Author: indieerotica

Hypnotizing My Straight Roommate

Caleb can’t stand his roommate Grant. It’s bad enough that the man is a disgusting slob, but he’s also incredibly good-looking and straight — so he can’t even get a good lay out of it. When he comes home from college classes one afternoon, Caleb has had it with Grant’s messiness. But he knows he can’t just complain — he’s done that before and it’s gotten him nothing. Acting out of desperation, he does the first thing that comes to mind … he hypnotizes Grant and makes him clean up. But once he’s got this sexy hunk under hypnosis, Caleb can’t help but act on his deepest desires.

Hypnotizing My Straight Roommate is a 3,500-word short story.

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Excerpt

My bewilderment faded as I took in the mess again — and as the stench fully filled my nostrils and my lungs — and was replaced with only cold rage. Grant is a useless slob! I’m always cleaning up after him!

I decided I’d had enough. I stormed through the apartment, looking for him. I shoved open his bedroom door and found him passed out on the mattress. The floor was scattered with clothing and the stench of unwashed underwear filled the air.

He was lying face down in his bed, clad in only a pair of white briefs. My rage faltered for a moment — as much trouble as Grant was, he was certainly one fine looking man. Even in the half-dark of the room, I could make out the sculpted muscles of his back and the curve of his muscular ass, the white cotton of his briefs clinging tightly to his cheeks and plunging into the valley of his crack. His legs, hairy and muscular, were long and similarly sculpted.

I wondered what Grant would think if I told him how often I jacked off to mental pictures of him. He was the typical straight guy with an almost frat-like mentality — and he had no idea I was gay. More than once he’d waved his dick at me in a helicopter rotation. Straight boys could be so gay sometimes.

But because of that, I knew just how hung he was.

I sat down on the edge of his bed and stared at his ass. He didn’t stir from the jostling of the mattress. His breathing, slow and steady, helped to calm me down a little further. I had to think this through.

Yelling at Grant wouldn’t work. I’d tried that so many times I’d lost count. He’d be on his best behavior for a day or two, and then I’d come home to filth.

I had to come up with some other way to get him to clean up after himself. But what?

And then I had the craziest of ideas. In my psych class, we’d just learned about hypnotism as a form of therapy, how some people benefitted from post-hypnotic suggestions. Maybe that would be the key to changing his messy ways.

I almost scoffed at myself. Hypnotism? That was the realm of charlatans and cheap magic shows. My prof had also been clearly skeptical. He’d admitted to trying it with a few patients early in his career, but had said nothing stuck longer than a day or two.

Still, though … what if it worked?

I should try it, I decided. If it worked, it worked. If it didn’t, then it was at least a momentary distraction from the stink in the kitchen. And with Grant slumbering, his mind might even be more susceptible to suggestion than normal.

Moving slowly and carefully, so as to not jostle the mattress too much, I slipped my phone from my pocket and quickly looked up a hypnotic script that I could test out on him. A website full of spirals and abstract GIFs popped up. In a few moments, I’d navigated to a script to induce a quick hypnosis. I started reading it out loud.

“Listen to my voice. My voice is calming. My voice is relaxing. My voice is everything you need.” Grant inhaled deeply, but didn’t roll over. His eyes were still closed. He was still asleep. “My voice is comforting. My voice wraps you in a warm blanket and makes you feel safe, makes you feel secure.”

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The Pool Boy and The MILF

Tommy has a thing for MILFs. One MILF in particular — Mrs. Williams — has caught his eye and he secretly lusts after her while he cleans her pool. One on particularly hot summer day, Mrs. Williams comes out with a pitcher of lemonade to help him cool down… but things soon get scorching hot… and Tommy’s wildest MILF fantasy comes true…

The Pool Boy And The MILF is a 3,600-word short story.

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Excerpt

The sound of the back door turns my attention back to the house. Mrs. Williams is walking toward me with a tray containing a pitcher of lemonade and two glasses.

“You’re looking a little hot, Tommy,” she says, with a warm smile. “Thought you might need a drink to cool you down.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Williams, I definitely do.” I lay the net down on the deck and join her at the poolside table. She places the tray down and pours lemonade into the glasses. When she hands me my glass, our fingers touch and I get a sudden jolt to my dick. It was a passing touch, harmless, but with where my mind is right now, it’s an incredible turn on.

I chug back half the glass, hoping the cold lemonade will cool the inferno of my building lust. Then I watch her take a dainty sip from her glass and then follow a bead of perspiration as it rolls down her neck and into the hollow of her cleavage.

She’s got a tight, white T-shirt on, with what looks like a floral bikini top beneath. Her outfit is finished off with cut-off jeans that ride high on her tanned thighs.

The lemonade is doing nothing to cool me down. My cock is at full attention, surely tenting my shorts if I would dare to look down.

Mrs. Williams quickly eyes me up and down and lets out a soft chuckle. My cheeks warm with a blush of embarrassment — I know she saw my boner tenting my shorts.

“Call me Sharon,” she says, as she puts her glass down on the tray. She takes a moment to stretch, thrusting her chest toward me. My eyes lock on her tits and my mind empties.

“Huh?”

She chuckles again and says, “You don’t need to call me Mrs. Williams. Sharon is nicer. It’s more … intimate.”

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A Night to Remember

Anna and Trevor are in a rut—like any married couple, their sex life has become monotonous, routine, and dull. But tonight is different.

Anna and Trevor are determined to reignite the burning passion they once had by pretending to be strangers who meet in a hotel bar. It seems like a tame enough activity, but their night of adventure takes an unexpectedly erotic turn when they venture outside for a moonlight stroll.

When they lose their clothes and find themselves trapped outside, under the moonlight, they can’t keep their hands off each other, and soon, all concern about discretion and propriety disappear as their reignited passions take over.

A Night To Remember is a 5,800-word short story.

