by Gavin Atlas
The young man looked at his shoes. “I’m twenty-four now, Doc.”
“Is it possible that a pirate, a dominant but friendly and trustworthy one, might be the right kind of a man for you?”
Christian laughed to cover his nerves. “Too bad they haven’t been around in centuries.”
Dr. Hall gave Christian a mischievous smirk. “Perhaps through the magic of dream induction and virtual-reality therapy, we can find one for you. This particular dream sounds treatable. If you allow us to scan your dream while you have it, we should be able to recreate it accurately.”
“You can?”
Dr. Hall nodded. “Absolutely” He picked up a digital pamphlet from his desk. He pressed a button and with a flash of a red light, the contents were sent to the data pad in Christian’s shirt pocket. “Transportation dreams, like trains or jets, usually represent movement towards the future. If the train is out of control, the dreamer might fear his life is out of control and perhaps headed for disaster. Since the dreamer is nearly never the conductor of the train, it means he thinks he’s powerless to fix his situation. Such dreams are common, so we have a model train car at the Center.”
Christian took a deep inhale, his hands gripping the arms of the chair. “But why would I want to live out the dream in an atmosphere that’s even more realistic? It upsets me so much as it is.”
Dr. Hall grinned and reached over to pat Christian on the shoulder. “I promise it will work out better when we guide it.”
* * * *
It had confused Christian that Dr. Hall asked to meet with Jeremy alone at his next session. Afterward, Jeremy wouldn’t discuss it. What did that mean? Now Christian was at the Dream Center for the first half of the procedure, the dream induction. He lay on a hospital bed with two IV units attached to his arm and sensors resembling electrode patches attached to his forehead. Worst of all, he’d had to put on special underwear that would measure and monitor his erectile responses while he was unconscious. The material was thin, scratchy, and constrictive. An assistant gave Christian an appraising look and then shook her head. He’d seen that before. Both the men he’d tried to date before Jeremy had asked him, “How could someone so handsome and muscular have so many problems?” The thought made him sad. What if this didn’t work and Jeremy wanted to break up?
Dr. Hall entered the room, as always a friendly expression on his face. Christian fidgeted, uncomfortable to be only wearing the tight, virtually sheer pair of briefs. He swallowed. “I didn’t know you’d be here, Doc.”
“This is still new technology,” Doctor Hall said. “The Center prefers to have their most experienced practitioners on hand.”
Christian nodded as Dr. Hall patted his arm, reassuring him. “This is going to feel like you’re having two different dreams, Christian. The chemical that will be introduced into your first IV causes you to experience hypnogogic arousal as you’re falling asleep. You can help it along by thinking of sexual experiences you’ve enjoyed or fantasies.”
He’d read as much in the pamphlet, but now Christian’s eyes widened in alarm. “Will everyone know what’s in my head?”
Dr. Hall looked puzzled. “Well, of course not everyone. And we won’t literally be seeing this particular dream like it’s a video. But the brain has been so well mapped now that when a certain point is stimulated, we’ll have a good idea what you’re thinking. With the help of that pair of underwear, we’ll know the intensity of your arousal at each thought.”
Christian took a deep breath. This was going to be tough.
The doctor continued. “The second stage will be the induction of the train dream. Sometimes the sustained arousal will prompt the repressive response on its own, but if not, the chemical in the second IV should guarantee the train dream occurs. It will likely be more or less unchanged from its normal presentation. The analysis we do will take much longer, and we’ll scan more deeply because this time we actually are going to try to reconstruct visual images from your dream. We hope to recreate it as closely as possible when we do the oneiric correction next week during the virtual-reality session.”
Christian winced. “Are you sure this is safe?”
The doctor touched Christian’s shoulder. “Yes, I’m sure. I’m afraid you might have a headache when you wake up, but we’ll have an analgesic ready to go. It will only last a few moments.”
The doctor waited for more questions, and when none came, he squeezed Christian’s arm. “I’ll start the first drug. Just relax.”
