Love For Rent

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. “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. “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 ni