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Category: Cameron D. James

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

Posted on January 20, 2019January 20, 2019 by indieerotica

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.

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.

Schoolboy Secrets

Posted on January 20, 2019February 18, 2020 by indieerotica

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.

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.

Dominating the Freshman

Posted on January 20, 2019February 18, 2020 by indieerotica

Tyson is a college professor with a penchant for kinky sex. He loves nothing more than to dominate a submissive young man. He’s only into one-night-stands, though, as he knows love isn’t for him. Besides, all he wants out of life is the thrill of sex.

Then Brandon walks into his life. This submissive twink grabs Tyson’s attention and doesn’t let go. He’s gorgeous, enticing, delicious, and Tyson soon finds that he wants more than just a one-night-stand. He wants more than friends with benefits. In fact, he wants Brandon to be his boyfriend.

As their relationship develops a little more with every spank from a paddle, Tyson learns that Brandon has been keeping secrets from him. Brandon hasn’t been entirely truthful about who he is. These secrets could not only bring the end of their burgeoning relationship and reaffirm that love just isn’t for Tyson, but they could also bring the destruction of Tyson’s professional career.

But no matter the risk, Tyson knows one thing — he wants Brandon.

Dominating the Freshman is a 30,000-word BDSM erotic romance.

It’s like a dance. I’ve been through this many times; I make a subtle gesture of interest, he reciprocates, and we move closer.

The gym is nearly empty, save for him and I and some guy doing leg presses. The twink — my partner in this mating dance — eyes me as he walks across the room to the water fountain. After his drink, he looks at me again and water glistens on his pouty, cock-sucking lips. Before he looks away again, I pick up a pair of free weights, my biceps bulging as I carry them to a spot in front of the mirror.

I eye up my figure as I approach the mirror, ensuring I’m giving the twink a good view. My arms glisten with sweat and my tank is plastered to my tight body. My hairy legs look strong in the tight shorts I’m wearing. I shift my gaze to him, watching his reflection, and I catch him staring at me, slack-jawed. He blushes, but doesn’t avert his eyes.

Emboldened, he wanders over my way, trying to make it look casual despite both of us knowing exactly what’s going on and where this is leading. He picks a couple weights off the rack and takes a bench a couple over from where I’m standing.

With his closeness, I get a much better look at him — he’s a twink, yes, but he has some jock muscle to him. He’s shorter than me, skinnier, and has to be nineteen, at most. While his frame might be small, his dick certainly isn’t. The tenting in the front of his shorts tells me he’s hard and he’s big. But it’s not necessarily his cock I want.

“What are you working on?” I ask, as I start doing bicep curls. I keep my voice low, so that only he could hear. I glance at the reflection of the other guy, the one at the leg press — he’s taking a break and doing something on his phone, totally oblivious to the impending homosexual action on this side of the room.

He bites his lower lip, looking like he’s almost overwhelmed that I’m actually talking to him, then says, “Just going to do a few rows.”

Then he leans over the bench and props one knee on it, straightening his back to be parallel with the padded surface … leaving his perfectly round ass curved and ready for me. I want so much to pull down those shorts and lick all the salty sweat from his crack. If that guy wasn’t dawdling by the leg press and would just get the fuck out of here, I might actually follow through with it.

This is a quiet gym; I could fuck this twink in the middle of the room and no one would know. Even though my status as a professor gets me a free pass to the campus gym, I long ago chose to go to this one, as I couldn’t get caught up in gym hookups with students. Being on the other side of the city, the number of university students in this gym was near to non-existent. Although this twink could be a student, I highly doubted it.

I put my free weights on the floor and saunter over to him, admiring every inch of his body as I get closer. “Need someone to, uh, spot you?”

“That’d be nice,” he says. “And make sure my form is correct.”

He starts doing his rows, lifting the weight in his left fist, while using his right hand to brace himself on the bench. I come up beside him, standing beside his head, my crotch at height of his mouth, and I place a hand on his back. His body is sweaty and hot, but I can feel energy thrumming through him — the libido and lust of young men, I’m sure — and it only serves to turn me on even more. I push my hand further down his back, conscious that the other man was still in the room with us, and gently pushed my fingers under the back of his shorts. I find the band of his underwear, and then bare flesh — he’s wearing a jockstrap.

I clear my throat, steadying myself. I’ve never wanted a boy as badly as I want this one. Even with clothes on, his body is perfect.

By now my cock is thick and hard, standing prominent in my gym shorts. He turns to face me, those gorgeous, pouty lips only a breath away from kissing my shaft. “Thanks,” he says, his attention focussed on my bulge.

The loud clang of the other guy finishing a set of leg presses — the guy I wish would just disappear — breaks the tension of the moment. I feel like our slow dance toward wild sex was set back several steps. We need to get out of here.

I watch as the boy turns around and does rows with his other arm. As he turns, though, he brushes his body against mine — his shoulder rubs against my cock — and it sends a shiver through me. This boy wants me as bad as I want him.

I glance in the mirror at the other guy. He’s on his phone again, doing fuck knows what, while he takes a break between sets. I’d seen this guy here before and I seem to remember that he always did a long workout — I’d come and go and he’d still be working on his routine. Today, he had gotten here shortly after me, which means he’ll likely be working out for a while longer.

“That’s quite a workout,” I say, returning my attention to the twink. “You want to hit the showers?”

He smiles and stands up. “I think it’s about quitting time. A shower might do me good … help me relax.”

We quickly rack our weights and walk back toward the change room. I try not to hurry, to not give the guy any indication I was about to get some sweet ass. I nod as I pass, a mutual hello between two heterosexual gym-goers.

