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Academic Discipline: The Complete Series

Posted on May 5, 2021 by indieerotica

Few things are as taboo as a student seducing a teacher. But when the teacher is sexually dominant, it quickly goes from taboo to scorching hot.

Spanking, bondage, and kinky toys are all ways these older men teach their younger male students about the pleasures that can be had if they just give in and submit. And when the boys do finally grab hold of their submissive natures, their teachers take them even further than they ever thought possible.

From a college freshman being dominated by his professor, to a newly eighteen-year-old twink accidentally encountering his teacher at the bathhouse, to a college baseball player giving in to all of his secret gay urges with his dominant coach…these men enter into the most forbidden of relationships.

Academic Discipline collects Dominating The Freshman, Schoolboy Secrets, and Team Bottom into one steamy volume.

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.

Gay Love and Other Christmas Magic by Dylan James

Posted on February 16, 2020February 16, 2020 by indieerotica

It’s been six months since Benjamin finally came out and publicly declared his love for his long-time best friend Jordan. And in those six months, so much has changed. They’ve both moved out, living in the university dorms, and they’re both overloaded with homework.

Although heading home on separate flights for the holiday, they still plan to spend this Christmas—their first as a couple—together, making up for the months of limited boyfriend time. But, when the snowstorm of the century hits New York City, Benjamin is stranded at the airport, with Jordan trapped at school. Unable to get in contact with each other, this very special first Christmas seems destined to be the worst one ever.

While Jordan is devastated, believing Benjamin to have already left the state, Benjamin is determined to get back to the dorms and into the arms of his boyfriend. The perilous trek through New York City is beset with obstacles all along the way, and he worries he’ll never make it back to Jordan. Yet, a little Christmas magic, and help from a few strangers, teach Benjamin not only is the impossible within reach, but that his relationship with Jordan is the best Christmas present of all.

This very special holiday follow-up to the bestselling Gay Love and Other Fairy Tales is a heartwarming journey that uncovers the true meaning of Christmas.

I grabbed my suitcase and exited the airport. The icy cold wind slammed into my face and snowflakes pelted my cheeks. I could barely open my eyes because every time I did, I got snowflakes in them. However, I could vaguely make out the taxi stand in front of me. I walked forward, making stumbling footsteps with all of the slushy snow.

After managing to reach the taxi, I opened the back door and got in. It took a moment to stop shivering and then I dusted the snow off my jacket.

The driver looked back at me. He had to be no more than a few years older than me, but with a full beard across his jaw. “Dispatch says I’m not supposed to take any fares.”

“Seriously?” I asked, disbelieving. “I need to get home to my boyfriend.”

After realizing I’d uttered the word “boyfriend”, something I tried not to do when I didn’t know if the person I was talking to was homophobic or an ally, my gaze darted toward him and then away. Crap. I should just get out.

As I reached for the door handle, the driver said, “Hang on. Where’s home?”

My heart hammered in my chest. I looked at him and I didn’t see the look of disgust I feared I’d see. “But what about dispatch?”

He shook his head. “Man, if I didn’t make a solid effort to get home to my man on Christmas Eve, he’d probably leave me.” He chuckled and I suddenly felt very comfortable in his presence. He was more than an ally, he was gay like me. “Now, where’s home?”

“NYU.”

His gaze drifted up to the ceiling between us and his lips moved as he muttered some words. I recognized them as street names — he was running through the route. Then his gaze snapped toward me again. “If we take all the major streets between here and there, we should be fine. The plows are out in full force.”

“Okay,” I said, suddenly smiling. This was going to work after all! Soon I’d be hugging Jordan.

The driver shifted in his seat, facing forward. “Now,” he said as he shifted into drive and pulled out of the taxi stand, “tell me about this boyfriend we’re braving the blizzard for.”

Thunder by Dylan James

Posted on August 11, 2019August 11, 2019 by indieerotica

Grant Peters is sixteen and wants nothing more than to just compete in calf roping at rodeos and keep winning gold. But there are two obstacles in his path.

The first is Logan Summers, also sixteen, and also into calf roping. Logan is Grant’s only real competition and every time Logan wins, he gives Grant a smug little smirk that sets Grant’s blood boiling.

The second is Grant’s parents being close to selling the family ranch and moving to the city, away from rodeo, and away from his horse, Thunder.

So when Grant discovers evidence of a deadly cougar stalking the ranch, he decides to take it upon himself to hunt down what would undoubtedly kill the little business his family has left if word got out. Of course, as soon as he sets off into the woods, he runs into Logan, who is undertaking the same hunt to save his own family’s ranch.

Now, these two teenage rodeo nemeses have to not only overcome their uncertainty about themselves, but also their hatred for each other, if they have any hope of coming together to save their families’ businesses.

My heart thundered loud in my chest and the sound of blood pumping filled my ears. Everything seemed so loud now. I tried to calm my breathing, which was now rapid and shallow, and did my best to get my nerves under control. I stared down the barrel, choosing to aim between the men. If Logan decided to shoot one, that was on him. Me? I’d hit the dirt at their feet, rip a hole in their tents, that kind of thing.

Logan slowly turned his head to look at me and I did the same to look at him. I was weirdly relieved to see sweat beading on his brow — it wasn’t hot enough for that kind of sweat, so it had to be nerves. It made me feel better to know that he wasn’t a cold-blooded killer or something. He looked back down the length of his rifle barrel and I did the same, aiming for a spot between the feet of two of them.

In my peripheral vision, I saw Logan’s finger move to the trigger and rest on it. I did the same. He opened his mouth, ready to shout something at them.

Then I heard the click of a safety being taken off — behind us — and felt the barrel of a gun pressed against the base of my skull.

“Drop it,” said a gruff voice that had somehow snuck up behind us, “or pretty boy here gets his brains blown out.”

New York Heat

Posted on January 20, 2019 by indieerotica

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.

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.”

Gay Love and Other Fairy Tales by Dylan James

Posted on January 20, 2019February 16, 2020 by indieerotica

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?

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.

Silent Hearts

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

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.

“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.”

Autumn Fire

Posted on January 20, 2019 by indieerotica

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.