#SorryFeminists The Wingman is Back on Twitter!

Angry, desert-crotched, feminist cunts attempted to get me banned from Twitter, but I’m back, and ready to be filthier than ever. Why you ask? Because I care about my fans!

First off I’d like to thank all of my filthy fans who tweeted at me, as well as reaching out to me via Facebook comments, messages and emails since my twitter was suspended on Thursday afternoon. It meant so much to me to know that I’m not just a one night stand you throw out after I provide Earth-shattering multiple orgasms, but we’re in a serious and downright dirty relationship.

I’ve certainly never been committed to one woman the way I am to entertaining my fans all over the world.

I’m sorry I wasn’t around the past few days to keep you entertained, provide advice, and sexually harass my female fans—I know you love that—but although I’d been a bit ill I was taking the time to work simultaneously on two books… One, the much-anticipated sequel to “The Wingman Chronicles,” and the other a novel k that is something different but, nevertheless sick and hilarious. You will hear more about that other uncouth project soon.

Judging by the many messages and comments I’ve received, many of you wanted to know why I was suspended, or put in what some refer to as “Twitter Jail.” The answer is: The Feminists.

Often times I use a trending topic, a hashtag (#) phrase and tweet a succession of jokes, many of them raunchy and offensive, which seem to go over well with my legion of amazing, filthy, followers. Last Tuesday, October 9th, I tweeted a multitude of jokes using the trending #sorryfeminists hashtag, which prompted many feminists to tweet their outrage toward me. My fans, however, quickly jumped to the defense of me, my jokes, and my book and tweeted right back at the angry, desert-crotched, feminist cunts.

Well the feminist haters, who weren’t even followers of mine but were somehow stalking my @wingmanbiz twitter account (probably hoping I would bring irrigation to their desert crotches) took things a step further and contacted twitter requesting I be suspended for my offensive tweets. Twitter immediately suspended my account and took a look at the case the feminists plead only to come to the conclusion that I’d done nothing against twitter rules, and they must reinstate my @wingmanbiz account.

So I’m back, and ready for creepin’. If you really wanna get back at the feminist cunts who kept you from my tweets for five days, let’s make my book “The Wingman Chronicles” a bestseller, and get it picked up as a TV series!

Let’s keep me blowing up so I could tour to every one of your cities for X-rated standup shows, book signings, breast signings, and ass signings, too. No cocks please.

Thanks for the support! I certainly have the greatest, most supportive, and filthiest fans in the world!

Always your Wingman,

James Holeva

My filthy novel The Wingman Chronicles available in E-book & paperback on Amazon

In the UK get The Wingman Chronicles right here!


Innocent guys stand around the bar arms crossed and fidgety as they look on in utter awe at the tight asses and pert breasts of bootie shaking, whored-up, wannabe socialites.

The creeping impaired look on as vultures swarm these vixens, showering them in a sea of attention that they eat up like a bulimic stripper at a Chinese buffet with a puke bucket.

Knowing there’s no way they’ll ever exchange words with the club-light enhanced enchantresses, the wallflowers instead clamor to a glimmer of hope that they might graze a breast or an ass cheek when one swaggers by.

As the night comes to an end, the awkward and unconfident observers go home alone to pleasure themselves with thoughts of the unattainable sensually grinding to Flo Rida. Sometimes they’re so apprehensive that their sexual fantasies turn into porn films where they themselves aren’t even starring, but instead they conjure the image of the Affliction-clad toolboxes they saw cling to the ladies at the club.

This all could have been averted if they just made a fucking move. Girls love a guy with balls. That’s kind of hard to find these days so if you could at the very least fake like you have some, a girl who’s drunk and impressionable could buy it and you might be lucky enough to get her on her knees. The girls have done it before, why wouldn’t they do it again?

Introduce yourself, but then play it cool. Don’t cling to her like she’s your favorite jerkoff pillow. Make her wonder about you. Don’t fix your eyes on her tits, ass, or belly ring… Look her in the eye. The reason being that it’ll make her nervous, and therefore set you apart from the rest of the lecherous scavengers that have been questing after her.

Suddenly she’ll be wondering:

         “Why isn’t he looking at my boobs, why isn’t he looking at my ass, I’m dressed like a whore can’t he see that? Oh god, I look like shit. Excuse me while I go throw up.”

If you make a move and a broad thinks you’re an asshole and finds you annoying, she’ll still have more respect for you – the guy who takes a shot – than the pussy who stands in the corner all night with the dudes like he’s at a junior high dance. Remember, just because you are a pussy, doesn’t mean you’re getting pussy. It doesn’t matter that the broads have bisexual tendencies.

Groups of guys constantly spend their boy’s night out cockblocking themselves with worry.

      What do I say to her?

      What if she doesn’t like me?

      How do I ask her out?

      When do I kiss her?

      How do I make a move to go further?

      When do I stick my dick in her?

