Hello, my name is Rick, and for almost my entire life (I’m 63), I’ve been suffering from repetition compulsion. I’d love to share my story of my alternate life in hell and how I escaped it. I am a survivor of an extremely aggressive and violent rape by an adult when I was 12 years old.
I was walking home in the rain one autumn evening, and it was already dark. I had about two miles to go. A man in a cool muscle car stopped and asked if I wanted a ride. It was a really cool car, and the guy seemed very friendly. He drove to a secluded area and stopped the car. He told me to look out my side window to see if I saw anyone over there. The next thing I experienced was him grabbing a fistful of my hair and slamming my head into the glass. He spun my head around to look at him, and I noticed his pants were open, and he had his erect penis in his other hand.
He told me to do as he told me, and he wouldn’t hurt me. He was in his 30s and big. He told me very sternly to open my mouth and pulled my head over to his penis. He shoved it into my mouth and pressed my head by my hair really hard onto it. It was big and was only about a third of the way in when it hit the back of my throat and couldn’t go any farther. He became very angry and pushed my head even harder onto his penis and was yelling at me to swallow. I was choking and gagging and having a hard time breathing, but he yelled again for me to swallow and continued to forcefully push my head onto his penis.
I frantically started to swallow, and immediately the rest of his penis slid down my throat. He started to forcibly pull my head up, then push it down repeatedly, and all I could feel was that thing sliding in and out of my throat. It felt as if my neck was expanding. I could not breathe at all, and I started to feel like I was going to pass out and began to really struggle against him. He pulled my head off of his penis, and I frantically tried to get as much air as I could. After about four deep breaths, he put me back on it and yelled at me to swallow. This cycled five times.
The last time, he was making my head move quicker and with more force. He started groaning and finally pushed my head so tightly against his pelvis that my nose and lips hurt from the pressure against his pubic bone. He held my head there so firmly, and I could feel him thrust his hips into my face, and he let out a very loud groan. He held me there for what seemed like a lifetime, then finally shook my head around a little. He seemed at this time to be totally relaxed. Then, very slowly, he pulled my head off of his penis and, while doing so, squeezed the last of his semen into my mouth. I was too busy trying to catch my breath.
Still holding me by the hair, he turned my head and told me that if I ever told anyone, he would kill me. He pushed my head over to the passenger side door, leaned over, opened the door, and threw me out on the wet street. He closed the door and took off. I had an even farther walk home now. I didn’t know what to do. I was so confused and felt so shameful. I could never bear to have anyone find out what happened. It was the most shameful thing I’ve ever experienced.
As time passed, I never really thought about it much until I was a senior in high school. I worked at a burger joint and attended school. I was getting into trouble a lot and wasn’t getting good grades. My dad grounded me for weeks at a time. I was under a lot of stress. For some reason, I felt like I needed to have this happen to me again. I would walk home in the evenings from work but not go straight home. I would walk the streets in hopes of having this happen to me again. The urge was so intense that it would be on my mind constantly.
One night, it happened again, only not violent or aggressive. The man pulled down his pants and gently guided my head towards his penis. I asked him if he would grab a fistful of hair and move my head as he liked on his penis. He pushed my head down until it hit the back of my throat, then seemed to not want it to go further. I grabbed the back of his legs and pulled my head all the way down his penis, and he got the message. The end was the same as he held my head firmly against his crotch until he finished. He was not as big as the first, and when he finished, some of his semen shot out my nostrils. When I got off of him, I had semen dangling from my nose, so I wiped it off with my hand and put it in my mouth.
The next time I got this intense urge was a few years later. I was 20 and moved to another state with a friend of my cousin. We went there to find work. We suspected that this friend was gay, but he never made any attempt to try anything. This was the first time I was away from home, family, and friends. I was having trouble getting a job. My stress was through the roof. Then the thoughts started, never ceasing and spiraling out of control.
That night, while he was asleep on the couch (I slept on the floor), I cautiously undid his zipper and carefully pulled out his penis. I began to suck on it until it got hard enough to slide down my throat. I went up and down to the hilt but very slowly and carefully because I did not want to wake him. I could tell that he was beginning to orgasm as I could feel and taste his semen spewing. I wanted it all, but I didn’t want to get caught. As soon as I was getting it out of my mouth, he started waking up quickly. He shot semen on my face and hair, and I quickly laid down and pretended I was asleep. He knew I wasn’t and laid beside me, thanking me and wanting to talk about it. The next day, I moved out.
I ended up moving back home and getting back with a former girlfriend. This changed my life. I ended up marrying her, and never had stress so bad that it brought up those thoughts and urges. I joined the military, and we moved to my new assignment. About a year later, my wife had an extremely bad bipolar episode where she needed to be hospitalized for quite a long period of time. We admitted her in a hospital in our hometown, and I applied for a compassionate reassignment. In the meantime, I was making visits almost every weekend across two states to see her. She wasn’t getting better by much, and I was still waiting on reassignment orders.
