tagGay MaleKasper's Den Ch. 01

Kasper's Den Ch. 01


"He's only 18! That's too young. Niles wants older... straight-acting muscle guys. He'll stand-out too much," one producer said as he eyed me from behind his clipboard.

"It's perfect. We need variety! The audience will expect it. You got too many older gym bitches. They're going to connect to their favorite. If they don't find it, they'll lose interest. He'll be the outlier and attract the guys who want to see themselves amongst the contestants." The main producer nodded his head with a knowing smile.

"See themselves in him? He's too small... not muscular enough. His features are too.. pretty, effeminate. And that long hair... I don't know, Jim," the third producer said. I noted he had a big beer gut and a stain on his t-shirt. I pulled my shoulder-length hair back into a little bun so it was out of my face. His look of disdain softened when he saw it up.

"He's perfect! They'll remember their high school dreams. Those big, green doe eyes and innocent face, clear skin... good hair, reddish-blond. I know what sells! Kasper will sell. I'm naming him 'episode seven,' maybe eight. He'll hang in there while the bigger guys fight it out. A little haircut and better wardrobe... He's perfect, Michael!" Jim, the main producer, said to my friend.

"Wait till you see his yoga routine. He's crazy flexible. I already wrote a scene where he goes on a yoga date with Niles. They'll eat it up!" Michael beamed from the corner of the room. He had begged me to try out for his first solo production.

It was a struggling, cable network that needed a bachelor knock-off show for gays. Michael had been my oldest brother's friend growing up. When I came out, he kind of adopted me and helped me navigate my family's unease.

This show was supposed to be different, the schtick was that the audience got to vote each week online. They not only voted for which four contestants to protect that week, but they would also vote to inflict punishments (suggested by the producers so it wasn't too sadistic) on the contestants they most hated. In order to stay, those contestants would have to endure the punishments. It was a weird concept, and I didn't think it would last, but I needed the money.

I wasn't going to try out, but I'd recently become homeless. Oh I had a home and a family. I could go back there at any time so long as I agreed to work for my father's business and start taking classes towards a degree. I could cut my hair and stay in every night. The thought of fixing sewer lines and sitting in classes just wasn't for me.

It's not that my father was harsh, he'd just run out of patience with my bad choices. I've always been kind of a handful. My latest bad choice landed me in the local jail where he happily let me sleep for the night before coming to help. It was a misunderstanding and I got caught up in a drug sweep for being at the wrong party at the wrong time. I didn't even know there were drugs going around.

I didn't have anything on me or in me so the charges were dropped once I got to talk with the district attorney and showed a clean blood sample. When I made it home though, my parents had an ultimatum. Things got heated and Michael's couch was open to me. Michael begged me to audition for casting on his new project. He had a shoestring budget and a big dream.

"Well the whole thing is a fake set. There are four reality shows filming, different countries, languages, cultures. Most of our show is ok to be shot at night, so we got the cheap rate on the fancy house," Michael explained as our plane took off from Los Angeles.

"But why Africa? That's so... far." I rubbed my sore ears. They were popping from the pressure.

"South Africa offered crazy incentives to film there. We're the only show filming in English there so they offered us a great package. They have dorms for the contestants to sleep in, but you'll have to pretend for the show that you're sleeping in the big house. We get the house for five hours each day so we have to really rush the scenes." Michael explained.

"And what other shows are filming there?" I asked.

"Well there's a business-entrepreneur show with Arabs, another one with Persians, and an Indian show that is part Bollywood musical and part dating show with straight people. It's pretty much a rip-off of my show, but with added talent shows with their music. Indian shows have to have a dance and song montage." Michael laughed.

"They paid me for the development of the dating portion though and each week I get to re-sell our scripts so they can use them but with straight storylines instead of gay. This is really going to put me on the map!" Michael was so excited. He had worked so hard on this and producing shows was all he ever wanted to do.

"So I stay in a dorm with Americans? Do I get my own bed or are they bunks?" I realized I should have asked these questions before committing.

"You know you can stay with me a little in the producer's suite, but yeah it's bunks. I tried to block off enough for our guys... but until more get voted off, it's going to be tight." Michael had that look in his eyes like bad news was coming.

