Spanish Fly Guy

Spanish Fly Guy

Jordan Castillo Price

Petit Morts 5

Price: $3.49


JP McMahon cruises into the small, oceanside town of Brightside hoping to score a bed for the night and a few dollars to fill the Miata’s gas tank. He discovers that cell phones and Internet are non-existent, and that without access to matchmaker sites and Craigslist, the local newspaper's personal ads are booming.

He cooks up an unlikely scam, a foul novelty concoction called Spanish Fly. He also finds an unlikely accomplice in Ryan, the quiet local kid at the copy shop with a flair for designing irresistible labels.

Spanish Fly proves popular—almost too popular—and JP suspects his luck is about to turn. But that “little voice” inside tells him to stick around Brightside just a tiny bit longer….

ISBN: 978-1-935540-04-5
CATEGORIES: ManLove, Erotica, Fantasy, Paranormal, Romantic Comedy, Romantic Suspense
KEYWORDS: gay erotica, erotic romance, gay erotic romance, mm romance, manlove, gay romance, chocolate, gay paranormal, paranormal romance


EBOOKS BY Jordan Castillo Price

COPYRIGHT Jordan Castillo Price/2010

JP McMahon was sick and tired of being Googled.

It was getting harder and harder to find a place where people weren't always on the Internet. Especially now with smartphones, it seemed like no sooner did you meet somebody then they were trying to look you up on Facebook. And so JP was pleased as punch to kick back along the boardwalk of a scenic little town, a safe hamlet with an oceanfront view. A town not far from Wilmington where the salt air continually corroded any attempts by the local cable company to provide Internet for its inhabitants, and the 3G network was down more than it was up. Thus, in a world where the economy was normally based on bandwidth and pixels, tourism and fishing kept the darling little seaside town named Brightside afloat.

The most intriguing thing about the village was that this lack of Internet, this dearth of cell phones, meant that the local newspaper industry was positively thriving. Most local, small-town rags featured stories about who was celebrating a silver anniversary, which church was hosting a spaghetti dinner, who had died, of course, and a police blotter filled with break-ins, speeding violations, and the occasional tavern brawl. Not so with the Brightside Chronicle. That little gem featured actual stories that went beyond news about the girls’ high school volleyball team making the finals at State. And the classified section was a work of art. Without Craigslist to provide an outlet for everyone's steamiest and most lurid anonymous desires, the folks of Brightside had resurrected—or perhaps had never actually lost—the art of advertisement writing.

JP folded his paper into quarters so he could settle into the boardwalk bench and cradle it in his lap like a beloved paperback. Men seeking women. Women seeking men. Alternative lifestyles—that section was sorely underpopulated; undoubtedly there were plenty of “alternative” people in Brightside—but airing their laundry with wood pulp and ink was probably a lot more daunting than sneaking a quick text to Craigslist.

Too bad. JP was an alternative kind of guy, and he would've been interested to see what sort of pitch an alternative pleasure seeker might come up with in Brightside.

He scanned the various ads. The writing quality was pretty good. A bit stilted, but definitely better then the typical drivel he usually saw on the dating sites. Life without Internet access might have made it harder to find free porn, but it certainly had preserved the literary ability of Brightside's population. He unfolded the paper and turned the page. Another full page of ads? He turned back to see if it might be a duplicate. It wasn't. He turned the paper over. Another page. How was that possible? The sign on Main Street said that Brightside had a population just over twelve hundred. JP counted the number of ads in a column, then multiplied that by the number of rows on the page. Then he multiplied that by the number of pages. Was it possible that almost twenty percent of the population of Brightside was looking for love? One in five? That had to be some kind of record.

And...that had to be something that JP could work to his advantage.

If JP had been a kindly older lady, he would have hung out a shingle and advertised his services as a reputable and discreet matchmaker. But, since JP was young and sleek and predatory, he somehow doubted that the fine folks of Brightside would take him into their confidence, not until he lived there for another twenty years or so. And by then, no doubt even Brightside would have the Internet.

Since JP would meet with little success in any business venture that required his new customers to place their immediate and unquestioning trust in him, he decided instead to do what came naturally to him.

Brightside, with its lack of cell phones and nonexistent Internet, struck JP as an old-fashioned kind of town. And so he indulged himself in an old-fashioned kind of idea. All he needed were a few simple supplies.

He shielded his eyes from the sun and scanned the boardwalk. The bathhouse? Closed. The canoe rental stands? Closed. The souvenir stands full of postcards, tanning oil and cheap sunglasses? Closed. Even the ice cream shop. Closed. JP wondered what the deal was. Maybe Brightside had some kind of ordinance that said all the shops had to shut down at six for a siesta. He was debating whether or not to tilt back the passenger seat in his Miata and take one himself when a tiny bell jingled. He whirled around. On the whole boardwalk, a single shop was still open. A candy store.

Ideas arranged and rearranged themselves within the well-oiled machine of JP's mind. A candy store? He could work with that.


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