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Excerpt

Even from across the room, I felt the heat from him when his gaze settled on me. He wove around the tables as he crossed the room. Maybe it was the pretence of the game, or maybe it was the way my dress kept me physically aroused, but I was more turned on by the sight of him than I’d been in a long time.

“Excuse me, miss,” he said as he came up beside me. He laid his hand casually on the small of my back and I felt it slide south, to the top curve of my ass. “Could I keep you company this evening?”

I looked him in the eyes and then let my gaze trail down his body. For my answer, I pulled the cherry out of my drink and placed it between my lips, plucking off the stem, then winked at him.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said. He sat on the stool next to me, facing me, with our knees brushing. He waved over the bartender and ordered a whisky. Our eyes locked and didn’t move as the bartender served up his drink. Trevor put money on the counter and we had our privacy again. “What brings a gorgeous woman like you to a place like this?”

“I guess I was just looking for some ... excitement.” I lifted my right leg to cross over my left, but as I did so, I raised my short dress, showing him my cooch. I saw his attention zero in on it, just like I’d intended. I finally crossed my legs and lay my dress over my thighs. When he finally looked up at me again, his cheeks were red with heat and his eyes only held desire. Me being without underwear hadn’t been part of the plan.

“Maybe I — maybe I can provide that excitement,” he said, stumbling over his words. He laid a hand on my bare thigh and my skin burned with heat at the contact, filling me with desire and need.

I leaned forward, giving him an ample view down my top. “What did you have in mind?” I trailed my fingers up one of his legs, from his knee, up his thigh, and then gently across his bulge. He was hard. For me.

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New York Heat

Club 21 is New York City’s hottest gay nightclub. The drinks are cheap, the music is infectious, and the go-go boys are the stuff of dreams.

For Dan, it’s where his life will forever change. With his signature on the dotted line, he goes from bartender to owner. And with that change, he realizes that both his responsibilities and his stress have skyrocketed.

Club 21 is home. The staff are family. Like a mama bear, Dan is fiercely protective of his clients and his staff, especially his go-go boys, whose carefree dancing inspires Dan to make Club 21 the best it can be.

Especially Ken, once a fling, now the love of his life. There’s so much that needs to get done at Club 21, but Dan is terrified that all the long evenings will drive his young go-go boy lover away. Dan doesn’t want to lose him, but if anything ever happened to his staff—his family—Dan would never forgive himself...

Content warning: New York Heat contains a scene of mass violence and the death of a main character.

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Excerpt

Dan leaned against the metal newspaper box and stared at the brick building in front of him. This was either the best decision he’d ever made … or the worst. There could be no in between. He’d be happy and financially well off … or this would lead to utter ruin.

He fumbled in his back pocket for the pack of smokes he’d bought earlier that day. Haven’t smoked in twenty years, he reminded himself again. The stress of today, though, made it impossible to resist the decades-old siren song of tobacco. He tapped a cigarette out of the pack, along with the lighter, and lit up. He inhaled deep, letting the searing smoke fill his lungs, the burning taste fill his mouth — it was comfortable. It brought him an instant relief to the tension that had been building for the last two weeks, culminating in today.

Through all of this, he never took his eyes off the brick building.

“Since when have you started smoking again?” Brad asked.

“Today,” Dan said, the answer coming out as little more than a grunt. It was enough, he knew, to signal to Brad to not ask further questions.

Brad let out a hmm sound, then folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the second newspaper box. He stared up at the building. Brad had come down from Canada to help Dan with what the next few weeks would bring.

“Remember when we bought fake IDs and snuck in?” Brad asked.

Dan laughed — expressing far more humor than he really felt — but the laugh was good. It was cleansing. It was what he needed to break the tension that had settled over him, tightening up his whole body.

He flicked ash off the end of the cigarette. “We were such twinks back then.”

Dan remembered the night well. It was more than thirty years ago, but he recalled it like it was last week. They were nineteen, but desperate to get into Club 21, the hottest gay bar in New York City. They’d spent weeks asking around the college campus for a black market ID seller. They’d practiced acting older — even though twenty-one, the age to get in, was barely any different from nineteen. Dan had even gone out and bought a dress shirt, hoping it made him look like a banker or something.

“All that work,” Brad said, “and they didn’t even give us a second glance or check our ID.”

“If I remember right, you ended up with some hot daddy in the men’s room.”

Brad laughed, then reached over and took the cigarette from Dan’s hand, taking in a drag before handing it back. “I wasn’t even that attracted to him. I think I was just in awe that a man wanted me. But I seem to remember you grinding on some jock on the dance floor.”

They both broke into a roar of laughter. When it died down, Dan inhaled another lungful of smoke. He hated the habit, hated the taste too, but it helped him get through days like this.

He finally tore his gaze from the brick building to glance at his friend of almost forty years. “I’ve missed you, Brad. It’s good to have you back.” Shortly after college, Brad had taken odd jobs around the country before getting certified in various types of yoga and moving to Canada to teach in studios there. Dan had taken a much different path, heading into a career in accounting, where he stayed with one company his entire career. Until now.

Brad took another drag of Dan’s cigarette. “It’s good to be back. I’ve been away from New York for too long.” He put his arm over Dan’s shoulders, pulling him closer, sharing his warmth on this chilly May afternoon. “But I wouldn’t miss this for the world, Dan.”

Dan looked up at the building again. Even in this drab May day, the brick was a deep red, nice and clean, and the neon sign, not yet lit up, proudly pronounced this building as Club 21. As of two o’clock this afternoon, just a couple hours ago, this club was now his.

Though he’d been an accountant by day, he’d done some evening work as a bartender here. He’d been happy with his life. But when Rachel, the previous owner, moved to L.A. to follow her son and support him in his newfound career, he saw an opportunity that he couldn’t pass up. He wanted to own Club 21.

I’m still scared shitless, he admitted to himself. He couldn’t tell anyone else that — not even Ken, his boyfriend — because he needed to appear confident and sure. He suspected that Brad saw right through his façade, though. Being best friends with a guy for something like four decades allowed for that kind of closeness.