      Is it okay to come on her face?

      When’s the right time to stick it in her ass?

      How do I know if it’s okay to ask for a threesome?

      When is the right time to pee on her?

      Would she think it was weird if I asked her to fuck me in the ass with a strap-on?


There’s an endless stream of questions guys are constantly contemplating which simply get in the way of buying a girl a drink, ripping her clothes off, and fucking the shit out of her. It’s simply that easy. Just try to be safe, girls could be dirty.


      My humorous, erotic, autobiographical novel “The Wingman Chronicles” is now available on Amazon. Check out description, customer reviews and a free sample right here.

My filthy novel The Wingman Chronicles

Are you a Cockblocker?

Just about every group of girls has a cockblocker who does her best to keep the night from getting out of hand, or as I like to call it, becoming fun. No, you’re not protecting your friends, you’re making them hate you.

Obviously the guys trying to bang your buddies could do without you, but the reason your friends go out is not to hangout with you, catch up, chit-chat, support you through life’s foibles and milestones – nobody gives a fuck. The reason a girl gets dressed sexy, puts on uncomfortable heels or thigh high whore boots, and spends a night buying expensive drinks instead of sitting in bed drinking cheap boxed wine is to get fucked.

Who are you to stand in the way of that? A lot of your friends validate themselves by giving random guys bangs and blowjobs, and you’re looking to keep that from happening and take away a friend’s happiness? All I could say is how could you live with yourself?

But, granted a lot of you cockblockers are just cunts, however many of you possess self-delusion that keeps you from realizing how awful you are for everyone to be around. So I put together this guide that could help cockblockers figure out if they might be one so they could put a stop to it, or at least it could sink in for your friends that you’re stifling their adventure, and they should never talk to you again.

It’s very simple, you might be a cockblocker if…


You’re the least attractive girl in the group.

It doesn’t matter if you were the ace in the minors and are now relegated to bullpen status with the major league hotties, you’re still the one attracting the least amount of attention from guys.  Therefore, if guys are hitting on your friends and not you, you often defuse the situation so you’re not the only one without a dick to play with. You should either prove your worth by making out with girls in public, fucking guys in random places, and being more apt to degrade yourself, or go back to the minors where your troll-like looks will be more accepted.

You’re a prude.

Come on let’s face it, your friends go off at the end of the night with whoever looked decent, bought some shots and spun bullshit stories that made them drunkenly swoon and you called it an early night because you have respect for yourself and are saving it for a guy who means something. I know, I know, you’re not that kind of girl. Right, you’re a cunt instead. You really deserve to be dropped from your group of friends because you don’t exactly bring much to the table. In fact, your good girl act comes off kind of snobby. Not a turn-on.

You’re in a committed relationship, your friends are not.

You’ve been lucky enough to find that true love all ladies long for but you’re not gonna be that girl who drops her bitches. Yeah, well maybe they should drop you. Let me guess you party hard on the first couple cosmos and then 11 rolls around – “honey, you really should slow down. This place is dying down. I’m tired. You know how Ron gets if I’m out too late.” We get it, you have to go home and be miserable so why should your friends get to be dirty and happy?

You feel a need to protect your friends, or as I like to call it, ruin the party.

 Do you find yourself talking your friend out of things? “Do you really wanna do this with some random guy you just met, he’s only after one thing, he’ll like you more if you let him call you in the morning?” Maybe she doesn’t want to be liked more, maybe she’s drunk, horny and wants to have a rousing of round of rough sex with someone she’ll never see again. What’s wrong with that? We get it, nobody likes you and you want all of your friend’s attention for yourself.

You’re a new Mommy.

There are two types of mothers – moms who go out with the intention of being a whore on their day off — maybe they care about their kids, maybe they don’t, maybe they’re a good mother, maybe they’re awful, doesn’t matter at the bar — we like this type of Mommy. And then, there’s the Mom that goes out with her group of friends to brag how she has a baby and they don’t, and when a random dude is trying to makeout with your BFF you’re shoving baby pictures in her face. Your girlfriends do not care how cute your son who’s probably gonna turn out to be gay looked in his sailor outfit, they care about getting fucked. There’s a reason you no longer get as many texts to hangout, because you suck.


My humorous, erotic, autobiographical novel “The Wingman Chronicles” is now available on Amazon. Check out description, customer reviews and a free sample right here.

My filthy novel “The Wingman Chronicles.”

Parade Day Creepin’

   How do you feel about sexy girls who aren’t thinking of the morality of their decisions? Personally, I’m a fan.

   I wouldn’t exactly call them girlfriend material, but for meaningless random hookups what could be better? That’s why even more than Halloween; my favorite holiday of creepin’ has always been Scranton’s Saint Patrick’s Parade Day .

   It’s a marathon day full of drunken girls that just don’t care. It falls the Saturday before Saint Patty’s Day (so the die hards could head to New York City), and with my birthday being March 10th it always falls on or around the date.

