Page 11 of Between the Lines

CHAPTER FIVE

Now

THENUMBERONEquestion in my in-box? The biggest thing that readers want to know? It’s how much of what I report on is something that I actually do. Yes, you filthy-minded little freaks want to know all the dirty details, and I know why...because if I’ve tried it, then you’re not so weird if you do, too.

If you’re waiting with bated breath for me to answer, you’re going to have to keep on waiting. Why? Because I think that if you want to let your freak flag fly, you should find the guts to hoist it yourself. Color it with your own kinks, and don’t be afraid to invite a partner...or three.

Now keep reading as I chat with Emma Muse, a cam girl with over six hundred thousand Instagram followers, about why so many women are choosing to pleasure themselves on camera for money, and why she thinks it’s a viable career—not to mention fun!

Sluttily yours,

Jojo Kink

Exhaling hugely, Jo sat back in her rickety desk chair. Lacing her fingers together, she twisted them outward, extending her arms and arching her back in a giant stretch. She’d only been working on this post for a couple of hours, but she’d been so into it that she hadn’t been paying attention to her posture, and as the minutes had ticked by, she hunched up tighter with every word that she typed.

Scrolling back up, she reread the introduction and couldn’t quite hold back her grin. The post was good, and she wasn’t one for false modesty, especially when she was alone in her bedroom with no one to see her crow over it.

She knew that she could write. She’d been doing it steadily for pay for years, which was a pretty good sign that she wasn’t a complete hack. But after a seemingly endless period of churning out things that other people wanted, writing about something that interested her felt like she’d grown a pair of giant, feathery wings.

Reading the post through one more time, she made a few small edits before copying the text to her blog site, Jojo Kink. As it uploaded, she opened her blog’s email in-box, scanning through the messages and the alerts of comments on her blog, which ranged from rapturous praise to things like Die in hell, skank.

Skank. Ha. If only they knew.

Checking the box that would allow her to delete everything with one click, she emptied her in-box, then blinked at the single message that slid in right after. Marked urgent, it carried the subject Job Opportunity.

“Oh, I just bet.” She rolled her eyes and almost deleted this one, too. She received “job offers” every week, and most of them were invitations to meet up with very gracious gentlemen who were interested in letting her blow them. She mostly ignored them, but once in a while she skimmed over one of these fascinating missives and her temper—her Achilles’ heel—would get the better of her. It never failed to amaze her how many men couldn’t understand that no woman on this earth wanted an unsolicited dick pic. Actually, most didn’t want a dick pic, period, but pointing that out usually just resulted in a flurry of them.

She was in the mood to argue, though, so she opened the email, bracing herself for a veiny close-up. She was surprised that, instead of an image of throbbing male genitalia, the email contained an actual message, complete with a website link.

To Ms. Kink,

My name is John Brooke; I’m a freelance business mentor currently working with the dating app Crossing Lines. We at Crossing Lines would like to meet with you to discuss the possibility of writing some blog posts for our site. We love your voice and think that you are just what we need to appeal to the female demographic.

We would love to hear back from you, at your earliest convenience.

Sincerely,

John Brooke and the Crossing Lines team

“Say what?” Jo sat up straight as hummingbirds of excitement flocked through her veins. Clicking on the site link, she found herself staring at a logo that she actually knew. Crossing Lines had been everywhere lately—she was pretty sure her youngest sister, Amy, actually had a profile on it. Their advertising was slick—they clearly had a lot of money behind them.

And they wanted her? How the hell had they found her blog, anyway? Her blog had decent traffic, but she was a medium-size fish in a gigantic pond.

“Who the hell cares?” She wasn’t an idiot. This was huge. Palms suddenly slick with sweat, she scrambled to reply. John Brooke, whoever he was, must have still been in his email, because he came back again almost instantly, asking her if she had time to meet the next morning. When she agreed, he gave her an address close to the financial district in downtown Boston and told her they looked forward to meeting with her. She didn’t have a clue who else was included in the they, but the thrill fizzing through her wouldn’t let her care.

Shoving back from her desk, she closed her eyes and savored the moment. She could hear music coming from Beth’s room, some kind of weird electro-pop that she normally couldn’t stand, but right now it was perfect, and she did a little walk-dance of joy around her cramped room to the beat.

She’d been writing for years. Years. She’d started with the local paper, and her secret dream had been to go to journalism school. When her sister Beth had gotten sick, though, and the family had started to drown in debt, she switched tracks. Words were her skill set, so she searched out the best way to make quick cash from them. Her ghostwriting gigs—writing stories to spec for other people—had been what allowed them to stay in their grand old historic home, but she’d always felt like she lost a bit of herself when she signed away the rights to something that had come from within her.

Now Beth had hooked up with Ford, and while at first Jo had been certain he’d been using her little sister as a stroll through a kinky park, she now had to admit that he’d saved their asses, for no reason other than his love for Beth. His idea to build a small boutique hotel on part of their massive property had led to a source of viable income for their family, which meant that Jo could finally, finally, write whatever the hell she wanted.

She’d been surprised at how much she’d enjoyed ghostwriting erotic stories, and that was what had led to the idea for Jojo Kink. Researching and interviewing people about freaky sexual topics threw in that love of journalism and, it turned out, was just fun.

But writing for a big company didn’t mean that she couldn’t still blog—at least she hoped it didn’t. And writing for a big company meant money. She brought in a bit through ads on her site, but a regular paycheck...

She couldn’t even imagine what she’d do with that. She’d never had one.

Thinking of the hotel reminded her that Ford had organized a sneak-peek open house for Marchande Boutique for that evening...and it was in just over an hour.

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