you crippled for the rest of your life. The good news is that healing is possible, but imagining you can recover from sexual trauma by burying the problem is as ridiculous as refusing medical help in the belief that keeping a stiff upper lip will cure one’s cancer.

Everyone who has suffered the horror and humiliation of sexual assault deserves to be believed. Not only that, trying to heal without the assurance that someone, somewhere cares and believes you, is on par with someone in solitary confinement trying to survive a ruptured appendix by operating on himself.

The man whose story appears below is comforted by the fact that he has a good wife. Tragically, however, his experience with heartless, skeptical parents has so crushed his faith in people that it has kept him from sharing with her the secret that daily torments him. I explained that one of the negatives of the cowardly act of hiding the truth from her is that he can never feel loved. He knows only that she loves the man he pretends to be and staggers through life continually haunted by the probably groundless fear that she would find the real man unlovable. Moreover, he is continually cheating her of the right to prove that she really is a woman of integrity and compassion.

Nevertheless, it remains a sad fact of life that some people are not worthy of our trust. To share our secrets with some would be as rash as giving a gun to a crazed enemy. My hope is that, while protecting himself by not revealing that it applies to him, he starts asking her general questions, such as how she would feel if her son had suffered as he had and how she would handle it. Through such means he should gain a fairly accurate view of how she would react if he told her and how worthy she is to know his secret. Regardless of our loved ones’ worthiness, however, each of us deserves to be able to confide in someone and find full acceptance. We have this in God – and in anyone who is even remotely like him.

If, like this man, you would like to break the pain of isolation by privately sharing with me, my email address is at the end of this webpage. Your confidentiality is assured.

Now for his account. I warn that it is rather graphic. If you find it triggering, just skip to The Next Step, near the end of the page.

By Grantley Morris

* * *

I was a 16 year old boy in a prominent family, One morning, while driving around, showing off my car, I picked up a hitchhiker I had seen before and took him to his place. I was invited to stay for some beer. We drank and he suggested we take his boat out and do some fishing. It rained. We returned to his house, soaking wet. He said we should get our wet clothes off. So we did, still drinking and trying to get warm. I was only in my underwear. I was small for my age; skinny, shy and respectful. Another man stopped by and I felt even more uncomfortable than I was already. We all drank and played cards. I was way out of my comfort zone and getting scared. I started to feel weird, fuzzy and weak.

After making comments on my thin, lanky body, one of them said, “We are going to %&#@! you. They stood laughing.

“No!” I retorted, and tried to get up and leave.

One of them grabbed me, threw me on the table and pulled off my underwear. He spread my butt cheeks and pushed himself into me, raping me violently. I yelled in pain. He just laughed and kept going harder than ever.

Then the other guy pulled me off the table and dragged me to a room. He tossed me on a bed and got on me, putting my legs in the air. He entered into me. He was even larger than the other guy. I was in so much pain, I could hardly breathe and he seemed to go on and on forever. When he finally finished, my legs were so shaky I could barely walk.

Next I had to stand in front of them with bodily fluids leaking out. They forced me to drink and take pills and play with myself and with each of them, with my hands and mouth. I nearly choked on them.

I was so scared and so drunk that I must have passed out. When I awoke, I was wearing a bra and heels. They had a camera set up and told me that if I wanted to live I must act like a woman and love what I was getting. I had to make noises, beg for more and get into painful positions. One of them was so big and I was hurting so much.

They laughed at me and called me a whore and a slut. Then both of them sexually assaulted me at the same time. Next they put food inside me – big cucumbers and smoked sausages – making me beg for more and for their assaults to be harder and harder . I had to change into different types of women’s clothes: panties. a small dress, a bathing suit. They each kept taking their turn, tossing me around like a rag doll, laughing at me, calling me names and making me act like a woman. I thought I was going to die.

The next morning, hung over and so sore that I could hardly move, they made me watch the video of me they had made. Then I had to put on high heels and a dress and was again raped by each of them. I felt as if they were trying to split me into pieces; holding my legs so far apart and raping me so hard that even today my mind still keeps replaying the sound. Bang, bang, bang, bang.

After making clear that I would die if I told anyone, they let me go.

I did tell. And no one believed me. Feeling ashamed and dirty, my butt sore and ripped, I told my mother. She instantly gasped, “No!” in denial. I gave her details. She told my step dad and he retorted that I asked for it. I was looking for attention, he claimed. I deserved it because of how I dressed. Even after going to a doctor for the bleeding and torn skin, all I received was accusations. They were moneyed people; more concerned about their reputation than me. To choose to believe something criminal had occurred would have obligated them to do something about it. That might affect their reputation.

These events have remained fresh in my mind, affecting me daily for 29 years. I’m 45 now.

* * *

The Next Step

Below, are links to more webpages for males who have suffered sexually. You might want to save the web address to this page so that you can return to this list of links later. This is because I am about to mention other webpages you might also want to visit and it is easy to get lost and lose the location of this page.

As mentioned, it is most important to one’s healing to be able to unburden oneself to someone compassionate, but one can be torturously kept from this by the fear of being misunderstood or even condemned by whoever one tells. If you wish, you can pour out your heart to me in a confidential e-mail. I offer further help, however.

Compounding one’s fear of being condemned by anyone one opens up to are two deeply disturbing things:

    1. Even when one detests it, experiencing a degree of pleasure is normal and unavoidable unless being sexually stimulated against one’s will is particularly brutal or terrifying.

      Suffering this unsought pleasure can be more conflicting and damaging than being tortured and it typically floods the victim with false guilt that can devastate the victim for decades.

      For help with this, see The Dilemma of Feeling Pleasure When Abused (Includes discussion of mother-son abuse.)

    2. Although as a coping mechanism victims do their best to convince themselves that what they have suffered is minor, the devastating aftermath of being sexually abused is so off the scale that trying to live with it can drive many to do things to themselves or to even to others that they are deeply ashamed of and give them still more reason to be terrified of admitting their real situation to anyone.

More Stories From Sexually Abused Males

Much More About Healing From Sexual Abuse

Personalized support
Grantley Morris:

© 2016, Grantley Morris. May be freely copied in whole or in part provided: it is not altered; this entire paragraph is included; readers are not charged and it is not used in a webpage. Many more compassionate, inspiring, sometimes hilarious writings available free online at  Freely you have received, freely give. For use outside these limits, consult the author.

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