   My entourage and I have always enjoyed a wicked game I created. This will apply to the Parade Day, wherever you’re located, even if it isn’t to celebrate Irish pride. Get yourself a stack of index cards, and give one to each friend. 

   Every girl you makeout with, you rate on a scale of negative-two to 10. For other acts – e.g., booby touching, breast sucking, finger banging, muff diving, hand jobs, blowjobs, traditional sex, anal sex, other sick shit you and your friends are into – figure out a system of additional points for each endeavor. When the day culminates – it begins when you start partying in the morning and ends when you finally go home – the one with the high score wins.

   If you actually have a group of “real friends” you should be able to utilize the honor system. However, if your friends are fake untrustworthy cocksuckers then require a witness. My boys and I are old school so we trust each other.

   Of course, for a certain goofy looking buddy with an altered ranking system, we would subtract three points from any girl he was able to initiate anything with.

   He was always good to have around though, because it wouldn’t even be a question of who was going to go for the ugly friend. He relished the opportunity.

   If you’re an ugly man with a complete lack of game, a Parade Day is your best chance for some pussy, or at least to slobber on a sweaty semi-acceptable drunken whore.


Game Day Strategy


  ­­- If you don’t live within walking distance of your parade, get yourself a hotel room in the vicinity. Girls are always looking to take a midday nap before heading back out for the evening, which presents an excellent opportunity for hooking up. Don’t be surprised if after they sleep it off they never talk to you again.

   – Keep groups small. If your game is proficient, break away from your larger group of friends and roll one-on-one. You end up wasting too much time trying to maneuver through a bar together. You wanna move like a gazelle not a Mack truck.   

   – Get the first makeout out of the way. It sparks momentum. I remember in the days of the bars opening at 7 a.m. on Scranton’s Parade Day (they don’t open till 9 now) I’d be enjoying my first public display of horniness between quarter after 7 and 7:30.

    – Compliment their ridiculous shirts that they spent a weekend making with the girls they’re trying to convince themselves are their real friends, and messing around is often inevitable. Remember these girls are extremely jealous of each other, so after you give one of the crew attention, if you give another a second look you might be able to be dirty with multiple girls in the same cunt clique… Maybe even cause a fight. Hmm… If kissing multiple broads in the same crew causes a fight it should lead to bonus points.

    – It’s a marathon, not a sprint. Always be more sober than the broad you’re trying to bang. You can’t operate at your maximum capacity if you’re slurring your words and grabbing at a girl’s breasts to hold you up. Save those ugly nights of blacking out and vomiting for lame times at a dive bar when you’re surrounded by dick.

Bitches and Their Bitches

Women treasure their dogs like a fat friend. Even if they slobber all over you or bite you, girls still expect you to be nice to them.

Even if they pee on you, or shit in your shoes. You have to woo a dog, if you’re going to woo its master. That goes for all pets.

I have always avoided the dwellings of broads with dogs, because I’m deathly afraid of them. And if the dog doesn’t pose a physical threat, then I just find them flat-out annoying. The jumping, the licking, the relieving themselves indoors – it’s unacceptable. Don’t they have any respect for themselves?

Despite my disdain for canines, if a bitches’ bitch doesn’t like you it could cockblock you quicker than a positive aids test. You must befriend the dog to bed the broad.

Pet the dog and the girl will pet you.  Let the dog jump on you and the girl will jump on you. Let the dog lick you and the girl will lick you. Give and take.

Lately I have a non-exclusive thing with a sultry vixen, I’ve been staying over quite a bit, and it’s been perfect except for the fact that she has three pugs.

They’re non-threatening, or I probably wouldn’t have set foot in the house, but they love to jump all over me, lay next to me, and beg me to pet them. How fucking rude!

If the dogs are crying too much outside the door while we’re fucking, she’ll bring them in and they’ll scurry about, yammering, as I’m mid-bang. Very annoying. I’m always afraid one of them is gonna jump up and bite my cock. It stifles my performance.

Then afterward she’ll bring the dogs into bed with us. They take up a lot of space, slobber all over me, and pee the bed.

When my girl jumped in the shower this weekend, I took a stand and showed the spoiled pugs my own version of obedience school. I taught the dogs respect for me, and for themselves.

   “I know you think I don’t like you guys,” I told the dogs, “Not true. I just don’t want you invading my personal space. At any point did I jump on you? At any point did I attempt to lick you? At any point did I get overly excited and pee on you, or shit on the floor? First off why would you shit on your own floor? If I shit on the floor, it’s cool. It’s not my house. I’m just gonna leave and joke about it with my friends. But you live here. Let’s work on some common sense. So from now on (and I showed them) let’s keep a five-yard halo between yourselves and me. You may not enter that. I have the same halo with children, who I’m also not particularly fond of, yet I’ve banged an exceptional amount of girls with kids and had a serious relationship with one MILF.”