Brad’s arm was still around his shoulders and it felt comforting. It reminded Dan of when they were much closer, when they were almost boyfriends. They’d hooked up a few times in college, before getting into Club 21, but they’d never progressed beyond a few blowjobs and the occasional fuck. He leaned into Brad’s warm, solid body, letting out a sigh and, with it, letting out some of the tension that had built up in him over the day.

“I still can’t believe you bought the place,” Brad said. “I remember back in college, we were chatting one night about our dreams when we were in bed together, and you said something about wanting to own the place. I had thought it was a cool idea, but I never thought it would happen.”

Dan had forgotten about that. Even though he’d spent hundreds of nights over his lifetime at Club 21, he remembered nothing of a desire to own the place. He said as much to Brad, then added, “I guess it was just meant to be.”

“Speaking of meant to be — tell me about Ken.”

Dan felt a blush warm his cheeks, like he was that nineteen-year-old twink again. “He’s a bit of a bad boy, but with a good heart. He’s one of the dancers here. He’s, uh, he’s inside,” Dan said. Brad and his partner, Simon, had flown in two nights ago, but with all of the busyness of signing contracts and legal documents, they hadn’t had a chance to get reacquainted or to meet — or even see — each other’s boyfriends. “And he’s … he’s considerably younger than me.”

Brad laughed, but it wasn’t the friendly-teasing laugh that Dan had expected. It seemed almost a laugh of recognition. “Simon is quite a bit younger than me too. He’s twenty-two.”

Dan felt a wave of relief. Though older-younger relationships weren’t uncommon, especially among gay men, he had always felt that they were based more on lust and carnal desires, rather than genuine love. Even when he had started with Ken, it was a relationship based on hooking up and frequent sex. Love had been an unexpected consequence.

“Ken is twenty-two, as well,” Dan said.

“Well, look at us being man-cougars.” He hugged Dan’s shoulders a little tighter for a moment. “Do you love him?”

“I do,” Dan said. It had taken Dan and Ken a while to recognize these feelings, and even longer to admit them. But, once they did, everything felt right. “And you and Simon?”

“Me too.” He took another drag of Dan’s cigarette, then handed it back. “It’s odd, isn’t it? Being in love.”

Dan took the final drag of the cigarette, then flicked it across the sidewalk. “It is. Sometimes, well…”

“Sometimes what?”

“Do you ever wonder if these young twinks will grow tired of us? You know, realize there’s more fun to be had with someone closer to their own age?” It was a fear that he had never voiced before, a fear he had trouble admitting even to himself. Brad was the one person in this world who he felt comfortable saying such a thing to.

“All the fucking time,” Brad said. “I’m in my fifties, my body is sagging, even though I’m fit. I’m slowing down every year as much as I hate to admit it. And every day brings a new gray hair. And Simon is supposed to love me as this keeps happening?”

Dan sighed. “Maybe we’re getting lust and love mixed up. I know it took me a long time to sort them out. I didn’t even realize they meant different things until recently.”

“That could be it. Lust is all physical, all animal. Love is … love is something deeper, more permanent, slow-growing. I don’t think it’s as easily lost as lust can be.”

Dan didn’t know how to respond, so he let the comfortable silence settle over the two of them. They continued staring at the brick building, even as pedestrians passed in front of them and cars passed behind them. New York City was a busy place with rarely a moment of pure peace — but this was pretty damn close.

After a very long time of just leaning against the newspaper boxes, Brad broke the silence. “I see the leather bar is closed.”

Dan glanced toward the brick building across the narrow alley. The leather bar had gone under just a couple weeks ago and, as far as Dan knew, no one had made an offer on the place yet. While commercial real estate in New York City was hot, it seemed no one wanted the old bar.

“It’s been there as long as Club 21,” Dan said. “Changed names many times, but it’s always been there. But the world moves on.” Dan remembered well when they’d gone to the leather bar together. If nights at Club 21 were slow or if they were in particular need of sucking daddy dick, they’d sometimes head across the alley and scope out the meat there. There were as many memories in that building as there were in Club 21.

“Hmm,” Brad said. Dan looked at his friend and saw a look of serious contemplation on his face.

“What?”

Brad stared at the building a little longer, seeming to size it up, then glanced at Dan. “Just a … just a flight of fancy, I guess. I’ve been thinking of starting up my own yoga studio. That place is large enough.” He shook his head. “But this can’t b a spur-of-the-moment decision. I can’t just say I’m going buy a building and start a studio.”

Dan let out a laugh that came out as a snort. “That’s basically what I did with Club 21.” He looked again at Brad and saw just how seriously his friend was considering this. He elbowed him in the side. “You should do it. Take risks. I bet the price is a steal — seems no one wants to move in.”

“Hmm,” Brad said again.

Dan let Brad ruminate on the building and his dream of a studio while he instead looked at Club 21 again — his apparent dream come true. Hopefully it’s a good dream, not a nightmare.

An urge for another cigarette settled into Dan. He didn’t want to get too deep into smoking again — the further in he was, the harder it would be to quit. And he’d have to quit. Ken didn’t like that he smoked. Dan didn’t like it himself, either, but he could put up with his bad habits easier than Ken could.

“Come on,” Dan said, “let’s go inside.”

Brad released his hold on Dan’s shoulders and the two men stood up and walked toward the front door. Though he’d gone in and out a few times today and he’d been running the place for Rachel until the paperwork legally signed the place over to him, this was the first time he’d entered with the building belonging to him. It was somehow fundamentally different.

He put his key in the lock and turned, the tumblers clicking and causing his heart to pound against his ribs. He felt almost lightheaded for a moment. He gave the door a tug and it opened.

Pulling the door open wide, he turned to Brad and said, “Welcome … to Club 21.”