As soon as we enter the change room and the door closes behind us, I push the boy against the wall and kiss him. His lips are as pouty and tender as they’d looked, and his tongue is soft and velvety. I abandon his lips and kiss down his jaw and neck, tasting his salty sweat.

And then I fall to my knees and do what I wanted to do since I saw him climb on that bench. I spin him around and yank his shorts down to mid-thigh. His ass, round and plump, is framed perfectly by his white jockstrap, looking like art.

I take a cheek in each hand and massage his ass, then spread his cheeks, exposing his tight, pink hole. He’s smooth as fuck. I watch a bead of sweat collect on his lower back and then roll lazily down into his crack, getting caught momentarily on the wrinkled flesh of his hole.

Taking my opportunity, I dive face-first into his ass, starting with a lick up his crack, scooping up all of the sweat gathered there and brushing over his tight knot. He lets out the softest moan and leans flat against the tile wall in front of him. I take that as a good sign and press deeper with my tongue, brushing up and down and poking at the centre. Eventually, he loosens and I can push my tongue in, to taste the boy’s insides, which is just as sweet as his outside.

I stand up and slap his supple ass, the sound ricocheting through the small room. I walk away from him, toward the lockers and around a corner to where a wooden bench stands like a lonely island. Dropping my shorts and underwear and yanking off my tank, I sit down, naked but for my sneakers, and beckon the boy closer.

He leans in and I pull his face to mine and plant another kiss on his lips. Then, when I want him to get on his knees, I grip a handful of his hair and pull him down. The boy gets the hint and kneels in front of me, between my legs. He grabs my cock and looks up at me as he sinks his face down on it.

Fuck, his mouth is warm and wet and tight — almost as good as his ass would be. I keep my grip on his hair and use it to guide the speed and depth I like. I lean back and moan, letting this talented boy take me to ecstasy. The only thing that would make this hotter would be if I had some of my BDSM gear with me — but that’s all at home. And something tells me this boy, though obviously sexually experienced, might be intimidated by some of the gear I own. For today, for this boy, I would have to be content with his amazing body and the overwhelming lust we felt for each other.

“Get naked,” I say, my words and voice nothing less than a command.

He pulls his mouth off my cock with an audible pop and grins. “Yes, sir.”

I kick off my sneakers so that I’m fully and completely naked, then walk toward the showers. The boy, naked as me, follows. I turn on the water and push him under it, rubbing down his body and cleaning him off.

I spend an inordinate amount of time on his ass, massaging the cheeks, running my fingers up and down his crack, and probing his hole. Every press of my fingers against his tight knot of flesh proves him to be pliable, like with just another push I’d sink right in. So I push further and, yes, my fingers sunk in like nothing. The boy’s ass offers no resistance. He moans and shakes like his knees are going to give out, so I press my body close to his, trapping him between me and the tile wall.

I dig deeper with my fingers, feeling around until I find his prostate. I brush it, tickle it, play with it, and he throws his head back and gasps. By driving him wild I’m only doing the same to myself. My cock is raging hard and oozing precum, begging to get in on the action.

Slipping my fingers from his hole, I spit in my hand and lather up my dick, then press the head against his hole. He’s already slightly open from having my fingers in there — he’s so relaxed that his hole is sitting there, waiting for me. I push my hips forward and ease my cock into his hole, sliding in until I’m balls-deep and my pelvis is pressed flat against those round cheeks of his.

“Oh,” he moans as I pause for a moment, letting his body adjust to having my meat shoved inside him. “Sir, that feels so good.”

The fact that he calls me “sir” even without me asking and without him knowing I’m into BDSM makes me want to fuck him hard and mercilessly, to have him begging for me to fill his hole with my hot seed. I grip one hand on his shoulder and the other on his hip, backing up a step so that he pushes his ass out, readying it for a serious pounding.

I start swinging my hips back and forth, slowly at first, being gentle mostly for the lack of lube, then I begin to pick up the pace, going faster and faster. And the boy takes it. He doesn’t groan in pain or put his hand against me to slow my rhythm — no, he takes it. He more than takes it; he starts rocking in time, pushing back when I truth forward, so that my cock shoves deeper in his ass.

Loosening my grip on his shoulder, I run my hand down his back, following the paths of water from the shower that’s cascading over us. I can feel the muscles under his skin — he has a mostly skinny twink build, but I can tell by touch alone that he’s no stranger to the gym. He’s strong and flexible, exactly what I like in young men.

But as good as his body is, his ass is better. The boy squeezes his cheeks together every time I pull out, creating glorious pressure on my cock, milking pleasure from me. He relaxes his buns when I push forward, allowing me to sink in fast and hard. He moans with every deep thrust I make into him.

“Sir,” he says suddenly, urgently, “Sir, I’m gonna come soon.”

Neither one of us has touched his dick — this boy gets off on bottoming alone. Just when I thought he couldn’t get any more incredible, this pops up.

“Do it, boy. Come,” I order him. I grip his hips hard and I give his ass a punishing fuck, slamming myself harder into him than I’d done so far.

He lets out a guttural sound that echoes and rebounds off the shower tiles, and then his body quivers and tenses, his hole clamps down on my thick dick, and he gasps over and over. I hear the splatter of his hot cum hitting the tiles in front of him, rising above the sound of the shower itself. The boy’s legs quiver and shake some more, but with a few deep breaths, he steadies himself.

“You’re incredible, boy,” I say, appreciatively. I growl into his ear as I feel myself rushing head first into my own orgasm. But I don’t want to waste my seed in his hole. I pull out quickly and he looks at me over his shoulder with a whimper — he knows I haven’t shot my wad yet. Before he can complain, I clamp my hand down on his shoulder and push him down to his knees.