Always remember, how the puppy perceives you will dictate if the pussy will see you.


If you like the way I handle the bitches read more of my adventures in my book The Wingman Chronicles.

My filthy novel The Wingman Chronicles available in EBook & paperback on Amazon.

The Wingman Chronicles on Amazon UK!

Santa Creeper

There’s nothing wrong with a little holiday creepin’.

The last two years of my teens I worked as Santa Claus over the holiday season and used my Kringle clout to work my way into the pants of many MILFS and non-MILFS alike.

Some were high class, some white trash, some single, and some were married or in serious relationships during my stints at Gerrity’s Supermarket in Clarks Summit, and the Wyoming Valley Mall in Wilkes-Barre in 2001 and 2002 respectively.

All, however, had the vulnerability of a crack addict. Thanks to the stress perennially associated with the holiday season, they needed somebody to comfort them. And who better than a Santa Claus, who could pass for a teen idol?

It didn’t matter that I hated children, wasn’t fat, and was at least forty years younger than most Santas. I was him.

On the first day I inhabited the role, I was insulted.

“You’re not real like the other Santas,” an elf told me.
“No… But I’m a close personal friend of the real Santa,” I replied.

Being Santa is a conversation starter with built in hype. I would convert the initiated contact into riffs on my latest acting role, while also demonstrating my love for the children. The little fuckers are excellent wingmen and wingwomen.

Once I established a rapport with the ladies in the suit, I would pay a visit in street clothes. Here’s an excerpt of holiday creepin’.

ME: “We know each other.”
GIRL: “We do?”

I looked around, leaned in, and whispered with the covert nature of a CIA spy.

ME: “I’m Santa.”
GIRL: “Oh my God… No….”

I smiled.

GIRL: “You are.”
ME: “Shh… You’re the only one who knows.”
GIRL: “Really? OK. I could keep a secret.”

I played off the mysterious celebrity that went with the coveted gig, while making them feel like they were special — which they weren’t.

Be forewarned: If you’re the actual fat, white bearded, drunken hobo with tar covering the few teeth you have left that typically finds work as a Santa, you might not have the same luck that I did. In fact, many would call you a dirty old man and try to steer clear of you, no offense.

Actually, I often joked with the girls I was working (some of which were elves) about the disgusting nature of most Santas, who looked as if they drove vans you wouldn’t want your children to go near.
My most memorable scenario was when I closed a classmate’s married whore of a mother in my truck in the Gerrity’s parking lot, while wearing the suit.

I always wanted this cougar and had heard rumors of her promiscuous nature, but I needed the Claus mystique to finish the job. She wore a Santa hat over her frosted blonde hair and had scandalous red lingerie covering her fake D-cups and voluptuous bottom.

“Leave the beard on,” the forty-something commanded.
ME: “OK.
XMAS HO: “Fuck me Santa! I love your sleigh.”
ME: “Ugh this is a Chevy S-10… Although it is red.”
XMAS HO: “Ohhhh Santa! I wish you were really fat.”
ME: “Yeah, yeah… Ohhh. I’ll work on that.”

The spectacle may have been traumatic for some children who walked by, but we relished the Christmas miracle.


If you enjoyed this read more of my uncouth adventures in my humorous, erotic, autobiographical novel “The Wingman Chronicles,” and come see me live when my comedy tour comes to your town!

My filthy novel The Wingman Chronicles available in EBook & paperback on Amazon.

How to get laid on Halloween

   If you want to pick up a hottie on Halloween, you must strip her of her pussy power, before you strip her of her slutty costume...

Guys talk for months with excitement and glee about how excited they are to see broads sporting their most whorish Halloween attire.

The dudes prepare for the holiday of creepin’ by investing in a cool costume they think will catch the girl’s attention. They get their haircuts, perform the perfect maneuvering of facial hair, trim their balls and have the perfect lineup of creepin’ venues to make their move at.

It’s Halloween, and it’s on!

And what do many of these guys do when they arrive at the club, bar or party?

Hang with their group of guy friends, ogling the girls, talking about how hot they are, how sexy they dance, and what they would do to them. And what do they actually do?

Then they go home depressed, barely having even spoken to a girl, and jerk themselves to sleep. It’s pathetic.

Why would a guy go to a place full of scantily clad hos, I mean upstanding young women getting into the festive spirit, and not approach them?

It sounds like a waste of a costume, cash, and if they were the driver, gas. It’s like going to an all-you-can-eat buffet while you’re on a hunger strike.

Guys get around these hotties and become quivering babies, and that is the least attractive thing in the world to a girl. Even if a broad thinks you’re an asshole and finds you annoying, she’ll always have more respect for the guy who takes a shot than the guy who stands in the corner all night with the dudes like he’s at a junior high dance.