I was under a ton of stress again, and the thoughts and urges were overwhelming. I wasn’t a kid anymore, so walking the streets was out. All I could think of was the man who owned the burger joint I used to work at was a known gay man. I got drunk and looked him up in the phone book. I called him and asked if he remembered me, and he did. I had long curly blonde hair and blue eyes. I told him what I wanted him to do to me, and he invited me over. This was the first time that this happened since I was married and was the last time until after Desert Storm.
I’m a retired Army combat veteran of multiple deployments in a combat arms specialty. After I got back from Desert Storm, it all started in a public restroom with someone in the stall next to me. Lots of writing on the stall walls about tapping feet and other signs that you want to play. This was the start, and it turned into any way I could find it—restrooms, phone numbers written on payphones or in restrooms, adult bookstores, you name it. The more I did, the more I hated myself, and the more I would think about doing it again. It was a vicious cycle.
I was in my late twenties when things started really going south, after the invasion of Iraq. The thoughts and urges were unrelenting. Every free second was devoted in my mind to it. I couldn’t get it enough. I would let groups of 5-6 men line up to watch each other use my throat. I would fantasize about their spermatozoa swimming around inside of me, my throat, mouth, ear canals, and sinuses. It was such a turn-on. If I couldn’t find someone on Craigslist, a restroom, or a bookstore, I would go to where prostitutes would do their business and find used condoms that still had semen in them and suck it down. I remember how I would literally shake like a leaf if I found one with a massive amount of semen in it. I would shake like that just thinking of having a penis down my throat.
It got to the point that I couldn’t go a day without looking at huge penises and throat-f*cking porn videos and masturbating at least once a day or more. I found an internet site where you could instantly find someone to do this to me anytime. It got to the point where I was doing this on my way to work, lunchtime, on the way home from work, or any other time I could get away with it. I had men come to my house when my wife was getting her hair done or visiting someone. The bigger, longer, and more ejaculate, the better. I needed to feel like an object, not a human—an object for another man’s pleasure.
When they would finish, I would have such a release. It was better than an orgasm. I would seldom orgasm myself, and I never was attracted to a man, only his genitals. Never mattered race, age, weight, attractiveness, nothing. Only his penis down my throat and his seed dumped into me. No kissing, no anal, no reciprocation. I estimate in the last 30 years of living a double life with this one in hell, I must have had at least 500, but probably more like 700, different men use my throat as a sex toy, and I probably swallowed a few gallons of semen, mostly fresh but some from discarded condoms or scraped off the floor at the adult bookstore.
Last year, my dad was passing. I was really stressed because we were so close. At the same time, the urge was unbearable and completely out of control. I met a man online with a 10-1/2” curved penis. It was perfect to slide easily and completely down my throat. I lost my gag reflex years ago. I met with him a few times, and one day I was looking at his profile (which I saw before but never the scroll-down part) and saw that he was HIV positive. He had been treated and said that his virus cannot be detected. I loved the way he used my head and the size of his penis because it was so much like that very first time. I met up with him anyway a few more times.
I started getting weird symptoms, and my mind was telling me that I had contracted HIV. I was scared, not so much for me but for my wife, my soulmate. I honestly didn’t care then if I lived or died. I had to fess up and tell my wife. We had to abstain from sex and both get tested for everything. I had to seek help to stop this hell from continuing any further. Luckily, my wife is my soulmate, and we’ve been married over 40 years. She suffered from mental disorders also and can understand. It’s just the nature of my sickness that still has her hurt. We both were clean after our testing.
I tried to get an appointment with a psychiatrist, but the soonest was two months away. Even after getting caught, almost ruining our lives and health, I still had the unrelenting thoughts and urges that were still out of control. There was no way I could go two months without some man using my throat and depositing his seed. I went to the VA hospital and went to the psychiatric clinic and told them I was in a crisis. The very next morning, I had a video visit with the intake psychiatrist. She wrote me a prescription that morning, and I was to pick it up.
Even as I drove to pick up my medication, I almost couldn’t control driving by a place that I used to frequent to get a man to use me. Thank God that didn’t happen. I took the medication, and that night, I went right to sleep. Before, I couldn’t sleep because fantasies of penises and semen inside me would keep me up. It was all gone. There were remnants, but seen in a different context. I was cured, all because I vomited up all the poison that was inside me and got put on the right medication.
I truly am the luckiest and happiest man alive today. If you’re wondering what medication they put me on, it is Zoloft and naltrexone. Naltrexone is my wonderful drug. It’s truly a miracle! God bless you all, and I hope that you can get past this as well as I did. Just don’t wait as long as me, don’t wait for rock bottom, do it now and save as much of your life as you can!