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Gay Love and Other Fairy Tales by Dylan James

Jordan Ortiz decides he can no longer hide who he truly is. He’s gay. He comes out to his family, then he comes out to everyone, and it goes well. Like, way better than he thought possible. But that’s about where it ends. There aren’t enough out gay kids at school for him to build a queer social life or even consider the possibility of dating. For now, he’s happy to be the gay bestie for his BFF, Hannah.

Benjamin Cooper is the captain of the football team and has known Jordan for almost his whole life. And he has a secret. When they won an award at the science fair in grade nine, Jordan hugged him—and that’s when Ben realized he had feelings for Jordan. As he watches Jordan come out and flower into who he is, he can’t help but feel ashamed—ashamed at what a coward he is compared to Jordan.

When a broken leg and fair-weather friends leave Ben feeling lonely on Christmas break, he spends New Year’s Eve with Jordan, just hanging out in his basement like they used to years ago. But as the countdown to midnight happens and the ball is about to drop, Ben has something else in mind. At the stroke of midnight, he kisses Jordan.

What starts with a surprise kiss leads to a year of shared secrets, hidden love, relationship troubles, and broken hearts. Through it all, one fact holds true—Jordan loves Benjamin and Benjamin loves Jordan. But is that enough to carry them through when Ben wants to stay firmly in the closet, to the very point that this might destroy what hope they have of true love?

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Excerpt

Nineteen minutes and thirty seconds.

I can’t keep counting down like this. I’m going to drive myself insane. I’m going to kill the mood if I’m glued to the clock. I hear some rustling beside me and I see that Jordan has pulled out his phone and he’s scrolling through Instagram. He suddenly angles his phone away from me.

“What?” I ask.

He hesitates, then says, “Nikki’s posting pics of her and Winston.”

“I’m not her boyfriend,” I say automatically. I’ve never actually said that to anyone. I’ve always just let people make their own assumptions and I was happy to play along with it. “We were never together.”

“Really?” Jordan asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I make her look good in photos, but I have no interest in her,” I say. I can feel a bead of sweat forming at my temple.

He scoffs. “You put on a good act then.” He goes to her profile and scrolls down until he finds pictures of me and Nikki. Together. Kissing.

“That’s exactly what it is. An act.” My heart is beating so hard it feels like it’s going to punch through my ribs.

He looks at me like he’s assessing me. “She’s gorgeous,” he says. It’s like he’s pushing me, like he knows what I want to say, even though I don’t think he has a clue. “She’s a control freak sometimes, yeah, but she’s gorgeous.”

“Not my type,” I say.

“Oh?” He shuts off his phone and tosses it on the couch between us. “What is your type?”

You. You’re my type. But can I say those words out loud? Hell no. Coward.

Instead, I turn my attention to the TV. Fourteen minutes left.

“I’m still figuring that out,” I say.

He seems to accept that as an answer, or at least accepts that I’m not ready to talk more about it. We silently watch the rest of the countdown and inwardly I’m kicking myself again — way to ruin the mood right before the hug! I’m saving my last mouthful of Bud Light for midnight, so I’m just sitting here idly holding an almost-empty can of beer.

Finally, what seems like ages later, we’re down to less than a minute. Slowly, the energy in the room warms up. I lean forward, like getting closer to the TV is going to somehow make this more exciting. Beside me, Jordan does the same.

“Ten!” he says out loud, joining the cheering people on the screen counting down.

I join in with him. “Nine! Eight! Seven! Six! Five! Four! Three! Two! One! Happy new year!”

I take that final swig of beer, letting the alcohol give me a burst of courage. I stand up and hold my arms out and Jordan stands up and comes into them. I wrap my arms around him, holding him tight.

“Happy new year,” I whisper.

“Happy new year,” he whispers back.

I know I should let go, end this hug, because it’s getting too long — it’s past the limit of how long friends hug. But I don’t want to let go.

I never want to let go.

Jordan feels so right in my arms.

But there’s something I want even more.

I loosen my arms a little bit and he backs up just an inch or two and he looks up at me. His eyes sparkle in the light and I can see a question behind those clear, brown eyes. He knows something is different.

With the alcohol pushing my decisions, I angle my head in and kiss him.

He puts his hands on my chest like he’s ready to push me away, but I keep kissing him, even though he’s not moving his lips, even though he’s as still as a statue. Panic starts to rise in me and I can feel myself starting to shake. Jordan isn’t responding.

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Silent Hearts

He thought he could escape his heart by traveling far from home. But the heart will not rest when love calls to it.

Jake Coleman is young, gay and horny. He thought there could be no better way to start out his adulthood than a working visa adventure to Kyleakin, Scotland, a tiny town on the Isle of Skye. He works the overnight shift at a hostel and spends most of the daytime hours sleeping. Oh, and he gives blowjobs to pretty much any hostel guest who asks. It’s the perfect arrangement, until he meets Grant.

Grant MacLean, a very attractive Scotsman, is the first person ever to turn down Jake’s middle-of-night blowjob offer. Instead, he wants to kiss Jake, something that is simply off-limits. Grant cares for Jake in ways that remind him too much of Peter, the once-love-of-his-life who he ran away from—the very reason Jake had to escape his former life in Canada. Gay love just doesn’t exist, Jake’s father has made it all too clear. But as Jake finds himself helplessly pulled back to Grant, the way he makes him feel when their bodies are close, the way he comforts him—really cares for him—he realizes more and more it’s not love he’s running from, but himself.

Silent Hearts is a 34,000-word erotic romance novel. If you liked Love, Simon, then you’ll love this tale of a gay young man whose true barrier to love is his own self-acceptance.

Buy Silent Hearts now and follow Jake’s adventure of steamy sex, adventure, and the tears that break hearts...and mend them.

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Excerpt

“You’re cute when you’re happy.”

Jake rolled his eyes. “Thanks, I guess.” He pulled his hands out of the dough and went to wash them.

“What’s this?”