He knows what’s coming, so he shuffles backward a bit, so the shower isn’t cascading down on his face. He wants a different hot liquid splattering on him.

I grip my cock and I stroke it fast and furious, bringing myself the rest of the way toward orgasm. I grunt as it finally hits me and pleasure blooms in my core and rushes through my body. With my free hand, I grab the boy’s hair and hold on tight, holding him in place as cum rockets from my dick, landing in messy, creamy lines across his forehead, cheeks, nose, chin, and lips.

When the rush of orgasm subsides and my chest is heaving with heavy breaths, I look down at the cum on his face, looking like an X-rated Jackson Pollock painting. He sticks his tongue out between his lips and licks up as much of my load as he can. I help him, swiping my thumb across his face, pushing globs of my jizz into his waiting, eager mouth. He eats it all and I can tell that he wishes there was more.

I help him back to his feet and help wash the remnants of my semen off his face. After a quick rinse, we head back to the changing room, to our abandoned clothes. Thankfully, it seems no one else had come in the change room — though I’m sure they would have turned around and left as soon as they figured out what was happening.

Pulling a towel out of my locker and drying off, I feel a sense of embarrassment settle in. Like most gay men, I’ve had my share of sex in bathroom stalls and truck stops — but never have I done something more than a blowjob, and never in such a risky place as this. If we’d been caught, it could’ve meant the end of my career as a professor. I don’t have tenure yet; administration would just have to decide they don’t want me and I’d be out on my ass.

I swallowed down my embarrassment and looked at the young man as he towelled himself off. His locker was, fortuitously, only a few down from mine. His dick and balls swung low between his legs, contrasting against his tight abs and torso and developed pecs. I look further up, toward his gorgeous face, and I see him looking back at me — I’d been caught staring.

I smile and turn back to myself, focussing on getting dressed.

“Thanks,” he says, sounding almost hesitant. “That was hot.”

“It was,” I say. Part of me is itching to ask if he’s a student, if he might go to my university, but the larger part of me doesn’t want to know that answer. I need to just enjoy what happened, the spontaneous connection that had formed between us, and not wallow in unnecessary guilt and stress.

Fuck it, I decide. Fuck the university and their ethics.

“Want to hang out sometime?” I ask. “Maybe somewhere a little more private?”

“That’d be sweet,” he says. I force myself to swallow and ignore that niggling feeling that I’m doing something wrong. What’s the point of life if I can’t enjoy it?

When we pull on our pants, we pause to exchange cell numbers. I enter his digits. “And your name?”

“Brandon,” he says. I like that name. It fits him. I type it into his contact card on my phone.

“And you?” he asks, after typing in my number.

“Tyson.”

“I like that name,” he says. “Sounds so masculine, so … dominating.”

I wink at him, but before I can say anything more, we’re interrupted by the clatter of the change room door opening and closing. The buff guy from the leg press wanders to a locker behind us and starts stripping.

Brandon and I grab our bags and walk out. I wink once more at him. “See you soon,” I say, and we get in our respective cars. I drive home, already hard thinking of my next time with Brandon.

Forbidden Desires: The Complete Series

Posted on May 12, 2018February 18, 2020 by indieerotica

There are some lines not mean to be crossed ... some desires that are forbidden. But try as one might, some taboos are simply too irresistible to hold sacred.

From a young man hooking up with his best friend’s dad, someone he’s always considered to be like a father, to a priest who engages in carnal sins with a parishioner, to a bombastic American president and his illicit love affair with an illegal Mexican rentboy ... these men explore the forbidden, indulging in their deepest, darkest desires.

Collected in one volume are three such stories — tales of forbidden passions and devious desires.

Forbidden Desires is a 78,000-word bundle that collects Seduced By My Best Friend’s Dad, Erotic Love and Carnal Sins: Confessions of a Priest, and The President And The Rentboy.

Still not breaking eye contact with Richard, Jay willed his fingers back to life, massaging Richard’s upper thigh. With every squeeze of his fingers, he moved his hand half an inch closer to that patch of ball skin. With every passing moment, he felt the tension build in both of them, like he was waiting for Richard to call him a pervert or Richard was waiting for Jay to burst out laughing at the prank. But then his fingertips brushed against that warm, soft, wrinkled, hairy skin, and the tension deflated from both of them.

“Jay...” Richard said, his voice a mere whisper. It was filled with lust and need, happiness and contentment. He wanted this — needed this.

Jay brushed the skin, rubbing his fingers back and forth, then carefully worked his hand under Richard’s shorts and boxers. Soon he had one meaty ball rolling between his fingers. It was almost plum-sized, firm and round. He squeezed the ball lightly, tugged it gently, and Richard let out a low moan, falling back on his elbows on the rock, head cast back. Jay eased his other hand in the other pant leg and grabbed Richard’s other ball, giving it the same massage treatment. He rubbed both balls, smoothing out the skin, holding them firm in his grasp. The long bulge in the middle of the pile of fabric at Richard’s crotch twitched.

Shifting to grasp both balls in one hand, Jay slid his fingers reverently up the length of Richard’s cock, watching the man’s face for any reaction that this was going too far. But Richard was too far gone, too lost in the heat of the moment to ever say no — Jay knew he had Richard, that the man was putty in his hands, but that he had willingly and knowingly put himself there.

He still didn’t understand it — Richard was straight and married and the very fact that Jay was his son’s best friend should have put up some immediate boundaries, placed him off limits. But those boundaries were obviously being ignored. The almost father-son relationship they’d developed over the years also wasn’t a boundary that could stop them. If anything, that closeness only added to the intimacy of the moment. Jay was giving pleasure to the man he’d looked up to all these years.