I was walking home in the rain one autumn evening, and it was already dark. I had about two miles to go. A man in a cool muscle car stopped and asked if I wanted a ride. It was a really cool car, and the guy seemed very friendly. He drove to a secluded area and stopped the car. He told me to look out my side window to see if I saw anyone over there. The next thing I experienced was him grabbing a fistful of my hair and slamming my head into the glass. He spun my head around to look at him, and I noticed his pants were open, and he had his erect penis in his other hand.
He told me to do as he told me, and he wouldn’t hurt me. He was in his 30s and big. He told me very sternly to open my mouth and pulled my head over to his penis. He shoved it into my mouth and pressed my head by my hair really hard onto it. It was big and was only about a third of the way in when it hit the back of my throat and couldn’t go any farther. He became very angry and pushed my head even harder onto his penis and was yelling at me to swallow. I was choking and gagging and having a hard time breathing, but he yelled again for me to swallow and continued to forcefully push my head onto his penis.
I frantically started to swallow, and immediately the rest of his penis slid down my throat. He started to forcibly pull my head up, then push it down repeatedly, and all I could feel was that thing sliding in and out of my throat. It felt as if my neck was expanding. I could not breathe at all, and I started to feel like I was going to pass out and began to really struggle against him. He pulled my head off of his penis, and I frantically tried to get as much air as I could. After about four deep breaths, he put me back on it and yelled at me to swallow. This cycled five times.
The last time, he was making my head move quicker and with more force. He started groaning and finally pushed my head so tightly against his pelvis that my nose and lips hurt from the pressure against his pubic bone. He held my head there so firmly, and I could feel him thrust his hips into my face, and he let out a very loud groan. He held me there for what seemed like a lifetime, then finally shook my head around a little. He seemed at this time to be totally relaxed. Then, very slowly, he pulled my head off of his penis and, while doing so, squeezed the last of his semen into my mouth. I was too busy trying to catch my breath.
Still holding me by the hair, he turned my head and told me that if I ever told anyone, he would kill me. He pushed my head over to the passenger side door, leaned over, opened the door, and threw me out on the wet street. He closed the door and took off. I had an even farther walk home now. I didn’t know what to do. I was so confused and felt so shameful. I could never bear to have anyone find out what happened. It was the most shameful thing I’ve ever experienced.
As time passed, I never really thought about it much until I was a senior in high school. I worked at a burger joint and attended school. I was getting into trouble a lot and wasn’t getting good grades. My dad grounded me for weeks at a time. I was under a lot of stress. For some reason, I felt like I needed to have this happen to me again. I would walk home in the evenings from work but not go straight home. I would walk the streets in hopes of having this happen to me again. The urge was so intense that it would be on my mind constantly.
One night, it happened again, only not violent or aggressive. The man pulled down his pants and gently guided my head towards his penis. I asked him if he would grab a fistful of hair and move my head as he liked on his penis. He pushed my head down until it hit the back of my throat, then seemed to not want it to go further. I grabbed the back of his legs and pulled my head all the way down his penis, and he got the message. The end was the same as he held my head firmly against his crotch until he finished. He was not as big as the first, and when he finished, some of his semen shot out my nostrils. When I got off of him, I had semen dangling from my nose, so I wiped it off with my hand and put it in my mouth.
The next time I got this intense urge was a few years later. I was 20 and moved to another state with a friend of my cousin. We went there to find work. We suspected that this friend was gay, but he never made any attempt to try anything. This was the first time I was away from home, family, and friends. I was having trouble getting a job. My stress was through the roof. Then the thoughts started, never ceasing and spiraling out of control.
That night, while he was asleep on the couch (I slept on the floor), I cautiously undid his zipper and carefully pulled out his penis. I began to suck on it until it got hard enough to slide down my throat. I went up and down to the hilt but very slowly and carefully because I did not want to wake him. I could tell that he was beginning to orgasm as I could feel and taste his semen spewing. I wanted it all, but I didn’t want to get caught. As soon as I was getting it out of my mouth, he started waking up quickly. He shot semen on my face and hair, and I quickly laid down and pretended I was asleep. He knew I wasn’t and laid beside me, thanking me and wanting to talk about it. The next day, I moved out.
I ended up moving back home and getting back with a former girlfriend. This changed my life. I ended up marrying her, and never had stress so bad that it brought up those thoughts and urges. I joined the military, and we moved to my new assignment. About a year later, my wife had an extremely bad bipolar episode where she needed to be hospitalized for quite a long period of time. We admitted her in a hospital in our hometown, and I applied for a compassionate reassignment. In the meantime, I was making visits almost every weekend across two states to see her. She wasn’t getting better by much, and I was still waiting on reassignment orders.