“Hmm?” Jake looked back. Grant picked something up off the floor.

“This fell out of your back pocket.” Grant read from a small piece of paper, “The Brawny Scot.”

Jake’s heart thudded and ice coursed through his veins. He’d gone there as an eff-you to Grant, but hadn’t actually wanted him to know about it. And, truthfully, as the hours passed, he’d grown regretful over going.

“Is that where you were today?” Grant’s voice was low and quiet. There was an intensity in his eyes that Jake had seen only once before — during the previous night and their argument over kisses. Obviously, he knew what The Brawny Scot was.

“So what if I was?” Jake dried his hands with a towel and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms in front of him. He might regret his choices, but he wasn’t going to apologize for them.

“You went to a fucking sauna?”

Jake took a deep breath, deciding which way to go with this. When the heat of anger warmed his cheeks, he had his answer. “Yes, I went. I sucked five dicks and got totally covered in cum.” His words were quick and crisp, though muted so as to not wake anyone.

Grant shook his head. “Do you have no self-respect? No self-love?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“This!” Grant threw the card down on the counter, the oiled-up torso emblazoned across it shone in the kitchen’s light. “Sex with no intimacy, blowjobs with no kissing, sucking anonymous dicks in the dark — it shows you don’t respect yourself, that you just want to be used by some random man as a tool to get off. And this ... this random sauna thing is fucking dangerous! Do you know how many diseases run rampant through there?”

Jake breathed in and out, trying to calm the anger that threatened to erupt. His face felt warm; he knew his cheeks were beet red. “Not all of us want boyfriends. Some of us just want sex. Hookups are fun, and if you think that only self-haters do them and they’re always destructive, then you’re living in some sort of dream world. Welcome to reality, Grant, people fuck strangers all the time.”

Grant squeezed the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. When he opened them, Jake could tell a lot of the man’s anger had deflated. “That’s not exactly what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying, exactly?”

“Kissing adds passion and energy to sex — even anonymous sex. Your refusal to kiss me the other night would have made the blowjob mechanical. If I want mechanical, I’ll use my fist. The motions are only half of sex — kissing and intimacy, however fleeting, are the other half.”

“You need to grow up and separate sex from love. No one at the sauna wants a kiss, they just want to get off.”

“Well, maybe that’s the sauna culture. I have hookups now and then, but I always kiss — it makes a connection special, even if it’s just for a moment and I don’t know the guy’s name.”

Jake glared at him. As much as he wanted to remain mad at him, he felt his anger shrinking. “Why can’t you accept that I just don’t want to kiss?”

“Because in your case, Jake, I sense that it’s something deeper. It’s not just about not wanting to kiss.”

Jake blinked, bewildered. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Have you ever kissed a man?”

“Of course I have.” A chasm opened up inside of him, an emptiness and yearning.

Grant squinted at him. “I mean really kissed a man ... deep, hard, hungry.”

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Autumn Fire

True gay love is a fairy tale. No matter what everyone says, that’s what Dustin firmly believes. As he starts his first year of university, Dustin is happy in the closet, where he can meet his gay needs secretly through anonymous hookups.

But when Dustin has his first hookup of the university term, with a muscular dark-eyed jock in the library men’s room, he can’t help notice the deep and immediate connection he feels, one that seems almost like love. It’s over as quickly as it begins and, as all anonymous hookups go, Dustin never expects to see him again.

The term gets difficult, especially when his math class begins. Dustin destresses with more hookups, but they don’t sate him the way they used to, and he finds he cannot stop thinking about his start-of-term encounter. Soon, his academic needs outweigh the sexual, and Dustin caves in and gets a tutor.

Attractive, well-built, dark-eyed…and a jock, his new tutor, Kyle, is none other than his anonymous hookup from the men’s room. Fate seems to have connected him to the man of his dreams.

Or maybe not, since Kyle is even more in the closet than Dustin is.

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Excerpt

Dustin stared at the sneakered foot, just visible below the stall wall, as the other man stopped at the urinal beside him. He waited for the signal — until he heard it he didn’t know if this was CollegeJock22 or some random dude who had to piss.

Time seemed to slow as he heard a zipper open. With every passing heartbeat, he waited for the telltale sound of urination ... but it wasn’t happening. The foot shifted. The pant leg lifted, briefly flashing a white sock.

The signal! Dustin shuffled his foot close to the dividing wall, so the other man could see it, and flashed his own sock.

Dustin waited ... but nothing happened. Embarrassment swelled as he realized the awkward coincidence. This was not CollegeJock22. As soon as he leaves, I’m going back to my dorm and I’m just gonna jack off, Dustin decided. This was a mistake, to meet some random guy in a random washroom.

Then the other man’s feet moved. Dustin held his breath, not daring to make even the slightest sound of exhalation. He’d not heard the man piss — and he’d not heard the man zip up again. Maybe this was CollegeJock22. He just prayed the man wasn’t fat and ugly, that his profile hadn’t been one big lie. Dustin’s heart thudded as the man stood on the other side of the stall door. As planned, Dustin had left it unlocked. It squeaked softly as the man – CollegeJock22 — nudged it open.

All his doubts vanished. Quite simply, CollegeJock22 would be the hottest guy Dustin ever hooked up with. He was the rare man that not only lived up to his profile, but surpassed it. He easily stood five foot eleven and had tight golden curls peeking out from below his ball cap. His muscled chest pulled his shirt taut beneath his open jacket and his cock ... his cock was a gorgeous piece of meat, dangling from his open fly. The thick and semi-hard dick sprouted from a dusting of fine hair.

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Sexy Shorts: Volume One: Gay Hookups and Anonymous Quickies

When men burn with desire…the only way to quench that fire is to give into it…

In this scorching hot bundle of ten super short gay erotica stories, you’ll find horny and desperate men engaging in discreet encounters, anonymous hookups, quickies in public places, older on younger, and much more.

