What’s Wrong With Me? – 1

WARNING: This story is sick and twisted, however, it is only a story. It is Fiction! It contains dark themes including the Rape and the Cruel Treatment of a ‘boy’ by a man. If you’re not into such things, then why the hell did you click on it? Don’t bother sending me messages about how perverted and demented I am. Do you seriously think I haven’t figured that out yet? However, I do know the difference between Real-Life and Fiction. The following is the later and no persons or living creatures were injured or harmed in any way, during the creation of this narrative!!
Also, there are references to fictional characters from real tv-shows – which I used without permission from the owners, nor do I claim any rights to anything but that which came from my own mind!
And just a word about the setting. I was imagining a world similar to the later incarnations of a very popular and ongoing sci-fi staple, though slightly darker…. This was the first truly hard-core story I wrote, and as such, I had to make the setting comfortable enough for me to get over my hang-ups and realize that there is No Shame in Fantasy! To that end, I blatently ripped-off the the idea of a Holo-Suite and created the Sim-Chamber, so my main character could do what he wanted without really hurting anyone.
That being said, if you’re brave enough to keep reading, please, be my guest and continue. I hope you enjoy! And if you don’t… Well, I really don’t give a damn… I didn’t write this for you!
–RogueRambler

It was after the third time I slept-in and was late reporting for duty, that I was sent to the station’s counselor for a “chat-session.” Once all the bull-shit was over, you know, all the, “I’m here to help you,” and “Everything you say here will be held in complete confidence,” and all that stuff, the ancient and quite androgynous counselor asked, “So, what do you feel has been causing your tardiness of late?”
I mumbled some nonsense about simply being overly tired and, other than that, I really didn’t know why I was having trouble getting up and to my job on time.
“Well,” the old counselor said, “according to the records I pulled on you, you’ve been getting eight to nine hours of sleep each night, which should be sufficient. Your most recent medical scans show no abnormalities or anomalies, which leads me to believe that your issues must be psychological or emotional.”
Well, that didn’t settle too well with me, however I knew that the aged empath was probably on the right track. In the past few months I had been a bit scatter-brained and had noticed my concentration tended to wander. “I guess,” I said finally, coming to terms with what I’d been noticing lately, “I have been a bit off, but…” I paused a moment and tried looking inside myself yet again, “…I don’t really know why.”

The counselor looked at me and I could almost feel my psyche being probed by those eyes. The eyes were the only feature of the ancient officer that didn’t seem older than inter-stellar travel. After a moment, those eyes looked away from me, down to the pad held in the wrinkled and twisted hands.
“Going through your records, the only deviation I see in recent months concerns your use of the holographic simulation chambers.”
“I haven’t used a sim-chamber in months,” I retorted with much more angst in my voice than I thought I was actually feeling.
“My point exactly,” the counselor said, moving those probing eyes back to me. “You were assigned to this station six months ago and in the first three months, you spent an average of eighty-five minutes in a simulation chamber, four times a week. Yet your last chamber session was two months and twenty-seven days ago.”
An overwhelming sense of dread fell over me. I felt as though I’d been caught. Caught doing what, I did not know. There was no way the counselor, or anyone for that matter, could know what I’d been doing in the sim-chambers. Yet I couldn’t shake the guilty sensation.
“I see your last chamber session was almost four hours in duration, four-hundred and thirty-three minutes to be precise, which was the longest amount of time you spent in one of the station’s simulation chambers. Your next longest session, a few days previous, was barely two hours, only a hundred and thirteen minutes. But in the months since, you have not visited the chambers once.”
“But,” I started a bit confused and defensive and recited the mantra of sim-chamber usage, “what happens in the chamber stays in the chamber,” though even without using the empathic gift, the counselor surely saw my emotions.
“It is against regulations to access information regarding the content of recreational chamber simulations, however, information such as frequency and length of time for sessions is available to senior officers.”
I felt a bit of relief, though just a bit. The counselor’s eyes were intently staring into my own and I wondered how much of me could be seen.
“You are feeling uncomfortable,” the aged counselor said as a matter of fact. “Is it possible that we have found something here?”
“Well,” I said, taking another look into myself, knowing that the counselor was right, yet I still wasn’t ready to look as deeply as I needed. “When I was at the Institute, I only earned a few hours of recreational chamber time and I don’t think I even used all I earned.”
“That is accurate,” the counselor said softly, looking down and pointing a gnarled finger at the pad, “you earned two hundred and four minutes and only used one hundred and seventeen minutes.”