The President And The Rentboy

Posted on May 22, 2017February 18, 2020 by indieerotica

Newly inaugurated as the President of the United States of America, Daniel Grant has a secret. Despite winning a surprise upset election, built on a campaign filled with raucous rallies and an oft-repeated promise to deport illegal immigrants, Daniel is unhappy. While the media loves to speculate about him and his trophy wife, Melanie, the truth is there is no love in their relationship — moreover, as time goes on, Daniel is coming to understand that he prefers men. Itching for some sexual release, a senator discreetly hands him a phone number for Ricky — a rentboy.

Each sexy encounter with this seductive younger man leaves Daniel panting for more. But while his private sex life amps up, so, too, does his public political life, including increasing pressures from his vice-president to deport all illegal immigrants and bring about religious freedom laws so business can discriminate against LGBT customers.

Daniel struggles to balance his personal and public lives, to somehow continue seeing Ricky, despite the intense media scrutiny of everything the president does. Forbidden love is never easy, but it becomes near impossible when Daniel learns that Ricky, the young man he loves and desires so much, is an illegal immigrant from Mexico.

The President And The Rentboy is a 20,000-word novella.

The twink — Ricky — came in. Brad closed the door, leaving just me and the young man in the room.

“I recognize you...” Ricky said, trailing off. My blood suddenly ran cold, but then he added, “But I can’t place it.”

I almost wondered if he was playing me. I was on the news almost every day — I was a huge celebrity — how could someone not know who I was? I eyed him up and down, my gaze lingering just a little too long on his bulge. He didn’t strike me as the type that watched the news, but, still, I was easily the most recognizable person in the United States.

“I hope you’ll understand if I don’t make the connection for you.”

Ricky nodded. No doubt, he had done this before. Ricky was a rentboy — a prostitute — who specialized in catering to the needs of men in positions of great power, men who could be brought down by the mere mention of a gay sex scandal. I didn’t know all of Ricky’s clients, didn’t know if I even wanted that knowledge, but a senator had passed his name and number to me when he had figured out what I was yearning for. That senator said he didn’t use Ricky anymore, but had very fond memories of him.

“Yeah, I understand. You have a first name, though? Something I can moan in the throes of passion?” He unzipped his jacket, revealing a tight red shirt underneath — it hugged his slender frame and emphasized his pecs.

My mind tumbled in panic. If I gave him my name, he’d know who I was, and that would be the first step to the end of everything. But the rational part of my mind broke through — Ricky had signed a nondisclosure agreement and came highly recommended by a man who had almost as much to lose as me.

“Dan,” I finally said, voice barely more than a whisper. Few people called me Dan, most preferring my full name, Daniel. It felt right, though, that I would give Ricky a more intimate form of my name.

Ricky arched his eyebrow again and he looked me up and down. He still seemed to be struggling to make the connection of who I was. Eventually, he seemed to give up. Shrugging the jacket off his shoulders, he tossed it onto a nearby chair.

With the jacket off, he seemed even slimmer and younger. The shirt clung tightly to him, leaving nothing to the imagination, but still somehow making him even more tantalizing. The bottom of the shirt seemed to end a half-inch before the top of his jeans, giving me a glimpse of the rich brown skin of his Latin heritage. And his jeans hugged him as tightly as his shirt — I could almost see the outline of his bulge. When he noticed me looking him over, he did a little circle for me, giving me a glimpse of his astounding ass. It looked round and firm, filling out his jeans perfectly. I couldn’t wait to slide my tongue between those cheeks, to make him wet before I pushed my cock in there.

I stood up and crossed the room to him. He was a good six inches shorter than me. I wanted to reach out and touch him, to pull him close and shove my tongue down his throat, to grope him and make him moan, but I was suddenly overcome by nervousness. If only the public could see me now — not only for the supposed moral depravity of the situation, but for my sudden meekness. I wasn’t known as a weak-willed man.

Instead, I walked in a slow circle around Ricky. I could smell him — clean with a hint of scented soap. He was a feast for every sense so far — but I still had to know how he tasted and how his skin felt against mine. Fuck, I was straining in my briefs.

When I came around to the front of him again, he looked up at me through his long eyelashes.

“You like what you see, Dan?”

“I do,” I said, feeling a little more confident. “You’re gorgeous, Ricky.”

He was young, too, but I’d had Brad double-check the kid’s ID. He was in his early twenties, just like he’d said — but with me more than double his age, he just seemed even younger, making this all the more illicit.

“Don’t you want to...” he paused to tilt his head back and lick his lips, making his mouth seem plump and moist, and exposing the length of his slender neck, “kiss me?”

That was all the encouragement I needed. I put one hand behind his head and the other at the small of his back and pressed my lips against his. He kissed me back hungrily and soon our mouths were open and my tongue was brushing against his. Ricky seemed to melt in my hands as he pressed against my body, succumbing entirely to me and my will. I slid my hand down the back of his tight pants, groping his bare ass cheeks. They were smooth — exactly as I expected of him.

Erotic Love and Carnal Sins: Confessions of a Priest

Posted on May 22, 2017February 18, 2020 by indieerotica

Father Peter has devoted his life to the Roman Catholic Church — but not entirely because he is a man of God. For him, a life of chastity and piety is the perfect place for a closeted gay man to hide from himself.

Try as he might to live a pure life, his forbidden desires chip away at him, leading him on a path of carnal sins that starts with a simple, anonymous, and discreet online encounter. But that supposed anonymous encounter, with a man just as closeted as Peter, takes an uncomfortable turn when that same man shows up in confessional, wanting to talk with Peter in person.

