The door closed behind Dabrowski with a resounding finality. Ethan's heart hammered in his chest as he looked at the other door at the end. He took a deep breath and crossed the room, his bare feet cold on the tile floor. The air around him seemed colder, or maybe it was his fear that was causing the shivers.
With each step towards the door, his mind filled with wild speculations. What was behind the door? Would there be any people there? What would they think if they saw him naked with his excitement impossible to hide?
As he approached the door, he noticed a small keypad on the side. There were no instructions. He tentatively reached out, expecting an alarm or electric shock, but nothing happened. His finger hovered over the keypad. Dabrowski didn't mention any codes. Was he stuck here? But then he noticed a small green button at the bottom. He pressed it, and the door slid open with a soft hiss.
Inside the room, it was brightly lit. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the light. The room was much warmer, welcoming even, compared to the cold sterile one he'd just left. It had the smell of fresh fabric, the kind he always loved to breathe in when his mom had just finished laundry.
Straight ahead of him, there was a large table, empty except for the single set of neatly folded white clothes. He rushed towards them, anxious to put them on before anyone else saw him. The garments were simple - loose pants and a button-up shirt, both as white as untouched snow. No undies or socks. He hurriedly slipped into the new clothes, tightening the pants with a cord and buttoning up the shirt, to cover his goosebump-covered skin. The loose fabric did little to constrain his erection, but hopefully, it would go down soon now that it was hidden from view.
Only then did Ethan look around the room more carefully. There were crude lockers by the left and right walls. Ethan tried a few of them, but all were closed. There was another door on the other side and above it - he gasped - something that looked like a security camera, pointed right at him. Whoever was looking had seen him in his full frontal glory. The boy blushed and went for the door, eager to get out of the camera's range.
The door slipped open, and Ethan found himself staring at a long corridor. It was lined with doors, each adorned with a glowing number like rooms in a hotel. His heart fluttered with uncertainty. Was he supposed to get into one of them?
The boy glanced down the corridor, his eyes jumping from one number to another. None of them seemed familiar or significant, just a random sequence of numbers without meaning.
Ethan picked a few doors, but all were closed.
Then he spotted a large mirror hanging at the end of the hallway. He wandered towards it, his curiosity piqued. As he approached, his reflection loomed back at him. Ethan flinched. His face was long, and his brown eyes were reddened and wide open. His short, dark hair contrasted with his pale skin and white clothes. The reflection seemed familiar and alien at the same time. Without thinking, he reached out to touch his own hand in the reflection. The touch was cold and gave no comfort.
His eyes fell on his shirt, and his breath hitched. There, emblazoned on the fabric above his heart, was a number - 21.
He turned, searching the corridor again, and sure enough, there it was - door number 21. His hand hovered over the doorknob, his nerves buzzing with anticipation. With a deep breath, he turned the knob and pushed the door open.
The room was about as big as Ethan's room at home, but seemed bigger because it was completely empty. The floor was made of soft carpet that felt nice on Ethan's bare feet. He walked around the room looking for anything of interest when the door closed behind him. He went back to open them, but there was no handle on the inside. He pushed them. Nothing. He pushed harder. Then he kicked it, overwhelmed with frustration and creeping claustrophobia.
"Help!" he screamed his lungs out, but there was nothing but dead silence.
He fell on the floor and cried in the fetal position like he hadn't cried in years. The weight of the day had fallen onto Ethan all at once. He wanted to call for his mom and dad, but he knew they wouldn't come. They had sent him here in the first place. How could they do it to him without any warning or explanation? He found a tiny sparkle of hope in this thought. If his parents knew, whatever it was, it couldn't be that bad. He'd be with them soon. Hanging on to these tiny happy thoughts, he fell asleep.
An annoying buzzing sound woke him up. He instinctively fumbled for his phone for a few seconds before he realized where he was. So it wasn't just a bad dream. He was still trapped, for who knows how long. He didn't even know what time it was. Did he sleep one hour, or ten?
Ethan sat up and rubbed his eyes. The door to his room was open.
He jumped to his feet and ran through as if it was about to close again. Just outside, he stopped in his tracks. Boys around his age stood in front of every door. They wore the same white clothes as he did. He jumped when the door closed behind him. He looked around. None of the boys looked at him or at each other. They either looked straight ahead or at their feet. Their expressions were difficult to read.
