This wasn’t working. I erased that search and typed, Local gay boy looking to make big money. “This should be interesting.” I hit enter, expecting the worst.

The first ad that popped up was a Sugar Daddy/sugar baby site. I’d heard of those things. In essence, a Daddy paid a baby for a date. Like an escort service, only less fancy. What that date included was negotiable between the two parties. It could be a simple dinner, or sex, or both. Yeah, as much as I’d joked about selling my ass on the street, that wasn’t what I wanted to do. This Sugar Daddy site was basically a step up from prostitution. No, it was prostitution just with a fancier name and a website in place of a street corner.

I was about to change my search parameters again when an ad halfway down the page caught my eye.

Big Money! Looking for male, identical twins to film a shocking and slightly lewd video!

“Well, hello. I just happen to be an identical twin looking for big money. What do we have here?”

The link took me to a website that seemed, at first glance, to belong to an author. There were several images of gay men in provocative poses splashed across dozens and dozens of book covers. Although the job opportunity was highlighted at the top of the page with an “Earn big money” sign splashed across the front, I scanned the rest of the site to get an idea of what I was looking at.

The author, Charlotte Jones, was apparently a best-selling gay romance writer that had taken the genre to the next level and was paving the way for gay romance literature recognition across the globe. Her books boasted New York Times best-seller tags, and the small write-up claimed she’d won over a dozen awards for her literature.

The images on the covers were sexy as fuck and piqued my curiosity about what the stories entailed. Being a university student, I didn’t read a whole lot outside of textbooks. There was no time in my life for fiction. But gay fiction? My interest was aroused—as was my dick. I’d popped a semi, staring at the hot muscular men with their hands all over each other.

I skimmed Charlotte’s bio and halted on the words steamy erotic romance. “Is that like porn? Jesus, do you write porn? For real?”

Now I needed to try one. I opened a second window and pulled up Amazon. I searched for Charlotte Jones, and a long list of novels appeared. Not having a clue where to start, I picked the sexiest cover in her collection, noting it had over five thousand ratings at a solid five stars. When I saw the cost of a Kindle copy, I cringed. “Twelve bucks!?”