Christian closed his eyes and thought of the night he finally tried to muster the courage to enter Depths of Darkness, a sex club reputed to be the wildest in the nation. He’d never even been in a bar before.
He’d lost his nerve three feet from the door, but he was close enough to attract attention. Blake was a giant of a man with a feral gleam in his eyes and a mean grin. Blake asked Christian his name and then put an arm around Christian’s shoulder, ushering him, or actually, pushing him down the dark street to a darker alley. Guilty thoughts intruded. I shouldn’t have had so much alcohol. I shouldn’t have even been in that neighborhood. This was my fault.
The flow of the drug increased, and Christian slipped back into the memory of that night.
As Blake yanked down Christian’s pants and bent him over against a graffiti-covered brick wall, Christian whimpered in protest. Christian had expected Blake to invade him with his dick with violent abandon, and that’s what Christian got. Christian cried out with each massive thrust of Blake’s dick. The burning of being stretched and the shock of each punch to his prostate was both frightening and exquisite.
What Christian hadn’t expected was a rape pellet injection. With Blake’s massive tool plowing his hole, Christian hardly noticed the sting in his thigh where Blake implanted the mechanism.
“You’ll never be able to hide from me,” Blake growled. “You’ve got a great ass meant to be fucked. My dick will be in it anytime I want, boy.” This memory made Christian’s cock stiffen.
Blake continued the assault on Christian’s hole, bringing himself closer and closer to orgasm by telling Christian of dark deeds to come. “Anytime you leave your home, I’ll get your ass. If you stay in and lock the door, I’ll get your ass. Even if you try to move out of town, you’re going to get fucked again and again and again.” Christian moaned and swallowed as a hollow pang of lust in his gut made shame and guilt radiate through his whole body.
Christian was barely aware he was edging towards sleep. When his thoughts turned to his failure to have the rape pellet removed within the three-day limit, he wasn’t sure if he’d conjured the image himself or if the drugs were causing the memories of both humiliation and outrageous pleasure to flood through him uncontrolled.
He recalled calling a hotline. If he let three days pass, the pellet’s chemicals would have saturated Christian’s body, making it even easier to track him. They also fomented production of a pheromone that made assailants perceive Christian as desirable and exciting to violate. He was told the pellet’s agents sometimes enhanced the victim’s pleasure as well.
Christian hadn’t volunteered. He could have had the pellet removed and his system cleared free of charge. But Christian told no one, his silence allowing the reversal period to slip by. It was now legal for anyone and everyone to rape Christian. He slept at his apartment or in hotels, but an image passed through his mind of spending chilly nights on park benches to stave off possible assaults, as they were prohibited anywhere small children might be exposed to them. The defensive rationalization kicked in. I’m stopping crime. I’m doing a good thing.
The next image streaming into Christian’s mind was that of several men breaking into his apartment, their pocket seeker-guides beeping that they’d found a rape addict. The first man had crazed eyes and, at least in Christian’s memory, teeth sharpened to vicious points.
“This is the boy who didn’t volunteer,” the man said with a cruel grin. “Everyone is talking about it ‘cause this is so muc
h closer to true rape.” The man panted and feverishly rubbed the bulge in his jeans. “That ass is gonna get hit, boy. No point in ever puttin’ on pants ‘cause it’s never gonna stop.”
Christian wailed in fear as the man lifted his legs and spread them as wide as possible while the man’s accomplices began to stroke themselves. Even with the regularity of furious penetration Christian had experienced since the pellet injection, this stranger’s dick hurt. The look on the crazed man’s face revealed he didn’t care.
“Ooh,” the man said, “I’ve never seen such a fine ass on an addict before. You have no idea what your hole is in for.” The man’s eyes bore into Christian’s soul as deeply as his dick bore into Christian’s ass.
A chugging noise began, drowning out Christian’s cries for mercy. The memory of the strangers taking turns inside him as he futily struggled ballooned into a three-dimensional re-enactment. It seemed like Christian was no longer in the clinic bed, but back in his apartment. The greedy, vicious grip on his aching thighs sent pulses of ecstasy through Christian as he writhed, breathless that he had no ability to take his legs out of the air whatsoever. His body was drenched in sweat and the euphoria of being helpless to stop his ass from getting fucked.
