I am a straight male who likes wearing ladies control underwear, but in my late teens I was curious about what gay sex would be like. I would occasionally fantasise about what it would be like to be forced to have sex with another man. It was all just idle nonsense, but every so often I would imagine actually doing something about it, and it would set my heart racing - me in my women's underwear with another man inside me! On a couple of occasions, I even made contact with gay prostitutes, but chickened out at the moment of truth.

After I graduated, I moved to a new city to take up my first job. After a few months, I read in the local newspaper that a local student had been homosexually r**ed in the early hours of the morning in a local park. Over the next few months, I would now and again walk through that park in the small hours, getting a cheap thrill of imagining myself in that other guy's place. Of course, I never expected anything to come of it.

About six months after I moved there, I was in this park at around 2am when I sensed somebody behind me. I felt a knife pressed against my throat as a second man stepped out in front of me. They forced me off the path and deep into the bushes. I thought I was just being mugged, but when we finally stopped, the guy in front of me told me it was my lucky night, and ordered me to strip. I have never felt so sick in my life, as it was then I realised what was going on. The guy with the knife gave me a slight nick - just enough to bleed and to make sure I knew they weren't joking - and so, with my hands shaking, I took off my coat and t-shirt and dropped my jeans. The guy with the knife had let me go and had come round in front of me, telling me that if I tried to run, I'd get cut a lot worse. The look on their faces as they first saw my heavy longline bra, then my high waist zip-side open girdle and lace-top stockings was a picture.

The first guy was up and opening his pants immediately. I started to plead, but I got a punch in the mouth for my troubles. As I knelt there, stunned, I felt hands go up under my girdle to pull down my panties, then my girdle itself was worked up...then there was a searing pain. It was like the worst bowel movement ever as he penetrated me and I was stretched wide to accommodate his erection. A couple of quick thrusts and he was fully in - I felt his balls bump against me. I couldn't have screamed even if I had wanted to, such was my shock at being impaled on him.

Then he started to thrust, and thrust and thrust...on and on...and I rocked back and forth with him. I was crying with disgust at this point, realising that I had another man inside me. As the knife guy egged him on, all I could think was "I'm being r**ed! I'm being r**ed!" over and over again like an idiot. The sharpness of the pain of penetration had started to die, and now I could just feel him lodged in there, ramming into me over and over again. I would have given anything to get him out of me, but I just had to kneel there feeling him hard up against my backside, thrusting vigorously into me, his balls banging my backside and his hands all over my bra and girdle as he whispered in my ear how he knew my type and how I was just asking for it. And the sickener was that he was right. I had been "asking for it" - it was why I went to the damn park in the first place, though I never expected it to happen.

After what seemed like ages, but must only have been a few minutes, he pushed so hard into me I struggled to keep my balance, and I heard him start to gasp. I knew at that moment that, deep inside me, he was firing off jet after jet of semen. I actually started to cry with shame as he continued ejaculating into me.

The other guy was just itching for his turn. No sooner had he withdrawn than an even larger erection was forced into me. I dry-heaved as I felt wet streams of my first rapist's semen start to trickle down my thighs. While the second guy was bigger, he really took his time - oh so slowly in, oh so slowly out, and in again, and out again. After several minutes, I was on the verge of madness. Why couldn't he just bloody finish? I even felt my hips start to move as I tried to hurry things up, but he grabbed my hips, held me still, and continued his laborious r**e. Slowly in, slowly out, slowly in, slowly out, slowly in, slowly out - his self-control was extraordinary. Finally he started to speed up then, in total silence, he pressed his hips forward and his load joined the remainder of his fellow rapist. The flow of semen down my legs increased momentarily and was noticeably warmer.

I was told that they'd usually leave it at that, but as I'd dressed for the occasion, the'd make a night of it for me.

The guy with the wandering hands briskly r**ed me again. Then there was a slight respite while knife guy got hard again. Then it was another long, slow r**e. Mr Wandering Hands was ready to go immediately, such was the length of time Mr Knife took, so there was barely a pause between the end of a ridiculously slow r**e and the start of a frantically energetic one. Of course, as this was his third time, he was having a bit of difficulty finishing, so he slammed into me ever harder as he tried to climax. After the longest of his r**es so far, he finally dribbled out whatever was left in his balls.

I begged...I pleaded and begged...for Mr Knife not to take me again, but he was ready for one last go. Christ! It went on for ever. I seriously considering trying to hold my breath and pass out so I wouldn't have to experience any more of this horribly slow violation when me finally came and withdrew from me and Mr Wandering Hands coupled with me for one last frenetic fuck to beat his colleague by a final score of 4-3. It took him almost as long as Mr Knife as he banged away, cursing under his breath as he desperately tried to ejaculate one last time. When he'd finished, the two of them just disappeared into the dark. I lay there too exhausted to care. I'd been r**ed seven - seven! - times with barely a break over what must have been a couple of hours (thanks to Mr Knife's nice-and-easy-does-it technique). After several minutes, I unzipped my girdle, pulled it down far enough to be able to pull my panties up, then fastened my girdle again. I could feel my backside slick - my panties kept sticking to me - the tops of my stockings were thoroughly soaked on the inside of my thighs, and the bare parts of my thighs were wet and shiny in the faint moonlight. My stomach turned at the cold, wet, slimy feeling of their semen all over me, and I threw up into the bushes.

I put on my clothes and started the long walk home, as their semen soaked through my panties and girdle and some residual trickles went down my legs. An hour or so later, when I reached home, there were damp patches here and there on my jeans. God almighty, they must have been saving themselves for weeks.

I never reported it, for obvious reasons. Firstly, I had no explanation for being there at that time (I could hardly say I was acting out a fantasy) so for every one who believed me, another would have thought I'd just been cruising for a pick-up and it had got out of hand. Secondly, I really didn't want anyone to know it had happened. Even the very idea of standing in court in front of friends, family, not forgetting newspapers) and describing how I endured several hours of unprotected anal intercourse was just not going to happen. Especially as it would come out that I had a fetish for women's underwear. The picture of me lying there in a bra and girdle with a rapist ball-deep inside me, gasping in ecstasy as he emptied his balls is not one I wanted to give my parents.

So they got away with it. On the plus side (there is one!), that killed stone-dead my fantasies about gay sex. Nearly thirty years later, I still crossdress (I'm wearing a girdle and bra at this very moment), but I've never had the urge to have another gay experience.