Girls love a guy with balls. That’s kind of hard to find these days so if you could at the very least fake like you have some, a girl who’s drunk and impressionable could buy it, and you might be lucky enough to get her in the bedroom, backseat or bathroom stall. After all it is Halloween, let’s get in the spirit.

Don’t walk up to a girl and say I like your tits, or great ass. Not because it’s rude or sexual harassment. No, no, no, because it’s what she wants you to say. Even if she acts all put off after you do, she’s secretly smiling on the inside of her slutty attire.

“Eeww… You’re gross. You have no respect for women. I hope you die” really translates to “Damn right you like my tits. They’re fucking perfect. This costume’s working. These guys all want to fuck me like an animal.”

Any girl who disputes what I’m saying, obviously has problems with the truth. But don’t give her the upper hand. Don’t make her think she’s perfect. The reason girls wear those scandalous costumes is to further enhance their pussy power. Don’t pander to it. Many girls who are only hot in makeup, stilettos and club light, grow heirs and treat guys like shit, because of the assholes that constantly swoon over them.

Make her wonder about you. Don’t fix your eyes on her tits, ass, or belly ring… Look her in the eye.

The reason is it’ll make her nervous, and therefore set you apart from the rest of the lecherous scavengers that have been questing after her. Suddenly she’ll be wondering:

“Why isn’t he looking at my boobs, why isn’t he looking at my ass, I’m dressed like a whore can’t he see that? Oh god, I look like shit. Excuse me while I go throw up.”

You made her vulnerable, downgraded her power, and gave yourself the upper hand…. You broke down the hype of the hottie. Now it’s time to carry on with a real conversation and see where the night takes you. A true player always preys on a woman’s vulnerability.

Happy Halloween! Be safe tonight… These girls are dirty.

If you enjoy my blog check out a free sample from my book “The Wingman Chronicles” on Amazon & Amazon UK.

My filthy novel The Wingman Chronicles available in E-book & paperback on Amazon

The Wingman Chronicles on Amazon UK!


 (formerly Shenanigan’s)

Friday, June 10th 2011


Scott K.

How do you get laid in Hazleton?

Same way you get laid anywhere else… Lies, mind games, and money… And don’t forget alcohol – it’s a weapon of mass creepin’.


Matthew K.

How do you let a girl know she smells respectfully?

You’d think you’d be doing her a favor by telling her “your cunt smells like a porta john,” but sadly, she might not see it that way. If she’s hot or the best you could get (be honest) just stay away from oral, and if she’s nasty anyway… Then tell her the truth and see what happens. If she’s cool and cleans up, yippee, if not, you’ll be doing yourself a favor and dropping the nasty bitch.

Really some women need better hygiene. Don’t they have any respect for themselves?



Is it okay for a guy to have a wingwoman?

Of course… I’ve used them many times. I’ve used a bisexual wingwoman, and even conned my sister into being my wingwoman. Check out these blog entries.



How do I get you in bed?

Well I hope this question is from a girl… If you indeed are a girl and you’re hot, just come to a show, introduce yourself, drop to your knees, and get to work. If you’re on the less attractive side… Just wait for last call and corner me in the bathroom.



What do you do when you go down on a girl and she smells?

Put a close pin on your nose… Or wait till you have a cold and can’t taste anything. While it sucks to have a cold and be at the Chinese buffet, it’s great when a dirty whore invites you to dinner in her personal porta-john.



How do I use my pussy to control a man?


See my Pussy Power blog entry: https://wingmanchronicles.wordpress.com/2011/03/30/pussy-power/



How do I get laid?

Hire me… And walk up to a girl, use confidence, swagger, and hype to get her into bed. The key is, don’t give a fuck about what happens. Just enjoy yourself, and take as many swings as possible. You need to swing the bat if you’re gonna hit a home run.



What’s the difference between a fuck buddy and a friend with benefit?

A fuck buddy is only used for fucking… Although sucking, touching, and rubbing are allowed… But talking is strictly forbidden… Unless it’s dirty.

A friend with benefits is a genuine friend that you care about, enjoy spending time with, and have fun fucking… A fuck buddy situation works best when you detest the person but they get you off, and get the fuck out.


Lou Skunt

Do midget strippers charge half price?

Not as often as you’d think. In really low-end shitholes, in this economy, sometimes they’ll do a two-for one… I know, it sucks. But it’s not like we have to pay double for amazonian strippers.



Why is it that when a couple is in a relationship the guy is allowed to “flirt,” and the girl is not?

There’s a double standard and guy’s love to flirt but are even more jealous and clingy than girls are. Don’t allow the double standard. If your boy is gonna chat up every broad he sees, you do the same with every guy… If you’d like, I’ll even help you make him jealous.

And if you send a picture I approve of, and need a change of pace, I’d have no problem providing you an uncouth adventure.



If you rape a prostitute, is it considered shop lifting?