Then, the train dream. As always, Christian sat on a crushed-velvet bench watching his mother scream in terror. She wouldn’t look at him, and he couldn’t move his arms to reach out for her.
The train hurtled through a barren landscape—a brutal, lifeless desert strewn with boulders, forever derelict on the barren ground. Each time the train rocked dangerously to one side, a sickening tension ran down his spine and into his gut. Through the forward window, he could see steam billowing. Moving shapes in the car in front of him resolved into pirates. His mother continued to scream, consumed in utter panic. Christian could do nothing to help her, and the guilt of his sins and the shame of his impotence consumed him with agony.
The pirates raced through the train, sticking their sabers out windows and slashing at invisible enemies. He could hear them on the roof. Ahead, he could see the volcano looming, pouring smoke as fast as the locomotive poured steam. A moment of confused panic seized Christian. Who was responsible for this train? And what the hell did they think they were doing?
No, it was his doing. All his.
The train lurched. Christian’s heart nearly stopped when he looked and saw they were now on a bridge. Rickety. Narrow. No guard rails. Each time the train tilted, he could see a vast, terrifying gorge beneath him. He tried to tell his mother he was sorry. That it couldn’t be his fault. He’d had no choice. He was a good boy. But no words came.
Then there was the beginning trickle of lucidity. Christian noticed he was in his underwear and out of breath. He was lying down on the couchette instead of sitting. The pirate captain entered the compartment and looked down at him. That never happens, Christian thought.
By the time the train entered the volcano and evaporated, he could hear whispered voices. “He’s waking. Give him the painkiller now.”
Christian gasped at his roaring headache. “What the hell…”
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” a friendly voice said. His boyfriend, Jeremy, was rubbing his chest. “It’s okay. You’ll be fine.”
* * * *
During his morning commute, Christian sat next to Jeremy on the monorail, Jeremy holding Christian’s hand. The older woman across from them offered a sweet smile. Why couldn’t his family accept him if a total stranger could? Then Christian thought the woman wouldn’t accept him either if she knew the perversion of his fantasies.
Christian whispered to Jeremy. “So now that you know that I kind of, decided, to keep the pellet, I’m surprised you’re still with me.”
Jeremy squeezed Christian’s hand. “I told you I’d pay to have the chemicals flushed from your body. It’s expensive, but you’re worth it.”
“But what about the way I think? I don’t think I can change what I want.”
“If you let the pellet wear off naturally, would you volunteer for another injection and get assaulted for another three years?”
“No. No, I wouldn’t,” Christian said, although a part of him knew if some men injected another dose “against his will” he’d submit to another term.
Jeremy’s face brightened. “Hey, maybe you are getting better.”
Jeremy’s happiness reached deep into Christian, and for a moment, he smiled. However, a trio of Revisionist nuns in billowing black robes boarded the monorail at the next stop, carrying an addict monitor in hopes of finding young women they could save from the program. The monitor went off, and the nuns searched about them, their hopes high. Then one of them noticed the light on the monitor was blue, not red, indicating the addict they’d found was male. The moment they realized it was Christian, they curled their lips in disgust. “Get help,” the youngest one said with a sad frown.
“I’m trying,” Christian whispered.
Jeremy was still smiling, unfazed. He rubbed Christian’s leg in encouragement. “You are trying, sweetheart. I know you are.”
* * * *
Dr. Hall smiled as he ushered Christian into the Dream Center’s train car. Christian was surprised to see the blond wood and red paint that appeared in his dream. The bench was red velvet.
The clothes Christian wore, a short-sleeve shirt and black pants, felt sticky. They were made of something called “Dissolving Cloth” which made Christian feel both uncomfortable and excited. Dr. Hall swabbed Christian’s shoulder with cotton. “This drug will put you in a semi-conscious state to help simulate your dream.” There was the tiny bite of the injection, and Dr. Hall patted Christian on the back. “Like last time. Relax and let things happen.”
