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Milford Slabaugh
Tommyhawk's Fantasies: Darker Dreams
Tommyhawk's Fantasies: Darker Dreams
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Gay erotic short stories with explicit language. Ten stories of gay men living under the worst of conditions, nuclear winter, prisoner of war camps, the captive of criminals. But even under these horrible conditions, love still manages to find flower and bloom. I couldn't let it end like this, the final story isn't that dark!
Following is an excerpt from "To Absent Friends:"
Ahead, there was a light, a golden blob in the distance fogged into a blur by the blowing snow. He staggered toward it with what was the very last of his strength. The light resolved into a window, a real window with glass, and to the right of it was a solid door! He didn't bother with the window, he just went up to the door and pounded on it. God, let them open, let them let him in, let him in, let him in!
He sagged down as the door opened and strong arms pulled him inside into the warmth and the light and that was enough for his exhausted, frozen, worn body. He fell into unconsciousness as his body surrendered its struggle in the encroaching warmth that was seeping in to replace the coldness of his clothing....
He awoke some hours later, to find that the sun (such as it had been all day) had set, leaving the only light in the room the orange glow of the roaring fire. That was what had kept him warm, that and the thick fur covering (a bearskin? Yes!) that lay over his (he checked himself, yep, he was naked!) nude body. He sat up, he wasn't dead at least (unless this group was one that had slipped into cannibalism, like that last one he'd found two weeks ago, and was simply saving him until they needed more meat for their soup), and it was time to say his thank-you and find out where he stood in this new group, whether a new hunter or possible meat for the larder!
A lone man squatted by the fire, tending it, poking it up with a metal rod. The furs he wore that both that hunting was good hereabouts (Cooper had headed toward the mountains despite oncoming winter for a good reason, they'd suffered less than the plains in the atomic firebombs that had obliterated most of the fertile regions of the U.S.A.) and that this man was a good hunter. The soup-pot on the fire smelled of vegetables. He'd stumbled upon wealth in this new world the bombs had wrought; the only question now was whether he'd get to share in this wealth. He could offer himself, a strong young man well trained in survival techniques and able to fend for himself and others, but this group didn't seem to need that so much. Well, time would tell. "Hello." he said to the man at the fire.
The man turned and said, "Hello, Hugh."
Cooper blinked, this man knew his first name, which he hadn't used since...well, since before the end of the world! "Hello. Who are you?"
The man stood and pulled the shoulder length hair back from his face. "Don't you recognize me, Corporal?"
Cooper hadn't been a corporal since the war, either. But that triggered the appropriate memories that the face, even with the mustache and beard. "Sergeant Reid!" He yelped. "Sir! I don't believe it!"
Following is an excerpt from "To Absent Friends:"
Ahead, there was a light, a golden blob in the distance fogged into a blur by the blowing snow. He staggered toward it with what was the very last of his strength. The light resolved into a window, a real window with glass, and to the right of it was a solid door! He didn't bother with the window, he just went up to the door and pounded on it. God, let them open, let them let him in, let him in, let him in!
He sagged down as the door opened and strong arms pulled him inside into the warmth and the light and that was enough for his exhausted, frozen, worn body. He fell into unconsciousness as his body surrendered its struggle in the encroaching warmth that was seeping in to replace the coldness of his clothing....
He awoke some hours later, to find that the sun (such as it had been all day) had set, leaving the only light in the room the orange glow of the roaring fire. That was what had kept him warm, that and the thick fur covering (a bearskin? Yes!) that lay over his (he checked himself, yep, he was naked!) nude body. He sat up, he wasn't dead at least (unless this group was one that had slipped into cannibalism, like that last one he'd found two weeks ago, and was simply saving him until they needed more meat for their soup), and it was time to say his thank-you and find out where he stood in this new group, whether a new hunter or possible meat for the larder!
A lone man squatted by the fire, tending it, poking it up with a metal rod. The furs he wore that both that hunting was good hereabouts (Cooper had headed toward the mountains despite oncoming winter for a good reason, they'd suffered less than the plains in the atomic firebombs that had obliterated most of the fertile regions of the U.S.A.) and that this man was a good hunter. The soup-pot on the fire smelled of vegetables. He'd stumbled upon wealth in this new world the bombs had wrought; the only question now was whether he'd get to share in this wealth. He could offer himself, a strong young man well trained in survival techniques and able to fend for himself and others, but this group didn't seem to need that so much. Well, time would tell. "Hello." he said to the man at the fire.
The man turned and said, "Hello, Hugh."
Cooper blinked, this man knew his first name, which he hadn't used since...well, since before the end of the world! "Hello. Who are you?"
The man stood and pulled the shoulder length hair back from his face. "Don't you recognize me, Corporal?"
Cooper hadn't been a corporal since the war, either. But that triggered the appropriate memories that the face, even with the mustache and beard. "Sergeant Reid!" He yelped. "Sir! I don't believe it!"
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