It is… The price of the pussy dictates the penalty. It’s a misdemeanor if it’s under $300… High class hos fall under felony grand larceny.


Justin H.

If you give the hooker an extra $5, will she really put her finger in your butt?

It depends on the girl. I had a friend who couldn’t convince a hooker to slip him a finger. He said one finger, what’s the difference? She had standards. She was a whore with standards.

Chaoticness: Part 1

The Look

By James Holeva

(An excerpt from a book, and screenplay I’m working on)


   It began with a look across the patio that made us both excited, and uneasy.

   Both of us were players. Maria was a powerful 37-year-old divorced business woman who wouldn’t dare get attached to a guy. She was a big fan of spontaneous sexual encounters with younger men, and the way her married friends would live vicariously through her. But she had one rule: no sleepovers.

   Meanwhile, I’d always been a player and had just that week finally finished a relationship with a most unbalanced bipolar broad who’d just turned 18. The last thing I was looking for was a relationship.

    Obviously Maria and I were meant for each other. Provided the accommodations included spontaneous sex and no sleepover, we were each other’s fantasy.

   But the second I saw her I could tell she was different. I know I was thinking of a princess when I should be imagining a prostitute, but she was a glamorous, sassy, woman of class. Damn she was a hot piece of ass.

   It was State Street Grill in my hometown of Clarks Summit, Pennsylvania and the broad in the pink dress and I exchanged a look in the outdoor section as she sauntered across the patio. As I sat with my friends Mike and his brother Steve, and Steve’s buddy Jeff, I thought we might have caught each other’s eye. But I actually felt a bit nervous, which is not a sensation I usually feel when it comes to creepin’.

    She was a tiny dark haired Italian broad with no shortage of sex appeal. Classy and well put together, with breasts like boxing gloves. She was the girl I always dreamed about growing up — the glamorous woman full of sex appeal that was older, and unattainable.

   When I was in my teens in my suburban town, scheming after my first lay, girls like her were pushing thirty, driving around in their husband’s Benz, with fake tits and jewelry on display. That’s the girl I was fantasizing about banging while I was fucking around with teeny boppers who hadn’t had their cherries popped.

   She wasn’t your everyday crack whore, mind you; she looked like a high class ho with an exclusive clientele. I was sure she was with someone, but I remained optimistic. I couldn’t remember when a single look had had such an effect on me.

   I played it cool, hanging out at the outside table before making my way inside about fifteen minutes later only to find my friend’s younger brother’s overbearing, coked out, drunken buddy Jeff barricading her at the bar. Fuck. I had to find a way to get rid of him.

   No, I wasn’t considering whacking him. There were too many people around at the time, and besides, I had left my gat at home. I’m only being facetious, relax. I creep with my well-honed skills, not fire arms. Still I was praying for Jeff to get distracted and move away (like that would happen), or the more likely choice for her to head for the bathroom and then I could casually stalk my way over and go to work.

   Damn, how I hoped she’d have to pee.

   I experienced fantasies of cornering her, saying hello, and immediately kissing her with the event culminating by fucking her in the bathroom. Men’s or ladies’ room, I didn’t have a preference, although the ladies crapper would have been the smarter play in case Jeff had to piss or do a bump and caught us mid-bang.

   He was obnoxious to begin with, and now fucked up, and would likely throw a tantrum. I wanted our first time to be special and sweet, as I held her against the wall in a tight bathroom stall.

   So I bided my time, hoping for an opening, envisioning her approaching me and making the introduction. I have always used the power of positive thinking. I utilized the principals of “The Secret” long before it came into the main stream.

   I’ve always been a romantic dreamer and an idealist, and I live and die by those principals.

   So I stood by waiting, sipping my Coors Light and appearing like I was having fun. But my mind was on her. I’m usually the best dressed guy in a place, an aficionado of blazers and button downs with my hair in perfect position, but on this occasion we’d come from a barbecue at my friend’s house and I was sporting jeans, a t-shirt, a pair of Nikes and a Phillies hat.

   I was scumming it up, like a celebrity walking Rodeo Drive and hiding from the Paparazzi. I think positive, but why would she notice the dressed down and sweaty version of me?

   “Have you met Maria?” a blonde asked me.

   ME: “Ugh”…

   (Oh my god could the girl in pink be Maria?)

   ME: “No. I haven’t.”

   “Well let me introduce you.”

   The blonde grasped my hand and pulled me toward the girl in the pink dress, aka Maria.

   ME: “Hi I’m James.”

   MARIA: “Maria.”

   ME: “Nice to meet you.”

   We shook hands.

   MARIA: “So how do you know all these girls?”

   ME: “I don’t.”

   The blonde was a friend of my best friend’s aunt as well as Maria, and I’d met the blonde a bit earlier in the night because Steve was creepin’ on another friend of their’s. That’s why we went there to begin with, and why I wasn’t equipped with the proper wardrobe.