Unable to lie to himself any longer, and suddenly willing to risk his entire career and life, Peter does the one thing he never dreamed he’d be able to do — he reaches out and touches another man. He can’t take back what he’s done and can’t pretend it didn’t happen, so that leaves Peter with only one option, to move forward and experience the erotic pleasures found only in the act of gay sex.

Erotic Love & Carnal Sins: Confessions of a Priest is a 29,000-word novella.

I was about to shut off my computer and forget the whole thing, but then the screen flickered and Mark’s webcam feed showed up. And he was naked. And he was exactly as I’d pictured him. At least, his body was — like me, he wasn’t showing his face.

My fear dissipated when it finally sunk in that I was doing this, that this was real, that Mark was naked and already hard and that he couldn’t possibly be a violent homophobe.

I waved my hand awkwardly. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Mark said, his voice sounding deep and masculine, though slightly tinny through my crappy speakers.

“It’s good to finally, well, see you, I guess,” I said. I was so nervous and at a total loss for what to say.

“Yeah,” Mark said. There was tension straining his voice. I could tell he was just as nervous about this whole thing as I was. He had told me he’d never been with a man before — never even shown himself on webcam, either. This was as much a first for him as it was for me.

I leaned back in my leather office chair, still making sure the webcam feed ended at my neck. I ran my hands down from my chest, over my nipples, across my stomach, and ending at the root of my cock. This seemed to have an effect on Mark — he grabbed his dick and started fondling it, holding his heavy balls in one hand and lightly stroking his shaft with the other.

I mirrored his movements, touching myself in the same manner. It wasn’t anything I hadn’t done before — being single and in my thirties meant I’d done more than my share of masturbation — but it felt much more ... erotic now than it had ever felt before. The difference this time was that I had an audience — a man who was as turned on by my body as I was by his.

My tumescent cock solidified, growing harder and longer. The head of my cock shone as the skin stretched.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Mark said, his voice sounding deep and husky. He was growing as thick and hard as me. “So much hotter than I imagined.”

“Mmm ... you, too.” I flicked my thumb over the head of my cock, spreading the pearl of precum that had gathered there, making my the crown of my cock wet.

Mark was everything I was drawn to in a man — masculine and thick. His chest had the developed pecs of a man who worked out when he was younger and his chest and torso were broad, but trim. His nipples poked through his thin layer of chest hair, beckoning to me and my mouth. I’d never touched another man, never held one, never kissed one, never licked one. Yet, I had an overwhelming desire to suck those dark nubs and then nibble on them, make them diamond-hard while I stroked his dick — or, even better, as I rode his cock, shoved deep into my ass, my hole stretched to accommodate its girth.

A tremble ran through me as orgasm almost threatened to overtake me. I snapped out of my fantasy and stopped jacking, tensing my core muscles, fighting back against the oncoming eruption. When the sensation abated, I looked back at the screen and at Mark. He was stroking quickly and dripping precum, glistening trails running down his shaft and making his fist wet. The light in his room reflected off his slick cock, illuminating it like some holy relic. My mouth watered again as I thought of getting on my knees between his legs and licking up and down his shaft, lapping up the precum and stimulating his dick with my tongue and mouth. And then I’d open my lips and take him in me, swallowing him down to the root, stimulating and pleasuring his cock until he exploded in my mouth, painting my tongue with his cum and filling me so quick that my only option was to swallow it all down.

“Fuck,” I moaned and threw my head back, still stroking my length and fondling my balls. My imagination alone was enough to get me off — and the fact that I was fantasizing over an actual person that was into me, too, and not some random porn star only shifted my erotic imagination into overdrive.

I looked at the screen again. Mark was pumping his fist furiously, turning into a blur over the low-quality video feed. Fuck, he was long and thick — I wished I could get that in my ass, that I could sit on him and sink down until he was totally and completely buried in me. I’d never taken a cock before, but I somehow knew I would love having that one inside me.

I felt another surge of pleasure in my dick — and this time I knew I couldn’t hold back any longer. “I’m gonna cum,” I said, my words catching in a gasp as my orgasm mounted.

“Do it,” Mark said. “Fucking blow your cum for me.”

Sex For Money: How to Write, Publish, and Sell Gay Erotica and M/M Erotic Romance

Posted on May 21, 2017May 12, 2018 by indieerotica

Cameron D. James is a multiple-bestselling author of gay erotica and M/M erotic romance, and in this all-in-one book, he shares his personal experiences and advice on how to write, publish, and sell your erotic fiction. While it can be difficult to make a living off of writing, the secrets in this book can help you grow your career and increase your sales month after month. Years of experience, research, trial-and-error, and experimenting have led Cameron to hone his approach to writing, publishing, and selling, and he shares everything with you in this book.

This handy manual explains:

Key writing and editing advice to ensure the quality of your fiction rises above your competitors.
What to look for in a contract if you choose to publish your fiction through a publishing house.
The realities of the hard work behind self-publishing your fiction.
How to give your book — including the cover and blurb — a spit and polish to make it draw readers in and close that sale.
The truth about which online vendors are worth your time… and which ones are best ignored.
The secrets of marketing an erotic book in a highly competitive genre.
How to effectively use social media to network with readers and sell your books.

Don’t waste time and money trying to figure all of this out on your own when you can learn how to do things correctly on your first try. This book gives you what you want to know, all in one convenient place.

This second edition includes updated information on vendors, expanded chapters on social media and sub-genres, and clearer instructions for formatting.

Introduction

You want to write gay erotica, do you? Dirty bastard.

