Tom Foolery


“The way to get things done is not to mind who gets the credit for doing them.” – Benjamin Jowett

I can’t stress this enough: Do not give a man like me the chance to hide behind the identity of another, and expect anything good to come of it. Remember, ladies, men of the jungle are competing for the same prey (you). You can use this to your advantage. Be careful, though. Any indirect path you offer a man may wind up in a strange destination. In other words, if you’re interested in a certain gentleman, tell him face-to-face. Do not tell his friend to tell him.

Last night, a pride of lions teased and flirted with prey. I played coy, as usual. One of the lions was called away for work, then one of the women did an incredibly silly thing: She asked me about him.

Now, if I were interested in having her, I would have trashed him. She was cute, but not my type. Worse yet, she wasn’t his type, and I knew it. Hence, this was a prime opportunity for my alter ego, Tom Foolery, to arrive.

“He was telling me how crazy he was about you. He got your number, right?”

“No, he didn’t ask for it.”

“What? Well, he got called away so suddenly. I’m sure he intended to.”


“Absolutely. Hey, why don’t you give me a card to pass on to him? He’ll be delighted.”

“Oh, OK.”

She gave me her card on her way out. (I bet you know where this is heading.) I sat with an accomplice and plotted. She didn’t have his number, nor mine. Bingo! I began texting her, as my buddy, Laine.

“Hi, Cheryl, this is Laine. Phil gave me your number. I’m flattered.”

“Hi there. You know, if you were interested you should have asked me for it.”

“Yes. I apologize. Work emergency. Equipment issues.”

“Ah. You never said what you do?”

“I run a small movie studio called Twunk Studios. They’re just finishing up recording a feature.”


“So, why don’t we get together for a nightcap tonight?”


“Sure, I’ll send you my address. I’ll meet you there in an hour.”

“Maybe we should have a proper date first.”

“OK. We can meet at a pub down the street and get fucking blotto first. ;)”

“It’s pretty late.”

“Don’t be a wuss. Hey, you know what would be fun? I want you to show up in a jacket, shoes and nothing else.”

“It’s cold.”

“Hold on. This damn actor just had an injury. Bleeding from you-know-where. Ugh. BRB … OK, I’m back. Messy. Anyway, forget the cold; you’re hot.”

“Thank you.”

“Let’s have a little foreplay. Unbutton your jeans and put your hand down there.”


“Come on. I want you to bury yourself two-knuckles deep and then lick your pussy nectar and describe it to me.”

“You’re creepy. Lose my number.”

“What? Don’t be like that. Wait, hold on. Another accident. One of the guys needs a fluffer. Jesus. BRB … So, have you ever had your ass fisted?”


“I’ll take that as a yes. Tonight I want you to fist me. I just had a coffee enema, so don’t worry … my colon is decaf.”


“Come on, you can’t type and masturbate at the same time? It’s easy. I’m doing it. Hold on, I need a place to spray this. BRB”


“Ah, I needed that. These actors get me wound up. Had to toss off that nuisance batch so I can last with you. I can tell you’re going to need some persistent deep-dicking to get to O-town.”




“You fell asleep and now you’re dreaming of me and my gargantuan fuck puppet, aren’t you? Fine. I can wait.”

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About the author

Author of humorous essays about relationships and lifestyles.