"Where am I sleeping?" I asked knowing I had little choice as the plane barrelled over the California desert.

"Well you were kind of a last minute addition since we got approved for an extra episode," Michael started. "But um... I think you'll be ok. You'll have a bed alone. I promise!"

I rolled my eyes. Michael fired up his laptop and got to work on a script. I popped in my earbuds and played a game on my phone.

I fell asleep somewhere over the Atlantic. It was pitch-black outside and they had the cabin lights turned off. Michael was still working on a script while he finished his beer. Luckily, the plane seat had a phone charger so my music kept me entertained.

I woke up as we were starting to descend into Johannesburg. I looked out the window to see the blazing sun over rugged hills covered in brown grass. I expected to see giraffes and lions, but the scenery soon gave way to wide boulevards and shopping centers, sprawling suburbs and green golf courses. I scarfed down the sandwich Michael had gotten me from the stewardess. We followed along a black-topped highway crawling with commuters, but then quickly diverted east to touchdown on a runway.


"Kasper Adam Lane, you come home right now! This is insane! Why do you do this shit?" My dad's voice said when I called him. I connected to the airport wifi while Michael was waiting for our bus. We had to take a bus to Durban and then a car would take us to the filming compound.

"I told you, dad. I'm in Africa for a tv show. It pays a thousand bucks for every episode I'm on and it goes up by five hundred each week I stick around! It will be good money for when I come back. I'm trying to contribute like you wanted." I tried to make it sound less dumb.

"Of all the stupid things you've done, Kasper... Africa? Are you fucking kidding me? You'll get yourself killed. You're too dumb to survive on your own. You come home!" Dad was pissed.

To be fair though, I'd done a lot of stupid things. My brothers were the smart ones, the athletic alphas; the ones who brought home trophies and good grades. I was the last born though, the unwanted surprise. It's why my dad had named me after some character in a video game series he was obsessed with as a teenager. They didn't expect much from me.

I'd always been the troubled one, the kid for whom they dreaded getting notices for parent conferences. It was never good news. I wasn't good at much. I was a series of disappointments highlighted by growing my hair out and the fact that I didn't like girls.

"I gotta go, dad. I'll call you when I get the chance. I'm with Michael. I'll be ok... love you," I said and hung up before he could protest. I walked out of range for the wifi so my phone went silent. I shoved it into my pocket and followed Michael onto the bus, onto the next adventure.


We pulled up to the compound around dinnertime. I'd lost track of what time it was back home. I just wanted another sandwich, a shower, a sleeping place. I stumbled behind Michael with my bag as he led me through the compound's security and inquired about his producers suite.

His "suite" turned out to be a small, dank bedroom in the dorms. It was private, but just big enough for a small twin bed and desk. He had a closet would just barely hold his bag. The bathroom and communal shower was down the hall. He looked at me with a frustrated sigh. This wasn't what the brochure had promised.

I shouldn't have laughed though. This was the producer's suite and I was just a contestant. Michael helped me find the Dorm-Master, that was his title, so I could find my bunk. The other shows had already started filming, so the rows of small rooms were pretty packed. I followed the dorm-master, a friendly older guy with a giant set of keys on his belt, down a long hallway with doors.

A few of the doors were open to small rooms with old carpet and two sets of bunk beds stacked against opposing walls. Random men from all parts of the world were lounging, leaning, playing games, talking, and napping in their small beds. I raised a few eyebrows as I hugged my pillow and followed him down the hall. He'd pause occasionally to look in on a room and yell at someone in a foreign language.

I felt like it was my first day in either high school or prison.

Near the end of one hallway, he finally found what he was looking for. There was one empty top bunk in a room that already looked full with clothes hanging over the doorway and a small window looking out to the dark night. None of the other prisoners... campers... contestants were in the room right then, but I was obviously intruding on a group's space. He nodded to the top bunk and then showed me the two empty drawers that would be for my clothes. He picked a stack of shirts out of one of the drawers and placed it on the nearest bed.