I was under a ton of stress again, and the thoughts and urges were overwhelming. I wasn’t a kid anymore, so walking the streets was out. All I could think of was the man who owned the burger joint I used to work at was a known gay man. I got drunk and looked him up in the phone book. I called him and asked if he remembered me, and he did. I had long curly blonde hair and blue eyes. I told him what I wanted him to do to me, and he invited me over. This was the first time that this happened since I was married and was the last time until after Desert Storm.
I’m a retired Army combat veteran of multiple deployments in a combat arms specialty. After I got back from Desert Storm, it all started in a public restroom with someone in the stall next to me. Lots of writing on the stall walls about tapping feet and other signs that you want to play. This was the start, and it turned into any way I could find it—restrooms, phone numbers written on payphones or in restrooms, adult bookstores, you name it. The more I did, the more I hated myself, and the more I would think about doing it again. It was a vicious cycle.
I was in my late twenties when things started really going south, after the invasion of Iraq. The thoughts and urges were unrelenting. Every free second was devoted in my mind to it. I couldn’t get it enough. I would let groups of 5-6 men line up to watch each other use my throat. I would fantasize about their spermatozoa swimming around inside of me, my throat, mouth, ear canals, and sinuses. It was such a turn-on. If I couldn’t find someone on Craigslist, a restroom, or a bookstore, I would go to where prostitutes would do their business and find used condoms that still had semen in them and suck it down. I remember how I would literally shake like a leaf if I found one with a massive amount of semen in it. I would shake like that just thinking of having a penis down my throat.
It got to the point that I couldn’t go a day without looking at huge penises and throat-f*cking porn videos and masturbating at least once a day or more. I found an internet site where you could instantly find someone to do this to me anytime. It got to the point where I was doing this on my way to work, lunchtime, on the way home from work, or any other time I could get away with it. I had men come to my house when my wife was getting her hair done or visiting someone. The bigger, longer, and more ejaculate, the better. I needed to feel like an object, not a human—an object for another man’s pleasure.
When they would finish, I would have such a release. It was better than an orgasm. I would seldom orgasm myself, and I never was attracted to a man, only his genitals. Never mattered race, age, weight, attractiveness, nothing. Only his penis down my throat and his seed dumped into me. No kissing, no anal, no reciprocation. I estimate in the last 30 years of living a double life with this one in hell, I must have had at least 500, but probably more like 700, different men use my throat as a sex toy, and I probably swallowed a few gallons of semen, mostly fresh but some from discarded condoms or scraped off the floor at the adult bookstore.
Last year, my dad was passing. I was really stressed because we were so close. At the same time, the urge was unbearable and completely out of control. I met a man online with a 10-1/2” curved penis. It was perfect to slide easily and completely down my throat. I lost my gag reflex years ago. I met with him a few times, and one day I was looking at his profile (which I saw before but never the scroll-down part) and saw that he was HIV positive. He had been treated and said that his virus cannot be detected. I loved the way he used my head and the size of his penis because it was so much like that very first time. I met up with him anyway a few more times.
I started getting weird symptoms, and my mind was telling me that I had contracted HIV. I was scared, not so much for me but for my wife, my soulmate. I honestly didn’t care then if I lived or died. I had to fess up and tell my wife. We had to abstain from sex and both get tested for everything. I had to seek help to stop this hell from continuing any further. Luckily, my wife is my soulmate, and we’ve been married over 40 years. She suffered from mental disorders also and can understand. It’s just the nature of my sickness that still has her hurt. We both were clean after our testing.
I tried to get an appointment with a psychiatrist, but the soonest was two months away. Even after getting caught, almost ruining our lives and health, I still had the unrelenting thoughts and urges that were still out of control. There was no way I could go two months without some man using my throat and depositing his seed. I went to the VA hospital and went to the psychiatric clinic and told them I was in a crisis. The very next morning, I had a video visit with the intake psychiatrist. She wrote me a prescription that morning, and I was to pick it up.
Even as I drove to pick up my medication, I almost couldn’t control driving by a place that I used to frequent to get a man to use me. Thank God that didn’t happen. I took the medication, and that night, I went right to sleep. Before, I couldn’t sleep because fantasies of penises and semen inside me would keep me up. It was all gone. There were remnants, but seen in a different context. I was cured, all because I vomited up all the poison that was inside me and got put on the right medication.
I truly am the luckiest and happiest man alive today. If you’re wondering what medication they put me on, it is Zoloft and naltrexone. Naltrexone is my wonderful drug. It’s truly a miracle! God bless you all, and I hope that you can get past this as well as I did. Just don’t wait as long as me, don’t wait for rock bottom, do it now and save as much of your life as you can!
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