I’m going to start with the bad news. Unless you become a mega bestseller, which happens to a depressingly minuscule fraction of writers, you’re not going to make enough to quit your day job. You might make enough to go on a nice vacation or supplement your income. Or it’ll help cover the cost of a pack of gum.

There are two types of writers who enter the competitive world of gay romance and erotica — those who want to make a quick buck, and those who enjoy writing and want to succeed in the long run. The “quick buck” people soon fizzle out and disappear. The quality writers who stick with it are the ones that succeed and, in the end, make a decent amount of money.

The real secret to writing, publishing, and selling gay erotica is to be professional. That’s it. This book will show you how to be professional at what you do. We’ll journey through the process, examining how to write and edit an erotic story, how to go about self-publishing and what the various platforms offer you, and then we’ll look at the various aspects of self-promotion, including the eternal question of “How, exactly, does one use Twitter to sell a book?”

I started writing this book because I saw a lot of bad advice out there. Let me rephrase that. I saw a lot of terrible advice out there. I don’t claim to be any sort of expert, but I do know a few things and I see a lot of people doing the complete wrong thing. Their choices will only cause them problems in the end and they will burn out. I also see other self-published authors, from a variety of genres, dispensing terrible advice to newbie writers. These newbie writers, who don’t know any better, lap up that advice and follow it to the letter.

So, who am I? If you haven’t read any of my stories, here’s a quick summation.

My name is Cameron D. James and I am the author of two M/M erotic romance novels and more than a dozen erotica novellas and short stories. I’ve been at this game for about four years. Well, I’ve been writing for way longer than that, but I published my first piece of erotic fiction about four years ago. In that time, I have become a bestseller several times over.
Autumn Fire, my first M/M erotic romance novel became a bestseller on the now-defunct All Romance eBooks, Going All The Way, Bump and Grind, Sins of Lust, and Seduced By My Best Friend’s Dad, four of my erotica novellas and short stories, were also bestsellers on All Romance eBooks. My erotica short story, Go Deep, has spent more than a year on Amazon’s Top 100 Free Gay Erotica list. It will sometimes drop off the list, but soon reappear. Go Deep, as of this writing, has been downloaded over 13,000 times.

In addition to writing under the name Cameron D. James, I also write under two other pseudonyms, exploring different areas of erotica, both gay and straight. Those pen names focus exclusively on short stories and have allowed me to test out sub-genres and a higher output volume, as well as alternative marketing strategies, pricing, and sales venues. These pen names have quickly risen to be as profitable as my Cameron D. James line of books — and sometimes even more profitable. In all, I’ve published over seventy pieces of fiction.

While I’ve seen some successes, I’m not living off my writing, at least not yet. I read somewhere that it takes three to five years to establish yourself as an author. I believe this to be true, just based on the progression of my career. Pretty much nothing happened, other than a handful of sales, in my entire first year. After that, things slowly picked up speed and are now going quite well. There’s still a lot of room to grow, but if things continue as they are, then that growth will happen.

Even if I’m not mega successful and living the life of luxury while writing about sex all day, I still consider myself a success already. A happy author is one who sets realistic goals. My goal was never to make fifty million dollars in six months. My goal was, and still is, to write quality fiction that people like to read. My reviews and continued sales show me that I’ve reached, and continue to reach, my goal.

In terms of financial reward for writing, my goal was to use it as supplementary income, to afford things normally just beyond my reach, not to replace my full-time job. Again, I’ve reached it. After just two years of saving all my royalties, I was able to take a vacation I’ve always wanted to take, but have never been able to afford. (Before you get thoughts of some erotic gay cruise, I’ll confess that it’s a week in Newfoundland, Canada’s eastern-most province.)

If you peruse writing forums, especially those frequented by erotica and erotic romance writers, you’ll see people stating (rather vaguely) that their income is in the four or five digit range. I suggest taking this with a grain of salt. In the few forums I’m particularly thinking of, there is a considerable amount of ego and showboating involved. However, I will accept that some of them have income in that range, but I would almost guarantee you that they work hard for it. The average author will not make that amount.

I remember telling someone, several years back, that I made $1.84 in royalties that month, and that paltry amount was coming in three bank transfers. Nowadays, my sales average in the mid three figures each month and I’m working on getting it into the four figures.

So if you want to be one of those authors, who’s only in it for the quick buck, this book probably isn’t for you. Best of luck to you, but don’t hold your breath. But if you’re looking to be professional at what you do, to create a name for yourself and have fun along the way, then I hope you’ll enjoy proceeding through these pages.

What you’ll find are general guidelines on how to approach the different aspects of writing, self-publishing, and marketing. What you won’t find are specific instructions. That’s because the internet and specific steps to complete these tasks both change too rapidly. If I give you specific instructions for uploading your ebook to Amazon, or for scheduling a promotional tweet on Twitter, or for setting up your Facebook like page, those steps could change before I finish publishing this book and you’d have useless instructions in front of you. (Already, between writing the first draft of the first edition of this book and rewriting my second draft, Kindle Unlimited has completely changed their payout structure and a new erotica vendor website has emerged. And between writing the second draft and third draft, the new erotica vendor has disappeared and another one is poised to open soon, and Amazon continues to tinker with the payment structure in its Kindle Unlimited program. And, as mentioned, a whole world of changes have happened between the first edition and the second edition.)

Instead, I’ve given you guidelines to approach this industry like a professional. The general tips and suggestions and ideas are applicable to all of the present platforms, as well as emerging platforms that may not exist yet. By adopting the right attitude, you become a flexible and professional author that is ready to take on anything. And when those quick-buck authors have long given up on the business and moved on to the next get-rich-quick scheme, you’ll be having the time of your life getting paid to write about sex.