Then there was another buzzing sound, and the boys turned and started walking down the corridor. Ethan followed them just before the boy behind him bumped into him.
They went through a previously locked door at the end of the corridor and continued for a while before reaching a bigger hall that looked like a cafeteria, with lots of small tables spread out. One by one, the boys approached the counter where a chubby man in a military uniform gave out plates with food.
When it was Ethan's turn, his plate got filled with scrambled eggs and a few pieces of dry bread. He didn't complain. He was starving. He turned around and saw that there were two chairs next to each table, but for some reason, each boy took a separate one. Ethan found it weird but he really needed to know what was going on and he longed for human contact, so he walked to the nearest table where a skinny blond boy was sitting, wearing a number 11 on his shirt.
"Hi. Is it fine if I sit here?" he asked as politely as he could.
The blond boy looked up at him with startled eyes, frozen with a fork halfway into his mouth.
"Can I sit here?" Ethan repeated, thinking the other boy didn't hear him the first time around.
The boy blinked a few times, and then stood up abruptly, toppling his chair over and making a whole lot of noise.
"Yes, you can," he said apologetically, and then took his plate and moved to another free table.
"Hey! No talking!"
Ethan hadn't noticed a guard standing by another door until now. There was nothing friendly about his voice. Ethan fixed the chair that the boy had knocked over and sat on it.
He looked around the room discreetly. The blond boy found a table as far as he could from him. No one else seemed to be paying him any attention, until he connected with a pair of eyes looking back at him. They belonged to a very cute, brown-haired boy with a happy face of a smart, popular boy. His confident and friendly smile made Ethan feel better. Ethan started getting up to join him at his table, but the boy shook his head frantically, making Ethan stop in his tracks again. He put his finger up to his mouth, winked at him, and then went back to eating.
Ethan sat by the table that he incidentally stole from the little blond boy and started eating, his brain busy with thoughts. Who were these boys? Why weren't they allowed to sit together or even talk to each other?
He ate in complete silence. He was almost done when there was a loud beep, and a voice spoke from a speaker placed above the door on the other side of the cafeteria.
"Number 21," it announced.
Ethan jumped to his feet, almost knocking the chair over again and catching it at the last second. This was him. He looked around the room for support, but again, no one seemed to be paying him any attention. Even the brown-haired boy looked busy with his food. He was on his own. He took a deep breath and walked straight to the door, shrinking a little when passing the guard who didn't even grant him a single look.
Another corridor opened up before him with doors on each side. This time, he walked straight to an open door at the far end. It led to an elevator, but when the boy stepped inside and the door closed behind him, he noticed there weren't any buttons. His confusion didn't last long because a second later, the elevator moved down by itself. Then it stopped and the door opened again to yet another corridor, which led to another open door.
Ethan hesitated for a moment at the doorway, peering into the room. It looked like a regular doctor's office. It was clean and organized, much like the sterile environment he had initially found himself in. The walls were painted a nondescript, calming shade of light blue. There was an unmistakable medical smell in the air, which added an edge to his anxiety.
The room was dominated by a large examination table. On one side of the room was a steel cabinet, its glass doors revealing neatly arranged medical supplies. Across the room was a desk with a computer, a chair on each side.
Sitting at the desk was a middle-aged man, looking up from his monitor as Ethan entered the room. His graying hair was combed neatly back, and he fixed his thick glasses looking at the boy's face. Beside him stood another man, holding a small digital camera in his beefy hands. The man was short and round, his uniform stretching tight over his belly.
"Number 21, is it?" the doctor asked, gesturing for Ethan to come in and close the door behind him. His voice was calm, soothing even. "Please, take a seat."
Ethan moved further into the room, the door sliding shut behind him. His heart pounded in his chest as he sat on the examination table, which was too tall for him to reach the floor with his toes. He dangled them anxiously with anticipation, watching the doctor approach him from behind his desk.
"My name is Dr. Anderson, and this is my assistant, Mr. Ogilvy. Today we'll do a basic examination and interview. And questions?"
Ethan looked at the camera on a stand pointed at him.