   This was actually Maria’s high school reunion. Same high school as me, but she graduated twelve years earlier. Yes it was her twenty-year, but she looked to be in her mid-twenties.

    MARIA: “I see. So are you from Clarks Summit?”

    ME: “Yes… But my business takes me out of town a lot. Where are you from?”

   MARIA: “Clarks Summit. But I came in for my reunion. live in San Diego now.”

   ME: “Cool. How do you like it? 

   MARIA: “Oh, I love it. So, what do you do?”

   ME: “Well I recently did a TV pilot that I wrote, starred in and produced, it’s called “The Wingman,” and we’re pitching networks.”

   MARIA: “How dare you not offer me a part in your show?”

   ME: “Well I was going to, but you didn’t give me a chance.”

   MARIA: “What part is it… Besides the part where it’s a dirty sex scene with you?”

   ME: “I actually wasn’t thinking of a dirty sex scene with me.”

   MARIA: “Ugh, you weren’t?”

   ME: “Well I was, but it’s not something you say.”

   MARIA: “You could say it.”

   ME: “Well that sounds like a great scene. Maybe you could be the sexy boutique owner at the store the character of my sister works with, and I’m into you but my sister can’t stand it because you’re her boss. And we have our sex scene in the dressing room at the boutique.”

   MARIA: “I like it.”

    Jeff interrupted: “Stop talking Holeva.”

    ME: “Oh we’re just making conversation.”

     Maria was distracted by other friends so I don’t think she noticed Jeff’s comment.

   JEFF: “What are you doing Holeva? Stop cockblocking!”

   ME: “I didn’t do anything. Her friend introduced me.”

   JEFF: “Whatever… I paved the way. Don’t ruin it.”

   ME: “I did nothing.”

   Jeff grabbed her and continued to barricade and a few minutes later I noticed Maria and a friend of her’s appeared to be talking across the bar, while Jeff continued his game. 

   “Look at him over there. I need an opening,” I told Mike.

   MIKE: “Just go over.”

   ME: “Can’t… He’ll say something and it won’t look good.”

   MIKE: “Who cares?”

   ME: “I don’t care about him, I care about looking… not smooth. I got an idea.”

   I walked over to the blonde, who’d introduced us.

   I wanted to make a move but I knew Jeff and his obnoxious nature would cause it to look less than cool, and cool wasn’t something I was willing to sacrifice while working a girl of this level.  

   ME: “Hey… Thanks for introducing me to Maria. She’s really cool.”

   BLONDE: “Well I did that because she asked me too.”

   ME: “Oh cool. Hopefully we’ll get to hangout before she heads back to Cali.”

   BLONDE: “She’s beautiful, and smart and has such a great heart.”

   ME: “That’s nice, and so hard to find.”

   BLONDE: “It is.”

   I casually sidled back toward my friends, then walked over to the other side of the bar. I grabbed a napkin.

   “Hey could I borrow a pen?” I asked the bartender.

   BARTENDER: “Sure.

   I wrote my number down on the napkin. I would have given her a Wingman Certified Creeping Specialist business card, but Jeff might have seen it, and how he might react could sacrifice cool.

   I walked back over to the blonde.

   ME: “Hey it looks like Maria’s busy and she knows a lot of people, I don’t want to bother her, but could you give her this… It’s my number. And tell her to call me if she wants to get together before she goes home.”

   BLONDE: “I would love to.”

   ME: “Thanks.”

   A few minutes later, from my home base with my friends, I sipped my drink and watched as the Blonde casually approached Maria, interrupting her conversation with Jeff. She handed her the napkin.

   JEFF: “So how about you give me your number, and we could chill?”

   MARIA: “Well I have yours.”

   JEFF: “No you don’t.”

   Maria looked at the napkin, and burst out laughing. An instant look of embarrassment encompassed Jeff’s face, humbling his usual cocky frat boy demeanor.

   I hadn’t witnessed the exact events, and was just hoping that Maria would call me before she headed back to California. I meet girls all the time but on a first encounter never really care what happens, but there was something about this girl. I knew it right away.

   As last call loomed Jeff, our drunken designated driver, waited outside behind the wheel or another friend’s pickup, screaming for us to get moving as Mike and I approached the vehicle.

   JEFF: “Hurry up.”

   I spoke to Mike.

   ME: “Let’s go back inside and find Maria.”

   MIKE: “Okay.”

   We turned around to make our way back inside. I had the number but she lived 3,000 miles away and who knew her situation. When there’s an opening you have to strike. But she, too, was on her way out. She crossed paths with us.

   ME: “Nice meeting you.”

   She hugged me.

   MARIA: “You too… I got your number, so I’ll call you and see if I could fit you in.”

   ME: “I’m up for being fit in.”


   No I wasn’t grabbing her fantastic tatas… Jeff was laying on the horn.

   “COME ON!” he yelled.