Seduced By My Best Friend’s Dad

Posted on May 1, 2017February 18, 2020 by indieerotica

Jay has a crush on Richard, his best friend’s dad. Richard is older, very masculine, cares about Jay, and is extremely sexy. There are just the problems of Richard being straight, married, and the father of Jay’s life-long best friend.

When Richard takes his son and Jay on a camping trip to celebrate turning eighteen, becoming men, and taking their first steps into the adult world, Jay struggles to contain his lust. Hitting on Richard would ruin the camping trip and destroy his friendship.

But when his friend takes ill and Jay and Richard enjoy some bonding time alone, it becomes clear that Jay isn’t the only one in the thrall of forbidden desires. A relaxing camping trip soon turns into a series of sweaty, erotic encounters, as Jay and Richard stoke this fire burning between them.

Seduced by My Best Friend’s Dad is a 30,000-word novella.

Still not breaking eye contact with Richard, Jay willed his fingers back to life, massaging Richard’s upper thigh. With every squeeze of his fingers, he moved his hand half an inch closer to that patch of ball skin. With every passing moment, he felt the tension build in both of them, like he was waiting for Richard to call him a pervert or Richard was waiting for Jay to burst out laughing at the prank. But then his fingertips brushed against that warm, soft, wrinkled, hairy skin, and the tension deflated from both of them.

“Jay...” Richard said, his voice a mere whisper. It was filled with lust and need, happiness and contentment. He wanted this — needed this.

Jay brushed the skin, rubbing his fingers back and forth, then carefully worked his hand under Richard’s shorts and boxers. Soon he had one meaty ball rolling between his fingers. It was almost plum-sized, firm and round. He squeezed the ball lightly, tugged it gently, and Richard let out a low moan, falling back on his elbows on the rock, head cast back. Jay eased his other hand in the other pant leg and grabbed Richard’s other ball, giving it the same massage treatment. He rubbed both balls, smoothing out the skin, holding them firm in his grasp. The long bulge in the middle of the pile of fabric at Richard’s crotch twitched.

Shifting to grasp both balls in one hand, Jay slid his fingers reverently up the length of Richard’s cock, watching the man’s face for any reaction that this was going too far. But Richard was too far gone, too lost in the heat of the moment to ever say no — Jay knew he had Richard, that the man was putty in his hands, but that he had willingly and knowingly put himself there.

He still didn’t understand it — Richard was straight and married and the very fact that Jay was his son’s best friend should have put up some immediate boundaries, placed him off limits. But those boundaries were obviously being ignored. The almost father-son relationship they’d developed over the years also wasn’t a boundary that could stop them. If anything, that closeness only added to the intimacy of the moment. Jay was giving pleasure to the man he’d looked up to all these years.

Go-Go Boys of Club 21: The Complete Series

Posted on April 27, 2017February 18, 2020 by indieerotica

Club 21 is known across New York City for having the hottest go-go boys. They groove to the beat, fuel fantasies, and leave you begging for more.

Liam is one of those premiere go-go boys, but even though he's living the life he's dreamed about, he feels something is missing. And he might have found that something when he gets into a whirlwind romance with a former porn star.

Lance is the newest go-go boy. He took the job because he's infatuated with Liam and hoping for a chance to get to know him better, but only gets a broken heart as he watches Liam chase some guy he barely knows. As Lance pushes to get closer to Liam, he only pushes him further away.

As the beat goes on and the tempo changes, will Lance be able to win the man of his dreams? Or will Liam forever go off in search of new excitement?

Originally released as five separate stories, this volume at last collect the Go-Go Boys of Club 21 into one hot volume.

We’re the go-go boys of Club 21. We dance, we fuel fantasies, and we give ourselves to the beat. We bump, we grind, and before each shift we have a jerk off competition; the order in which we come determines who gets the most desirable dance platform.

Normally, I shoot first, earning me the prime spot by the DJ. Ken usually comes shortly after me; he claims I get him excited. Lance, our new guy, he’s always last and ends up with the crappy spot by the pool tables.

Today, I decided to try something different—a strategy, if you will—to teach Lance an important lesson about being a go-go boy. I yanked down the front of my shorts and let my cock hang out, then grabbed it in my fist, stroking up and down the shaft. In front of me, Liam and Ken stood with their shorts tucked under their balls as they pumped with vigor.

I held back, loosening my grip just a bit, but still keeping it tight enough to stay hard and throbbing. I grunted and faked an impending climax, hoping it would give the other guys incentive to rush to completion.

The faking worked. Ken groaned and numerous rockets of hot, white cum launched from his cock. His load splattered on the tiled floor, like some abstract painter’s creation, a wad of it dropping on my toes.

“Sorry, Liam,” Ken said as he came down from that high of orgasm. I doubted Ken was actually sorry—he was definitely the bad boy of our trio. He drank, partied, and had a high-octane sex drive.

I looked at the cum on my feet and then winked at him. “Ken, you sick fucker. You can lick it off.”

He stuck his tongue out at me, then crossed his arms and watched Lance and I battle to the finish. I kept stroking, making my effort look convincing. Lance fixed me with his usual cocky stare. Lust glazed his eyes too, no doubt fuelled by the actions of his fist.

“Uhhh...” Lance groaned as his cock fired off a dozen good bullets of cum, showering across the diamond-tile floor. Fuck, he could shoot a mean load.

Lance had joined us three weeks ago and I didn’t know too much about him. He was a quiet jock, a much better fit than Aaron, the airhead twink who he’d replaced. Having a jock in our small group was good for bringing in more customers. Ken and I were well-toned and we all had boyish charm—it was part of the job, after all—but Lance’s body was hard and toned, and packed with an impressive array of muscle. And boy, could he dance.