Sexy Shorts: Volume One includes five new stories and five previously-published stories. As a BONUS, this book also includes Go Deep (Men In The Hot Room #1), Cameron’s yoga-themed gay erotic story that’s been downloaded over 12,000 times!

Get your copy today…and get off…

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I follow the guy into his bedroom, eyeing his ass in those tight jeans. I don’t normally hook up with daddy-types on Grindr, but something about this dude is making me hard. He turns around and sits on his bed, giving me a sly grin. I immediately fall to my knees in front of him and grab the zipper on his fly, yanking it down. I need to get to that daddy-cock.

“Whoa,” he says, placing a hand on top of mine. “What’s the rush?”

“It’s sex,” I say, sort of confused by his hesitation. “Get off and get out, you know.”

He wraps his fingers around my hand, holding me tight. “I thought we’d kiss a bit, enjoy the moment.”

“I don’t kiss,” I say. “Kissing is for lovers — this is just a hook-up.”

He chuckles and I get a surge of irritation. If I had known he wanted a boyfriend, I would’ve hooked up with someone else. He pulls me to my feet, then has me sit next to him on the bed. I can’t help but let out a sigh of frustration. I want to eat his load, not kiss his lips.

He doesn’t let go of my hand and we end up just holding hands and staring into each other’s eyes. He’s attractive, I’ll give him that. And his charm on Grindr was what had won me over. I guess I can indulge him, if only just for a few moments.

Not letting go of my hand, he puts his other hand on the back of my head and slowly pulls me toward him. Our lips press together and he starts to kiss me. I don’t want to be like a dead fish to him, so I kiss him back. He moans softly into my mouth and that sound of pleasure, that burst of warm air of him sighing into my mouth, seems to turn something in me … something … I wasn’t sure what.

With my free hand, I reach up and caress his chest, feeling his muscle through his shirt. Soon, I move my hand up to the back of his head, holding him the way he’s holding me, and I kiss him passionately. It feels unnatural, at first, but the more I do it, the more I get into it.

He nibbles on my bottom lip and I moan just like he had done. He nudges me backward and I fall down on the bed, breaking our kiss for a moment, making me desperate for his closeness again. I almost whimper in need, but then he lies next to me and rolls onto me, propping himself up with his hands. He presses his lips against mine and suddenly that warmth and connection is back. I open my mouth and let him slip his tongue inside. I caress his tongue with mine, feeling the velvety softness, tasting the beer he’d had before I came over.

As he kisses me, he starts to grind his hips against mine, rubbing his bulge over my bulge, bringing me a surge of pleasure that only kicks the passion of our kiss into overdrive. I wrap both my arms around his neck, pulling him even closer, locking myself onto him and not letting go — I can’t let him go.

But then he grabs my hands from around his neck and forces them down to the bed above my head. I whimper, desperate to have my limbs locked around him again, but then he presses into me — hard. My wrists are pinned to the bed and he puts more of his weight on me, bringing us even closer together. As our bodies rub together, I can feel everything through our clothing — his cock, his balls, and his hard nipples. And every brush of friction brings a new electric tingle of pleasure to my body … pleasure I had never experienced before.

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Sell Your Sex: How to Market Your Erotica and Romance Book on Social Media

Are you a new author at a total loss of how to promote your book?
Or have you been published for a while but have been doing your best to avoid social media promotion?
Does the task of promoting your book online overwhelm you?

Cameron D. James, multiple bestselling-author of gay erotica and MM erotic romance, shares his years of self-promotion experience and what has helped him sell his books.

Sell Your Sex is not a step-by-step guide to marketing your book. No, you and your book are unique and a cookie-cutter book marketing plan that worked for one author won’t necessarily work for you.

Instead, this book explores the various aspects of social media promotion, discusses the different platforms you can use (including Twitter, Facebook, Goodreads, Tumblr, Pinterest, Instagram, Snapchat, and more), and gives you guidelines to help manage it all professionally and with an eye for smart marketing.

Social media promotion doesn’t have to be complicated or time consuming—and it doesn’t have to be expensive. Sell Your Sex will help you figure out how to make social media marketing work for you and your books.

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Excerpt

There have got to be dozens of books out there — maybe even hundreds — in which an author details how they utilized social media and promotional strategies to sell thousands or even millions of copies of their books. These are enticing books, because, after all, if you try what that author tried, it might mean you’ll sell millions of books, too.

However, there are a few flaws in this.

Most authors don’t truly know why their book took off. It might’ve been what they did on social media, but it could also have been that they used effective keywords or had a catchy cover. Perhaps they just happened to publish the right book at the right time. Or, as is the case of some very successful self-published authors, they might’ve had a few traditionally published books that allowed them to build an audience and gain name recognition, which carried over into their self-published books. Few, if any, of these possibilities would be discussed in a “How I Did It” book, and none of them are replicable by the person reading the book.

There are no real rules to how to use social media and promotional strategies. Authors of “How I Did It” books will outline what they attempted and frame them as rules. But I am the living embodiment of how there are no rules. I manage dozens of Twitter accounts, Facebook pages, and Facebook groups, among other things, and each one of them thrives on its own set of rules — rules that sometimes completely contradict the rules that guide my other accounts. For example, one generally accepted rule is to not be spammy — but I do just that for some of my accounts and it’s part of my success. But if I were to do that with all of my accounts, then some of them would be utter failures. The rules are flexible and must be tested out by you to figure out if they apply.

No one can guarantee success. Not even me. This book doesn’t promise you success. Instead, this book promises to help you figure out the landscape of social media, as it exists at the time of writing this book, and will set you up with general guidelines and concepts to help you define your own online presence and maximize your promotional efforts. Ultimately, sales come down to a combination of drawing attention to your book and your book actually being good. This book will help you with the first part of this combination, but can’t help with the second.