"Ah yes," Dr. Anderson said. "Everything is going to be recorded, but please try not to think about it. Everything will be explained to you as we go. So, if you don't have any questions, how about we get right into it?"
Ethan had so many questions he chose to keep his mouth shut and see where it takes him. Dr. Anderson took out a stethoscope and directed Ethan to remove his shirt. Despite the cold room, he could feel the sweat on his back. He focused on the cool touch of the stethoscope, steadying his breathing as best he could.
"Very good. Now, take off your pants and put them here on the chair."
Ethan's heart sank. They couldn't possibly expect him to...
"I don't have any underwear," he said with a tight throat, his one and only line of defense.
"That should save you some time undressing, am I right?"
He'd rather save his pride than time, but Ethan knew he had little choice. He stood up and looked around, fidgeting with his hands, as if trying to find another excuse, or stall enough for someone to break into the room and save him. But all he got was an impatient stare from Dr. Anderson.
"I mean it, boy. We don't have all day," he said.
Ethan fought back tears, forced himself not to think about fat Mr. Ogilvy and his camera, and pulled his pants down with his shaky hands. He put them on the chair and immediately covered his crotch with both hands.
"Please keep your arms behind your back," the doctor said assertively.
Ethan wanted to argue, but he didn't know what to say.
"Here comes nothing," he thought to himself, exposing himself. He felt two pairs of eyes aimed at his midsection, and he could've sworn he heard Mr. Ogilvy pressing the zoom button.
"Please don't mind the camera," the doctor said and went back behind his desk. "And don't look at it as I conduct the interview. Look at me. Understood?"
"Yes, sir."
Ethan felt his penis stir from attention, and he forced himself to think about other things. He couldn't shake off the self-consciousness he felt being naked in front of strangers. It was as if his body was no longer his own, but a specimen to be examined and studied. He tried his best to maintain eye contact with Dr. Anderson as he started asking questions.
"What's your name?"
"Ethan."
"Full name, please."
He hesitated, wondering if he should disclose his personal information. But then again, they surely knew his name and more.
"Ethan?" the doctor asked impatiently.
"My name is Ethan Ian Matthews."
"How old are you?"
"I'm thirteen years old."
"What's your gender identity?"
Ethan gave the doctor a confused look, unsure of what he was being asked.
"I'm a boy."
"Could you repeat that and say that you're male?", the doctor asked. Then he whispered to Mr. Ogilvy, "we're going to need a cut here."
Ethan felt very uncomfortable. He felt his penis and balls were shifting and tingling, but he was too afraid to look down. He was technically male, but it made him feel like an animal.
"I'm Ethan Ian Matthews. I'm thirteen years old and I'm male," he said obediently.
"What is your sexual orientation?"
Ethan's cheeks went red. "Straight."
He could have sworn Mr. Ogilvy muttered, "We're going to see about that," but maybe that was just his imagination.
"Please be quiet," Anderson scolded him. "Now, Ethan, what do you do in your free time?"
"I like reading comics, playing video games, and watching the Discovery Channel."
"Do you have a girlfriend?"
"Uh, yes."
He didn't know why he said it. He thought of Spencer. He hadn't even told his parents. He wasn't about to tell some strangers who were probably also big homophobes.
"Have you gone through sexual initiation, Ethan?"
Ethan stopped again. He was inclined to lie and tell them what a sex beast he was, but he knew the question wouldn't end there.
"No, not yet."
"And do you masturbate?"
This time Ethan was sure his penis was getting harder. This was so embarrassing. He was getting a boner in front of strangers and a camera. This couldn't get any worse, could it? His knees felt weak as blood continued to rush into his midsection.
"Isn't it too personal?" he whined, without much hope.
"Ethan," Dr. Anderson took off his glasses. "Nothing is too personal here. I'm sure your parents explained it to you before sending you here. We don't really have time..."
"They told me nothing!" Ethan cried, and tears started flowing from his eyes. "I don't know what I'm doing here! I don't want to be here!"
The boy covered his throbbing cock and sniffled, wishing he could teleport back home, tell his parents how much he hated them, and then go live on the streets, where nobody would mind his business. Mr. Ogilvy said to himself, "another ugly crier," and Dr. Anderson just sighed and started making notes, waiting for Ethan to calm down, which took another five minutes.