“It was different at the Institute. I don’t know if I can really explain it. But once I arrived here and had unlimited use of the chambers when not on duty, I started using them a bit more. But, well…” I wasn’t sure exactly how much I wanted to share with the counselor. The thoughts popping into my mind were thoughts that frequently occurred to me. Although when they did, I usually tried to push them out and think about other things. “…I guess after a while, the simulations just got old.” The moment those words were out of my mouth, I knew the counselor was aware that I lied. “Well,” I continued, hoping to worm my way back to some realm of honesty, “I mean to say, there isn’t anything a stimulation-chamber can recreate,” I purposely used the misnomer for the chambers, as they were mostly referred in unofficial situations, “other than the tactile sensations, that I can’t imagine in my own mind.”
“Are you saying that you prefer masturbation to relieving yourself in the simulation chambers?”
“I guess I am,” I replied, feeling my anxiousness increasing.
“Is that something you wish to discuss?”
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. There was a flash in my mind, a memory of my last session in a simulation chamber. Once again, it was as though I could feel the empathic counselor probing me.
“There are a few questions I want to ask you,” the croaking voice said, “but these are personal questions and I need you to know that you are not required to answer them. However, even if you chose not to respond, I hope that you will give my queries some consideration.” I nodded, knowing full-well my rights of privacy. “All right,” the counselor said, looking at me intently and I braced myself for the first question. “Did anything unpleasant happen during your last chamber session?”
“No,” I responded immediately and we both knew it was a lie.
“Would you like to tell me about your last session?”
“No,” I responded just as quickly and we both knew I was telling the truth. Only this time, the counselor eyed me even more intently.
“With what frequency have you masturbated in the previous few months?”
“I don’t know,” I was a bit taken aback by the question and after a second of thought I responded, “maybe once or twice a day.”

The counselor looked down at the pad and I was afraid that I was about to learn exactly how often I jacked-off, though I knew that there was no way that information could be on the pad. “Might I make a suggestion,” the counselor said. I nodded, though dreaded what the suggestion might be. “I have a feeling that the issues which have prompted this visit are somehow rooted in your recreational use of the simulation chambers. It might be best if you resume your sessions in the chambers, even if you choose not to discuss what you do there. Resuming your sessions might make you look into yourself and help you to gain a bit of insight into your personal issues.”
I closed my eyes and nodded my head. I knew the counselor was right. I’d know it all along, even if I hadn’t honestly admitted my feelings to myself. However, after my last sim-chamber session, I’d promised myself that it would be my last. Imagining something, fantasizing about it was one thing. But playing it out in the sim-chamber, the closest thing to real-life possible, well, that just didn’t seem quite right.
“You’re scheduled to go on duty in,” a crooked finger tapped the pad, “fifty-three minutes.” I nodded. “If you would be willing to go right from here, down to the simulation chamber suites, I will see to it that your shift is covered and, if you like, I would even be willing to see that you are excused from your next,” the old finger tapped the pad a few more times, “two shifts, to give you some time to explore the issues that have been troubling you.”
“Ok,” I said, before I’d actually given the offer much thought.
However, as I made my way to the lower level of the station, knowing full-well what I was about to do, I wondered if it might be better for me just to go to work and forget the whole thing. Surely I could make myself wake-up on time and report for duty in a timely manner, as was expected. Though I have to admit, as my fears began to grow, so did my excitement.
As much as I hate to admit it, my blood was boiling and I was more aroused that I could remember being in a good long time. My ID was verified and I was shown to a chamber. Even before I started to undress, to put on the tactual-suit and simulation headgear, I had a full-blown erection. A few seconds of extreme anxiety fell over me as I took my place in the casket-like chamber, pulling the lid closed over me.
At first, as was normal, I experienced a second or two of nothingness. As the program loaded, it seemed as though all my senses were shut-down. I could feel nothing, hear nothing, see nothing, nor could I smell or taste anything. Then a purple haze crept into my consciousness and a second later I could see the control panel materialize in my mind. Then I heard a voice, the croaking voice of the counselor, speaking to me in the same way that the instructors at the Institute would, when we were doing training exercises in the sim-chambers.