Dr. Hall slid the door to the compartment closed. Christian felt a rocking vibration accompanied by the huffing of a steam engine. He couldn’t be moving forward, could he? No. He was in a stationary room in a stationary building. Outside the car’s windows, a late afternoon daylight appeared. No sun, but a dusty orange-white sky over a reddish brown landscape. Desert. Boulders. Christian was amazed they’d recreated such accurate detail.
The train pitched to the left and picked up speed. The scenery sped past faster and faster. Christian jounced left and right. His heart leapt as they reached the point where he was certain they were careening out of control. The drug was making him woozy.
Then he heard an anguished cry. He blinked and there was his mother, dressed in funereal black and wringing her hands. Her mouth was contorted in fear and anguish.
“Mama, please don’t cry.” Christian could actually talk. “I’m so scared when you cry and I can’t make it better. Please be okay.”
For the first time ever in the dream, his mother turned to him. She blinked through tears. “Oh, honey. It’s not you. My pain comes from how the people around me treat you. You’ve brought me nothing but joy. I love you.”
Pirates began to run up and down the corridor, shouting, and Christian could see the volcano ahead. But his mother continued to smile. Christian’s tension began to give way to confusion and then the beginnings of relief. The thought that the air mixture probably enhanced the feeling of well-being only reached the fringes of Christian’s perception. His brain began to accept the alteration. Things are okay. My mother is okay.
The unbelievable happened. The train came to a stop, and a door that had never existed before opened wide, allowing in streams of golden sunlight.
“Here’s my stop, darling,” his mother said. Her mourning clothes had faded from black to gray to a pale rose. “There’s a garden. And pretty birds. And, oh look, chocolate cake.” As she stepped out of the car, she turned to Christian one last time. “I am happy. Won’t you allow yourself to be happy, too?”
Christian sat there, stunned as the door slid closed. The train huffed to life, reaching unsafe speeds before Christian could even turn his head. The desert landscape returned although it seemed less harsh, suffused, now, with a pink-orange sunset.
&
nbsp; There was a cloud of heavy mist, and when it dissipated, Christian’s clothing had begun dissolving, in moments becoming as tattered as if he’d been shipwrecked for months. Soon, his body was exposed and available.
With the next giant jolt, the pirate captain appeared. The look in his eyes was hungry and appraising, but the smile that crept across his face appeared no less friendly than it did wicked.
“Offer yourself to me, Christian. Won’t you?”
Christian swallowed and shook his head. “No. I can’t.”
“Why not, handsome?”
“It’s…it’s wrong.”
The pirate blinked and smiled. “Because your pleasure is wrong? Is mine right?”
Christian nodded, feeling a comfortable warmth that made him lie back on the couchette. His head spun. “Yes. If it’s all for your pleasure, then I’m still a good boy. I don’t…I don’t want it, but if you take it, then I’m not bad. It’s not my fault.”
The train bucked, nearly throwing Christian from the couchette, but the pirate steadied him.
“Do you know what is more submissive than letting me fuck you against your will?” asked the pirate. “Giving me your pleasure. Letting me see how much you love it.”
“I can’t.”
“But you want to please me, yes?”
Christian nodded. “Yes, sir.”
The pirate ran his hand down Christian’s muscular bare flank. “Then it pleases me to see you enjoy this. Want this. Love this.”
Christian shivered with heat and nerves. “But I’m a bad boy if I want it.”
The pirate quieted Christian with a soft kiss on the lips. The train shook in response. “Handsome fellow, you know what this is. Uncontrollable lust. Uncontrollable train. Don’t fight it.”
“But—”
“What’s the worst that can happen if you admit that you want sex? That you want to enjoy my body as much as I will enjoy yours.”
“I don’t want to receive pleasure,” Christian protested. “I’m not worthy.”
The pirate gazed at Christian with a smile that was both friendly and feral. “Ah, but Christian, I am worthy, am I not? If I want you to be pleasured, to come for me, then you wouldn’t be a good boy if you didn’t give that to me, would you?”