By K.C. Cave
In Book 5 of Junie Makes Michael, disaster strikes: Junie’s sexual hijinks land
her in trouble with the law—she makes headlines and loses her job. What’s a
girl to do? Rather than sit on her rear end, Junie decides to sell it, along
with the rear end of her live-in girlfriend Melanie. The notoriety of her
arrest catapults her into the upper echelons of high-end escorting, where her
sexual adventures include a lesbian sex show with Melanie, sex on (not in) a
luxury British car, and a three-way in a private jet at forty thousand feet.
~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~
At six-foot-three, two hundred and thirty pounds, dressed in an Italian
suit and custom loafers, Gordon dominated the living room. Sitting in an easy
chair next to Junie, he looked around. “You are one of the glummest assemblages
of white mother**kers I’ve ever had the misfortune to
be with,” he said.
“Thanks for that uplifting greeting,” Junie muttered. “You could’ve just
texted your condolences.”
“Woman, I wouldn’t have come over here if all I was going to say is I’m
sorry for your pathetic asses.”
“Okay, then why are you here?” Michael asked, bristling. The men
despised each other—one, the formerly caged and cuckolded husband, the other
the prodigiously endowed lover (and tenured university professor) who had been
Junie’s f**k buddy since she was in high school.
“Not to give you any advice,
jerk,” Gordon spat. “You people ever hear the phrase, when life gives you
lemons, make lemonade?”
Junie rolled her eyes. Melanie, seated next to Michael on the couch,
shifted uncomfortably.
“I guess I gotta spell it out for you,” Gordon said, more to himself
than the other three people in the living room. “Junie, what is the most
important thing in your life? Outside of sleeping and eating?”
She didn’t answer.
“It’s sex. You are the most sexual person I’ve ever met. Even when
you’re doing other stuff, Dewey Decimal System stuff, you’re always thinking
about sex. Wanting sex. Planning sex. Doing sex.”
“Not in the last few days.”
Gordon made a sour face. “Okay, I really
got to spell it out for you. Here’s another question, and I guarantee you it’s
not rhetorical. Is there such a thing as bad
publicity?”
Junie started to cry.
“Goddam it, Junie, stop that! Listen to me. You’re sitting on a gold
mine.”
“What do you mean?” Junie asked between sniffles.
“Well, I mean it figuratively. And literally. You aren’t infamous.
You’re famous.”
Michael leaned forward to Junie. “I’m pretty sure, Princess, boyfriend
is suggesting you start turning tricks for a living,” he spat. “And I’m sure
he’s willing to take a cut.”
“Like just about everything in your miserable life, you got it wrong—dead wrong,” Gordon said. To Junie: “I
know people. People who are rich—damn it, rich isn’t the right word. Sports
stars. Rappers. Businessmen. Yeah, drug dealers—and I don’t mean street-level.
People I grew up with, went to school with. You have no idea how much money they
have.”
“So?” Junie asked as she wiped her eyes.
“Damn it, woman, you’re not thinking clear. Remember Robert from
Atlanta? My Morehouse buddy? That weekend we spent at my place?”
Junie nodded. It had been her first threesome in several years. After
two days of nearly nonstop sex, she had left Gordon’s apartment bruised and
happy.
“His brother plays for the Sea Hawks. He has a thirty million dollar
contract.”
“I still don’t get it.”
“Listen, Junie. These men…they have wives, they have girlfriends. You
know what? Wives and girlfriends are a pain in the ass. Not in the mood. I’ve
got a headache. You forgot my birthday.
Pain in the ass. So when they want sex, just sex, just to have a good
time…Am I getting through?”
“They hire a hooker?”
Gordon slapped his forehead. “They don’t
hire a hooker. Okay, there’s a word. ‘Escort.’ A beautiful woman, fun to be
with, a perfect date—and very, very
skilled at sex. The whole package.”
“How do you break in?” Michael asked.
“Sounds like I’m getting through to someone, finally. It’s not easy. You
could do some research, find one of those high-priced Manhattan or Hollywood
escort services. Remember that governor of New York? He paid, like, thirty-five
hundred a night? But that escort had to split her fee with her madam.
“The best, absolute best way to get into high-end escorting is to
freelance,” Gordon continued. He leaned forward, gesturing, intense, his eyes
blazing. “It’s also the hardest. You’ve got to be a known entity. Someone with
a verified skill set. And you’re over that hurdle.”
“‘Chief librarian offers extended services’?” Michael asked.
“Yes! Goddamn, my phone is going nuts! Junie, all these guys I’ve known
for years. I’ve told them about you. You’ve met some of them and slept with at
least one. They want to do you! In the nicest possible way! They read those
articles and get hard!”
“I should…should…become a prostitute?”
“Think of it as—the entertainment business. Something that you give your
all to, which is your style. And not just you. Girlfriend here, too.”
Melanie blinked. “Me?”
“You’re a perfect match, salt and pepper,” Gordon explained. “Junie’s
all sexual energy, crazy sex-fiend stuff. She’s a small package that just
explodes. Melanie, you’re softer, more innocent. And your body and those boobs…You
two make an incredible package. And there’s a big marketing advantage to that,
especially with the really high-end
customers.”
“Why?” Michael asked.
“It doubles the kink, so you can double the fee. Trust me on this:
Nothing, absolutely nothing turns a
guy on more than watching two hot women do it. Since you’re already lesbians,
so much the better. Only thing, you’ll have to shorten it up, time-wise.
Lesbians go on forever.”
Melanie blushed and mouthed to herself, “Am not a lesbian.”
“Oh, god! See what I mean! She’s priceless!”
Keywords:
lesbian sex, M/F sex, escort, anal sex, M/F/F sex, three-way sex, orgy,
prostitute, whore, orgy, BDSM, outdoor sex