Not only can no one guarantee success, but, unfortunately, the “Kindle Gold Rush” is over. During the initial explosion of ebooks, thanks to the wild success of the Kindle device, many authors were making money hand over fist. This “Gold Rush” attracted tons of authors to the realm of self-publishing and flooded the market with far too many titles, and many of them were poorly written and edited. There is still a lot of money to be made in self-publishing, but a lot of that is dependent on writing supremely well, being an expert on the process of self-publishing — and for further information on that, please see my book on writing and publishing, Sex For Money, or check out my blog posts on the same topic (the link is at the end of this book) — excelling in online promotion (which you’ll accomplish with this book), and publishing frequently. You won’t get rich on one book; you’ll make an adequate income, maybe even a fantastic income, from publishing regularly in genres that have high sales volume. That being said, if you write just for money, a reader can tell and that will kill your sales. You must write what you want, when you want, but it does take a mindset of operating as a business — you need to get product out to customers on a regular basis so that they don’t turn elsewhere.

So, now that I’ve destroyed all the myths about books like this one and I’ve outlined where this book fits in the milieu of similar titles, you must be wondering who I am. My main pen name is this one, Cameron D. James, but I write under almost half a dozen other pen names — most of it erotica or erotic romance, but not all of it — and I am also the publisher at Deep Desires Press. In all, I’ve written and self-published nearly a hundred titles and through Deep Desires Press I’ve published (at the time of writing this) forty more. Through all of my publishing endeavors, I earn part-time income that I depend on to pay the monthly bills.

There are two main approaches to making money on books. The first is to focus entirely on the launch and generating pre-orders, so that on release day your book soars to the top of bestseller lists and attracts more sales. This approach tends to lead to short term, but very large, success and may have few continuing sales as the months pass. Authors who focus on the launch sometimes follow trends and write to market, aiming to ride the wave of whatever is popular, and these books may be out of favor six months later. The second approach is to focus on evergreen content. A writer with this approach may do little or nothing on release day and instead continues to release book after book, writing to their passions instead of following trends, and leading to longevity in the market.

In reality, most authors might favor one approach over the other, but apply aspects of both. Because of my introverted nature, I focus less on launch success and instead expend my effort on creating evergreen content that will continue to generate sales month-after-month. For this pen name and another, I have not released a book for several months at the time of writing this, yet I’ve had record sales for these pen names over the past couple months. Why? I’ve written evergreen content that remains popular months or years after the book is published. While I’m not certain why there’s been a sudden surge in the past couple months, it is undoubtedly thanks to the evergreen approach.

For my role as publisher at Deep Desires Press, I focus more on the launch than I do for my self-published works. Every book goes up for pre-order and my team and I try to generate buzz in the weeks leading up to release. Most of our books get a boost on release day, but since we’re not following soon-to-die trends, the books are also evergreen content that continue to sell month after month.

Ideally, you’ll want to navigate your way into this middle ground and figure out a path that works for you. Whether you lean more toward big launches or continuing sales of evergreen content, marketing must be part of your plan. While you will sell books without a single moment spent on marketing, you will undoubtedly sell more if you market your books.

That’s where this book comes in. This book is aimed at both the total newbie and the seasoned self-promoting author. We’ll cover strategies and approaches to marketing that apply to all of your efforts, regardless of the individual platform or emerging and changing social media, and we’ll also explore the currently popular marketing platforms and approaches. For the total newbies, we’ll get into some of the basics on the platforms you’ll want to use, and for experienced authors, we’ll discuss strategies that you might use to fine-tune your approach.

This book also differs from many others on this topic since this book is targeted at authors of erotica and erotic romance. There are aspects to marketing that we can get away with that don’t apply to authors of other genres — and there are aspects to marketing for other genres that don’t apply to ours.

The core of this book is the following: How do you manage social media when you should be writing? How do you make sure that the message you’re putting across on the internet is the one that best represents you and your writing?

This book begins with a discussion on professionalism and goals, as well as covering a few key components to an author platform that every author must have. Following that is an exploration of all of the major social media platforms that you may choose to utilize, including a discussion on the strengths and weakness of each and how you can incorporate it into a larger marketing and promotions plan. And toward the end, we’ll explore some of the more “one time” or “short term” strategies, including blog tours, signings, and reviews, as well as tying all of this book’s contents together. It may feel overwhelming as you read through the book, especially when we explore all of the major platforms, but by the time you finish the book, you’ll know which platforms interest you and which don’t, and you’ll know how to integrate your platform together so that it is comprehensive, consistent, and effective.

There is no map for social media and marketing. There are no clear sign posts. The only person who can figure out the route is you, the author. This book gives you the tools you need to get where you want to go.

Let’s get out there and sell our sex.

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Schoolboy Secrets

Now that Evan is eighteen, the first thing he wants to do is go to the bathhouse. He’s gay and a virgin — and so the bathhouse seems like the perfect place for him to go on a Sunday afternoon. He makes his way through the place, eventually finding himself in a hallway shrouded in total darkness. He brushes up against a body, likes what he feels, and has his first gay experience then and there with a man he can’t even see.

As he heads out of the bathhouse, he runs into the last person he expects to see — his gym teacher, Coach Miller. And it doesn’t take long for Evan to connect the dots and realize that it was Coach Miller that Evan had done stuff with in the dark.

The situation is tricky — he had sex with a teacher — but there’s one thing Evan can’t deny. He enjoyed it. And he wants more.

Schoolboy Secrets is a 29,000-word novella.

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Excerpt

I lingered at the coffee shop, watching the non-descript building across the street. Every time the door opened and a man entered or exited, my heartbeat surged. My coffee had grown cold as I sat there for far too long, with my leg bouncing in nervous anticipation.

It was my eighteenth birthday yesterday — my buddies had bought me a cake and we’d spent the evening playing board games. While it certainly wasn’t as wild as what most guys likely did on their eighteenth, it was the most we could do, what with us being at a private all-boys Catholic boarding school. But with my eighteenth now a day behind me, I was old enough to leave campus for short periods, and old enough to enter that building across the street.