The room smelled foreign; like unidentifiable spices and unclaimed gym gear. I nodded to him as he said something in his language and handed me a key to the room. He left me to unpack my things. This was not what I had in mind when Michael told me about the fabulous show he was filming. I pictured a swanky resort and comfortable bed. This was a twin-sized mattress pad on an old, metal frame. There was a "Welcome bag" on the bed that held thin sheets, a blanket, pillow, and towel.

I made the bed and then went down to grab a quick shower. Luckily, the communal bathroom had shower stalls with curtains. I pulled my hair up into a ponytail and took a quick shower. I guessed it must have been dinner time because everyone was out for the evening. I would have time to explore, but right now my body needed fresh clothes and a bed.

When I made it back to the room, the other guys had returned from dinner. There were four Arab looking guys and two guys who must have been with the Bollywood show. None of them were speaking English, and I noticed my bag had been tossed atop my bed.

I walked in wearing a pair of pajama shorts. The Indian guys ignored me, but the Arab guys looked me up and down, noting my smooth, pale chest covered in a light dusting of freckles from the summer sun.

"Uh... hi. I'm up there," I said and pointed up to my bunk. The Arab guys stopped talking and moved out of my way. I hung the towel on a hook next to my bed. There were other towels on hooks so I assumed that was the custom.

As I climbed up, they resumed their conversation and burst into laughter. I didn't look back. The two Indian guys were settled into the top bunk opposite mine. I watched as one shuffled a deck of cards, but I looked away when my interest was met with a glare. I could tell I wasn't going to make friends here, at least not until some of the American gays got eliminated and I could change rooms.

"What your name is," a deep monotone voice commanded as a handsome brown face popped up next to my mattress. He had black, spiky hair and caramel brown eyes.

"Kasper..." I stammered. "Kasper... Lane." I slid back against the wall and braced myself as though he were ready to attack... he wasn't.

"I am Taj," He said and his lips spread into a smile. "May I join you?"

I nodded and he put his hands flat against my bedspread. He pushed himself up like a gymnast and I noted the impressive bulge of muscles pushing the limits of his tight, gray tanktop.

"You are Englishman. No?" He asked.

"American... Californian," I nodded and tore my eyes from his intense gaze. I was trying not to do anything stupid with a hot guy in my bed. He was fucking gorgeous and that accent wasn't helping matters.

"Ah lovely! Palm trees and surfboards. You are with the show for the homosexuals?" He asked with interest, not surprise.

"I guess so," I said as though I didn't know what I'd tried out for.

"Yes, that will not show in my country," Taj laughed. "But I have met the homosexuals in my travels to Europe. Is so strange. You are not man, but also not woman." He reached and pushed back my hair like it added a layer of complexity he couldn't understand.

"No, I'm a man." I laughed.

"I do not mean offense. They tell us your kind will be here and we can take this as time to learn. Most of us want to be in international business so it is important to see how rest of world lives. Sometimes Arabian cultures can be center of our own world," Taj stretched his leg out towards me and put his hand to my shoulder.

"Oh. That's good, I guess," I said and yawned.

"You are tired, dear friend. I let you sleep. I am below you for sleep. If you need anything or have problems with my people here, I will help. I am here to be success. It means a different life for me and my future wife. She is waiting for me in Riyadh. I will succeed," Taj showed a resilient grin. He hopped off of my bed and shooed his friends out. He stretched and I caught the gold waistband of his underwear. Of course he was straight. Just my luck. I groaned inwardly.

I looked over to see the Indian guys still playing their game. One looked over at me with annoyance. He didn't appreciate being studied. He had a handsome face and toned body like a darker version of a football player I drooled over in high school. He was here for the dating show so I guess he was straight to. I was swimming in cock and all out of reach.

Taj turned off the overhead lights and the Indian guys protested in their language. He told them in English with a harsh tone that it was time for bed. It was obvious that Taj ruled our roost, they didn't respond. There was still a side table lamp glowing, but it wouldn't bother me. I'd grown up in a house with loud brothers and was used to a certain din of noise when I laid down at night. I looked to see Taj give me a happy wink. I crawled under the bedspread and quickly fell asleep.


