Tommyhawk's Fantasies: A Knock on the Door

Gay erotic short stories with explicit language. Ten stories that have one thing in common--a knock at the door which is the start of a time our heroes will never forget.

Excerpt from "Reality Show Fallout:"

I heard a knock at my door. “Hey, Randy, hurry, open the fucking door!” came the call right after.

Surprised, I went over to answer it. “Dak!” I exclaimed when I saw him at the door.

“Let me in, quick!” Dak scurried inside.

I was still at the door. Following him were supposed to be... “Where’s the cameras?” I wanted to know.

“Ditched them. Close the fucking door!” Dak said.

I did and he sighed in relief, collapsed onto my couch in a sprawl. There was a lot to sprawl. Dak was on television because he was a big, buffed stud with a square, handsome face. His legs were huge, muscled monsters splayed out at a forty-five degree angles, his arms were ovals of biceps and triceps on the couch back to either side. He got a hell of a lot of fan mail from the show.

Oh, the show! Dak is the Dak you saw on that reality show, “Packed House.” You remember it, don’t you, the one where they took four families and put them all in a rather small but four-bedroom house. Each of the four families had three children between the ages of twelve and two, and they had to live together like that non-stop. Too many people, not enough room, only one telephone and one television set and one bathroom. Doesn’t that sound like fun?

Yeah, a nightmare situation, and that’s what they wanted, people getting pissed with each other. And they upped the ante on the poor suckers they got into that show, because the children all had to share their parents bed every night, and all day long, every room was covered by cameras.

Yeah, part of the fallout for being on the reality show was that sex for Dak must have gone flying out the window. And he was committed to that show for its entire six months of filming for the season. Poor guy! And he wasn’t getting a lot of visits from his friends in the meantime, I mean, who wants to visit with a pal while being surrounded by screaming kids and with cameras mugging you in the face? You had to sign waivers to visit these guys, I had signed one to see Dak once, and once was more than enough, I patted him on the shoulder in sympathy, said good luck and I’d talk to him again when the show was over, and bid him goodbye. That had been a week ago.

And here he was, without his cameras.