My heart skipped a beat as the door opened again and a buff man came sauntering out. I watched him as he paused to light a cigarette, inhale, exhale, and walk down the street.

If I’m gonna do this, I better fucking do this, I told myself. I got up, ditched my cold coffee, and exited the coffee shop. Every step down the sidewalk and across the street seemed to make my heart race just a little faster. By the time I approached the front door, the sound of blood rushing filled my ears and my palms had started to sweat.

I reached for the door and just before I grabbed the handle, the door swung open, making me jump back and gasp. It was almost enough to send me scampering. An older guy, maybe in his thirties, with delicious scruff, came out. He paused and looked at me, gave me a wink, and then walked down the street. I watched him go, his bubble butt swaying in those tight jeans of his.

Taking another deep breath, I grabbed the door and opened it. The small foyer beyond was dimly lit and the walls were lined with posters that had sexy men in their underwear. A little trap door opened and a face peeked through, eyeing me up and down before buzzing me through to the actual entrance.

Along the wall to my left were more posters of men wearing next to nothing and to my right was a long desk where the man who had peeked through the little door stood. I stepped up to the desk.

“I-I’d like to ... uh...”

“Can I see some ID, kid?” the man said, his words carrying a whistle due to having a large gap between his front teeth.

Just past the desk, a buff guy wearing only a small, white towel wandered by, eyeing me up and down before turning down a dark hallway. I watched him for as long as I could see him, but he eventually disappeared from view.

“Kid? Your ID?” the older man said, another whistle rushing through his words.

“Right,” I said, and pulled out my wallet. I fumbled through it, digging out my license, then passing it over to him. He glanced at the birth date and then passed it back to me.

“Happy belated birthday,” he said. He put his hands on the counter and leaned forward a bit. He was an attractive man. I think the light was aging him a bit — I originally pegged him at about fifty, but closer up, he really looked more like mid-thirties. “You’ve never been to a bathhouse, have you?”

I shook my head, hoping that the jerky movement didn’t telegraph my overwhelming nerves.

“You sure you want to jump into this right now?”

“Yes,” I said. “I want to do this.”

He looked at me a long moment, like he was deciding whether to actually let me in or not. Eventually, he turned around, grabbed a towel from the pile behind him and put it on the desk in front of me. Then he reached for a key off a rack and placed it on top of the towel.

“Your admission is on the house. Call it a birthday present,” he said.

“Thanks.”

He leaned forward on the counter, resting on his elbows. “I’ll run you through the basics. Lockers are right through there,” I looked where he was pointing, “and you’ll want to get totally naked, wearing only this towel. You’ll find a hot tub in the back, as well as a maze in total darkness, glory hole booths, a hallway lined with private rooms, and a sauna. You can have sex anywhere and everywhere — in a private room if the guy rented one or totally out in public. Just not in the hot tub. You shoot your wad in my hot tub and you’re out the door.”

I watched him as he spoke, trying to process all of this information, but I found it was all overwhelming me, making me wonder if I really should’ve just turned around and walked out. No, I told myself, if I walk out, I’ll just come back tomorrow when I’ve screwed up enough courage again.

“Kid?” the man said, pulling my attention back to him. “The most important rule, above everything else I’ve just told you, is that you have the right to say ‘no’. If somebody starts fondling you or sucking you and you don’t want it, just tell him you’re not interested. If he gives you trouble, you come to me and I’ll take care of it.”

“Thank you,” I said. That managed to calm my nerves quite a bit. I could just say no. If I wanted to, I could just spend time here and not touch another man at all. Like I’m going to get out of here without getting some dick, my sarcastic self said in my head.

I picked up the towel and the key, which was on one of those elastic coils that I could wrap around my wrist or bicep. I followed where the man had pointed, finding a room of lockers at the end of the hall. I wasn’t alone. Two guys were getting naked. I stood in awe of the sight; two well-built and well-hung men were dropping their pants and their boxers. One of them caught me staring and winked at me — and before wrapping his towel around his waist, he turned slightly so that I could get a better view of his glorious cock. Moments later, they both had a towel wrapped around their waists and they walked out of the room, hand-in-hand.

When I was alone, I then realized just how fucking hard my cock was. If I wasn’t careful, I was going to shoot my wad within the first few minutes of being in here. I held my breath for a moment — a classmate had told me that if I get an awkward boner in class, holding my breath for ten seconds will get rid of it. I counted to ten, then started breathing again — my boner wasn’t gone, but it was a little less stiff.

Gotta get naked. Right.

I glanced at the number on the key and found my locker. I stripped naked and grabbed my towel, hurrying so no one would see my dick and balls, as if I were in the gym showers at school — even though in the back of my mind I was telling myself that my sole purpose in being at a bathhouse was to get some dick and to get a blowjob. To get those done, I needed someone to see my dick and balls.

Still, habits died hard. I cinched the towel around my waist, locked the locker, and strung the key around my wrist.

I awkwardly held my arms in front of my body, as if to hide my near-nakedness, and wandered back down the hallway toward the front desk. The man at the desk nodded encouragement at me, even as his eyes roved hungrily over my body. I came to a fork in the path — if I remembered right from what I’d read online, the hallway looped around, so it was more a matter of which direction did I want to do the loop in. The warm scent of a hot tub came wafting down the hall from my left, so I started in that direction.

As I wandered, I passed a small foyer with a leather futon and a TV playing porn. A guy sat on the futon, idly stroking his cock as I wandered past. My gaze locked on his meat and I couldn’t stop my eyes from going wide. I’d never seen such open display of sex outside of internet porn. He eyed me up and down, subtly inviting me to join him — I was tempted, but I didn’t want to just settle down with the first dick I found in my first five minutes in here. I wanted my first experience to be a more memorable one. I could always have fun with multiple men, but I knew there was a chance, given my nervousness, that I would run back to the dorms once I had my first dick.

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