I woke up to Taj and another Arab guy rubbing towels over their wet, naked skin. I quickly closed my eyes to not arouse suspicion, but cracked one open to take in the beautiful dark orbs of his furry ass. He rubbed the towel over his stomach and turned so I could see his fat, flaccid cock. I was already hard with my usual morning wood, and the sight of him had me desperate to touch my cock. I had to lay there pretending to sleep until he finished dressing.

He pulled on dress pants and a button-up shirt. His show must have demanded a suit. I had nowhere to be until after lunch when we could begin filming. They seemed to be in a hurry, but when his friend ran off, Taj turned to look at me. He crept close and I closed my eyes tightly. I felt his hand pull my bedspread up over my bare chest. He patted my shoulder and whispered something in his language. I melted at his touch.

I pulled on jeans and a t-shirt when he left. The show would dress me so I didn't need to worry about what I wore. It was a cool morning in the dorms so I dressed warmly and went out to explore a little. I found a badge in my welcome bag and clipped it to my shirt.

Outside the dorms were a few other buildings around a large, tiled courtyard. South Africa looked much like southern California, but everything was just a little off. The trees had different shapes and colors. There was a tropical humidity in the air, very different from the normally dry climate of LA.

I walked over to the cafeteria area to get some breakfast. I had a few hours before I needed to check in for my show. It was packed with people who looked like they were part of the Indian show. It was a long wait for the buffet, but they had a side station with some fruit, bread, and coffee. I grabbed a hot tea, half a croissant, and a bowl of melons. They had to-go trays so I put it together and waved my badge at the security guy, but he didn't seem to care.

Outside of the cafeteria hut I saw a little pathway that led down the hill to a clearing in the woods with a few empty tables. I put in my earbuds and played some music as I headed down. I sat at a table that had a view of the beach from a narrow breach in the thick forest. Emerald waves crashed against the white sands of the Indian Ocean. It was weird to see the ocean on the right side. The Pacific was always on the left... at least from California's perspective.

I had just popped a wedge of cantaloupe past my lips when I saw a head coming up the path from the beach. His black hair waved in the wind as his hand pushed it back from his handsome, golden face. With each bounce I could see a few more inches of his perfection as he bounded up the steps towards the small, peaceful clearing.

He made it to the top without noticing me sitting back in the shade. His tall, lean frame of golden brown skin over toned, tight muscles glistened in the sun from under a slim white tank top. He turned in triumph and looked back out towards the water as a small pair of red workout shorts clung to his perfectly bubbled ass.

I couldn't tell if he was here for the Arab show or the gay show. He looked lighter, like a mix of white and Arab. He definitely didn't look gay, but then the show casting had said they wanted hot muscle guys. He also looked younger, about my age with the lankiness of youth giving way to the chiseled muscles of manhood. I was supposed to be the token younger guy on the dating show so it was unlikely I'd film with him. I still prayed he was on my show so I could at least spend a few hours each day ogling him on the set.

I mindlessly popped another wedge of melon through my lips as I daydreamed before I raised my eyes from his shorts enough to notice he had turned back towards me and noticed my appreciative gaze. A curious smile crossed his lips as I quickly lowered my eyes to my tray of food. I heard his footsteps get close while I pretended to study the small croissant I'd selected.

I thought he was moving on from me, but then he stopped and I watched a muscled brown hand with a light dusting of black hair reach for my tray and take a piece of melon.

"May I?" a deep, interested voice asked. I raised my eyes up his hand, past a toned bicep with a small pink scar in its center, to a clean-shaven face with a broad smile of pillowy pink lips and perfect white teeth.

"Uh... yeah... Sorry, man. I was zoned out there... didn't even see you there," I lied. I pulled out my earbuds and turned off my music.

"Right," he laughed and took a chunk of melon from me. I watched as he put it to his pursed lips and sucked it in cooly. He winked one of his big brown eyes at me as he chewed on it happily.

"Not bad. Tastes like it's sat out a while though. We have better food at the hotel. Your accent is American. I've seen a few of you around. With the gay show, right? We had to kick a few out of the resort's pool last night. Rude guys, very disrespectful. They claimed to have accidentally wandered in from the filming compound," The guy said in perfect English as he slid in across from me at the table.

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bytarzanacide© 5 comments/ 11620 views/ 15 favorites

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