I didn’t realize I’d stopped stroking until Ken said, “You planning on coming?”

I shrugged, letting go of my cock. “I don’t think it’s happening tonight...probably shouldn’t have tugged it this afternoon.”

Ken snorted. “Whatever.” He swiped a bead of cum from his dick and licked it off, then tugged up his shorts and headed to the staff bathroom to grab paper towels.

Lance and I pulled up our shorts too. I smiled at him, trying to give my best look of sheepish defeat.

“That was on purpose, wasn’t it?” He asked.

I leaned in close to him. “Yeah. Now, why do you think I did it?”

“Hmm...are you trying to teach me another one of your go-go boy secrets?”

I grabbed my thick bulge and gave it a shake for him. “See this?”

Lance looked down at my basket and bit his lip, then reached in his shorts and adjusted himself. “Mmm. I get it. Don’t come so you’ve got a bigger bulge.”

“The bigger the bulge, the bigger the tips, no matter where you dance. I’ll prove it to you. I plan to make a killing tonight. Tomorrow, you can try and do the same. I bet you’ll make more than your usual thirty-seven bucks.”

Ken came back with the paper towels and started wiping up the cum. He paused and looked up at us. I think he knew we had cut off a conversation upon his return. “Boys?”

I looked at Lance—he would keep a straight face if I lied. “We’re talking about bulges,” I said.

A wicked grin crossed Ken’s lips as he wiped more cum up from the floor, then from my foot. “Bulges are one of my favorite things to talk about.” He tossed the paper towels in the wastebasket. “Are we talking about a particular bulge?”

Lance looked as if he’d been caught red-handed with porn. “Liam’s.”

“Oh...in that case, that’s definitely a bulge I like.” Ken grabbed the front of my tight shorts, groping my cock and balls.

I swatted his hand away. “No touching unless you’re tipping. You know the rules.”

Ken laughed and swiftly turned around. He slapped my ass as he passed me. “I like your butt better than your bulge, anyway.”

Love’s Last Dance (Go-Go Boys of Club 21 #5)

Posted on April 27, 2017February 18, 2020 by indieerotica

Not even a week into his move to L.A., Liam has the feeling that things are slightly off. Liam's new life in porn and Ryan's big mansion and flashy car can't seem to mask the fact that Ryan is more distant than he's been before. L.A. was supposed to be a new stage of Liam's life, full of happiness and partying, but none of that seems to be happening. Still, he tries to hold on desperately to love he's certain will last.

Back in New York, Lance has hit it off with the new dancer, Zack. He can't believe his luck, that this hot young guy has eyes for only him. But as the week goes on, the edges of this life with Zack begin to fray. Lance tries to deny it, but can't avoid the fact that something is wrong, that Zack isn't as into him as he wants, and ultimately, the love Lance so longs for just doesn't seem to be in reach.

While Liam and Lance make compromises to find the love they so desperately need, Ken is immersed in love with his new boyfriend Dan. But this is all new for Ken — he's never done the "boyfriend" thing before. Will it mean the end of his carefree life that he loves so much? Or will it mean the beginning of a new adventure, one where two can play and more can join?

Amid the misleading pull of lust, the call of love will bring the boys together for one last dance. Hearts will break, and hearts will mend, and as the beat goes on in Club 21, the go-go boys will embrace a new life where they will never be the same.

Love's Last Dance is a 23,000-word novella.

I bit back a moan as my cock slipped into Zack’s tight ass. I gripped his ankles so hard I worried I’d leave bruises when I eventually let go. But the boy could take it. My cock slid in right to the base without having to slow down for his ass to adjust.

“I love how you fill me,” he said, sheer ecstasy contorting his face.

When I was balls-deep inside of him, I pushed his legs closer to his chest and leaned over him, pressing my mouth against his. I pushed my tongue past my lips and his, exploring the inside of his mouth. And slowly, drawing out the moment, I slid my hips back, pulling out my cock until just the tip was still in, then I slammed it home, a loud smack filling the room.

“And I love how you take it so deep and hard,” I grated.

Zack moaned and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me closer, holding me tighter. He moaned and shoved his tongue deep into my mouth. The twink liked it rough — these hard slams of my pelvis against him drove him wild.

I picked up speed, sliding out and in again, our bodies smacking together each time. Sweat broke out on my brow, beading and dripping down on Zack’s face. He stopped kissing me to chuckle, then ran his hands over my forehead, brushing the sweat back into my hairline, then he pulled me close again and kissed my forehead.

“Oh, fuck,” I said, barely more than a moan. He was pulling me closer to that edge.

My breathing became quicker, reedier, as I worked my way to climax. We’d fucked a couple times since our foursome with Ken and Dan on Sunday, so Zack already knew my cues, already knew I was close. He slipped a hand between us and furiously stroked his long, hard cock. His fist bumped into my abs with every yank on his meat.

“I’m gonna cum,” Zack blurted out. His eyes opened wide and then screwed shut as a tremble ran through his body and a thick load spurted out from his cock, painting both our chests with thick lines of his hot cum.

With ejaculation, his ass muscles clamped down tight on my cock, finally shoving me over that edge. I screwed my eyes shut, too, and grunted as fire shot through my body and my cock erupted, filling the condom with my load. When I could open my eyes again, I saw Zack looking up at me, panting and smiling. A sheen of sweat covered his face.

I kissed him, much more gentle and tender than mere moments ago.

“That was amazing,” I said to him, voice hoarse.