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READ: The Hook-Up Experiment!

March 16, 2018


Have you seen my latest release, THE HOOK-UP EXPERIMENT? Are you intrigued by it? Do you want to hit it before you one-click it? 


GREAT NEWS! I'm giving you the chance to read the first THREE chapters of the book, absolutely free! 


Be aware, this is NSFW or little eyes. But really, really, funny. Or so I'm told. ;) Purchase links are at the end of the post! XOXO



Chapter One – Peyton


Brothers are assholes. And I’m still waiting for algebra to help me with my taxes.



The dick pics were endless.

Six inches.

Four inches.

Eight inches.

Three inches plus Photoshop.

Really, they were all the same.

And it was a miracle if any of the men they were attached to were able to combine the size of the prize with the motion of the ocean.

In fact, the only difference in the dicks was where the owner of it wanted to put it. A mouth, a vagina, a butt… Another man’s butt.

Those were my favorite types of matches to make. Good dicks were hard to find for women and for men—and sometimes, I matched more than just a hook-up for the gay population of New Orleans.

No wonder my brother fucking hated my business model. I had two gay weddings, one adoption, two proposals, and four long-term relationships under my belt. Not to mention a host of fuck-buddies.

He had one relationship and two break-ups.

Not that I was surprised, but orgasms clearly outweighed the whole getting-to-know each other stage.

I mean, seriously. There’s not much more intimate than your cock inside someone else’s ass.

Not that I’d know. The only cocks I owned came with batteries and lived in my drawer.

Or that I’d ever put anyone’s cock up my ass…

I shook off the thought of anyone entering my exit. That was not a thought anyone needed to have while at their grandma’s house for dinner.

I moved the guy whose profile was in front of me to a ‘maybe’ section. The girl I was hooking up was particular about what she wanted, and that only served to make my life easier.

You wouldn’t tell your hairdresser she could color your hair whatever if you wanted to be blonde, would you?

I clicked onto the next profile as Ed Sheeran began crooning through my headphones. Shifting on the sofa, I swung my legs up onto another cushion and repositioned myself to where I could see if Mimi was coming back in from the kitchen.

She might have been accepting of what I did, but that didn’t mean she wanted to be a part of the selection process.

The next profile loaded. He’d attached several pictures of himself, but I read through the submission first. Just out of a long-term relationship, looking for a feel-good fling…

We were onto something for my little red-headed friend.

Happy with the rest of his profile, I clicked on the attached photos. The first was of his face.

Handsome. Dark-haired. Exactly what she was looking for.

Next up: His body.

I let out a low whistle. Abs for days. Shoulders that gave away his strength.

Next up: The peen.

Oh, damn.

I loved it when people followed instructions—and didn’t lie in the measurement part of their submission. He had not been lying when he’d said he was seven inches—and the photo showed that to be a solid seven, too.

Ding ding ding! We had a winner!

Something hit me hard in the back of the head. I screamed, jumping and almost sending my laptop flying to the floor.

“What the hell?” I snapped, tearing off my headphones and glaring at my brother. “Where did you come from and why did you hit me?”

Dom stared at me. “You’re working? Here?”

Quickly, I saved the profile as The One and closed down my screen. “Well, yeah. Mimi knows. She doesn’t care.”

“I don’t want another man’s penis to be the first thing I see when I get here!”

“So? Look down your pants when you walk through the door. Oh, that’s right. You still wouldn’t see anything.”

He flipped me the bird as Mimi walked in, wiping her hands on the bright-yellow, floral apron tied around her waist.


He threw his arms out. “I can’t make a gesture at her, but she can look at male genitalia in your living room?”

Mimi crossed her arms over her plump body and stared him down with a fierce, dark gaze. “Dominic Austin, I remember catchin’ you looking at female genitalia in my livin’ room once upon a time, and that was for nothin’ more than your own pleasure.”

My older brother looked at me and her. “Mimi, she’s looking at dicks for pleasure.”

“Actually,” I said, standing up. “I take no pleasure from looking at penises when they’re being matched to someone else. Unlike you and your teenage porn obsession.”

“Oh, yeah,” he continued, following me into the kitchen. “Because you don’t watch porn.”

I pulled a bottle of water from the fridge.

Sometimes, it sucked that Mimi didn’t allow alcohol in the house.

“I never said I didn’t. That’s the difference between me and you, bro. I don’t lie.”

“Lord, give me strength,” Mimi muttered, shuffling over to the stove and continuing to pray under her breath.

“Are you calling me a liar?”

“Have you or have you not had a crush on Chloe since twelfth grade?”

Dom froze, blinking his long, dark eyelashes at me. “We’re not talking about me, Peyt. We’re talking about your penis obsession.”

“As mighty convenient as that is,” Mimi drawled, her no-nonsense attitude mixing with her deep Southern accent to cut through our immature sibling squabbling, “Y’all’s dinner is almost ready, so set the darn table before I add human meat to this stew.”

Both of us did as we were told. Dom grabbed all the placemats while I opened the cutlery drawer. It was the way we’d always done it, and it would never matter to Mimi if we were ten or twenty-something. Hell, even if we were fifty, she’d expect us to do it.