"So," the doctor said when Ethan stopped sobbing. "Are you trying to tell me your parents didn't tell you?"
"No! It was just another day at school and then suddenly I'm in a helicopter and the next thing I know, I'm here and... please let me go home! I hate being naked, and I don't want to talk to strangers about what I do!"
Ethan was on the verge of tears again, but Dr. Anderson just sighed.
"Not again... look, kid. This is as much your job as it is mine. Your parents get paid handsomely for this, and you will only go home when we're finished with all the tests. It shouldn't be more than a couple of weeks, as long as we all work to make it go smoothly. I don't have time to sit here and explain to you what your parents should have told you, so blame them, not me. Now, you're going to be fine, so try to stop crying, and let's pick up where we left off, okay?"
Dr. Anderson clearly wasn't good with people, but this wasn't Ethan's biggest concern. A couple of weeks? Or more? He had never been away from home for more than a sleepover, and now he was stuck in a military facility where no one cared about him or his feelings. And apparently, his parents didn't either. Maybe they wanted to get rid of him to get money.
"Hands behind your back, please, boy. We don't have all day."
Torrents of tears flew down Ethan's cheeks as he mindlessly followed the doctor's order. His penis was now semi-hard.
"Now where were we... you do masturbate, right?"
"Y--yes," Ethan sobbed.
"How often, approximately?"
"Once, sometimes twice a day," he answered truthfully but his voice was resigned. But the questions only got worse.
"What do you do to bring yourself to an orgasm?"
"W--what do you mean?"
"Do you watch daddy's magazines, pictures, videos? Or do you use your imagination?"
"I use my imagination... and sometimes watch videos online," Ethan admitted, his voice quiet and shaky. He didn't care what they asked him. He just wanted it to end. But it wasn't over yet.
"Tell me about your fantasies while you masturbate. What do you usually imagine or like to see in these videos?"
Ethan hesitated. He couldn't tell them the truth. That would be the end of him.
"I just watch people having sex," he said.
"Men or women? What age?"
"Man and women... but I only look at girls," he said and his dick got hard again as he remembered some of his favorites.
"What age?"
"I don't know... 20, 25."
"And how would you describe a perfect girl?"
"Perfect girl?"
"The most physically attractive... and arousing."
Ethan swallowed, trying not to look the doctor in the eyes. He hated himself for not controlling his erection but he decided to pretend it's not there.
"Blonde, slim, big round boobs," he lied quickly just to get it over with.
"It's funny how they all say that," Dr. Anderson whispered to Mr. Ogilvy but Ethan heard him. "That will be all for today, Ethan. We had more planned but you should take a break and prepare yourself for the examinations to come."
They didn't pay Ethan too much attention as he dressed up clumsily, his hands still shaking and his heart still racing from the humiliation.
"That will be all," Dr. Anderson repeated when Ethan still stood there awkwardly.
Feeling unwanted and used, Ethan went through the door he came in, and he was genuinely happy to see Dabrowski waiting by the door and reading a magazine.
"Hey squirt, how did you do?" he asked, as he folded the magazine and started walking next to Ethan, a bit worried by his cold dead gaze.
"I don't know," the boy said and his lower lip trembled. He turned away. He won't cry again, not in front of Dabrowski.
"Rough first day, huh?" the man said. "Miss Mommy and Daddy yet?"
Something about his voice made Ethan take on a confrontational stance. "No I don't."
The man chuckled. "Good lad. Most other boys do. They come here all cocky and big-mouthed and next thing they know they cry themselves to sleep."
"I see," the boy replied through clenched teeth.
"You sure you're good?"
"Yeah. What do I do now?"
"You have the day off. But I'm afraid you have to spend most of it in your room."
"Why?"
"Deep introspection is a part of the research program. Don't ask me about details but you will learn what it's like to be on a dopamine withdrawal."
Ethan nodded but he didn't really follow.
"Good news is," Dabrowski added, "you get to have an hour of physical activity every day to keep you in shape. What sports do you like?"
"Basketball."
"Cool. There actually may be some basketball here. Eventually. For now, I hope you like doing pushups."
Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think archhunter420@gmail.com