   Some motherfuckers just can’t be smooth.

   As Jeff drove the pickup truck, I sat in the tight back seat next to Mike. My phone vibrated and it was a text message from a 858 area code… “Hey!”

   “Hey who’s this?” I replied.

   “Maria!” she wrote.

   I tapped Mike and showed him. He grinned. He was probably hoping she’d invite me over for a late night bang and blow and he could have sloppy seconds, or we could run a train. She was a feisty little thing, but there were enough of her tits to go around.

   “What are you up to?” I replied.

   She didn’t write back. We arrived back at Mike’s house, sat around the living room, and still no text back. It was time to make a power move. I walked out to the garage and called Maria. Voicemail. What a cute and enthusiastic voice.

   I walked back into the house and found Jeff sitting at the computer, checking Facebook, and leaving a voicemail.

   “Hey Maria, it’s Jeff. We should chill while you’re in town… Maybe even tonight. You could call me, or you could not call me. If you don’t call… You’re really gonna regret it so I’m sure I’ll hear from you soon.”

   I sat back down on the couch, as Jeff hung up his phone.

   JEFF: “What about that girl Maria? Like dude she’s 37… What the fuck would I want with an old lady like that? Like really… What was she thinking?”

   She called me back. It’s on. She’s staying at a friend’s house close by so I’ll be inside her within the half hour. No, it’s not about that. But this sultry vixen is away from home, and what better time to make bad decisions? It’s not like we’re going to run into each other at the grocery store. And I’m doubting she wants to get into a relationship with a guy 3,000 miles away.

   We had to make the most of our time together. 

   We talked for an hour, bonding and laughing… I charmed her, we connected, and I could hear her tan skin blushing through the phone. After we hung up, I just laid down and thought about Maria until I fell asleep. I remember many instances of thinking endlessly about girls like her as a child, but I was never this close to fucking one of them. As excited as I was, I wasn’t even disappointed that she didn’t ask me to come over for a spontaneous adventure that wouldn’t warrant a sleepover. In fact, if I did, I knew I’d want to sleepover.

   There must have been something special about that look.

Pussy Power!

   Sometimes I’m a wingman for women, too. It’s easy because they hold weapons of mass destruction between their legs.


The only reason women get fucked over by guys is because they don’t realize the power they have over guys. They’re stupid.

Females are in a natural position of male control and dominance because they have a weapon of mass destruction concealed conveniently between their legs. Anybody of remedial intelligence should realize by now that the pussy has the power.

The problem is so many girls meet guys who string them along for an eternity, and the ladies somehow forget that they themselves are armed and dangerous.

Don’t give me that, “who is a player like you to comment on such a situation? You’re the problem.”

No, no, no. If you’ll remember from the piece I wrote last week, I’m a high class player. What I do is not breaking a bitch, an adventure with me means everybody wins. We all get fucked… But in a good way. Remember, I’m an old school gentleman.

Sadly, though, even the most confident, self-empowered women are often allowing hack, wannabe players to control them and break them down. It’s awful when that happens because once they finally break free from their jail sentence, they’re extra careful. Even around a high class player like me who would provide her a mental orgasm to a level she could only have with another woman. It’s bad for the guys who deserve to get laid.

The biggest problem is women allow themselves to get so wrapped up in the wrong guy, and they get this idea that their man has the desirability of Johnny Depp, or me. That usually isn’t the case. These broads go into a constant negative mode saying:

“He’s with another girl. I know he’s with another girl. He’s done with me. I’m never gonna hear from him again.”

It’s been twenty minutes.

“I just know he’s fucking somebody. I know he fucks other girls all the time.”

ME: “Is he good looking?”

GIRL: “No. “

ME: “Is he rich?”

GIRL: “No.”

ME: “Is he smart?”

GIRL: “No.”

ME: “Is he smooth?”

GIRL: “No.”

ME: “Is he confident?”

GIRL: “No.”

ME: “Does he have a cool job with mystique and/or financial potential?”

GIRL: “No.”

ME: “Does he have game?”

GIRL: “No.”

So where is this Warren Beatty appeal that’s wrangling all the pussy?

It all comes from the challenge to please a guy that seems at times like he can’t live without you, and moments later like he never wants to see you again. Girls utilize a hot and cold strategy just as much as guys, except guys don’t have an almighty vagina to hold over the girls.

First off, why the fuck do you care about this guy? And second, what makes you believe that any other girl could actually be interested in him?

Girls always have a feeling that the guy, who won’t make it official, is out trying to hook up with other girls. And he is. He wants to prove to himself that he could get other ass. Some guys can, but in a lot of cases, these guys could try all they want but just can’t close.

A female friend of mine was having some problems with a dude who didn’t want to commit. Although I’m not about commitment right now, I did my best to be my friend’s wingman, so I said “why don’t you just step up and cut him off for a while?”

She said, “My greatest fear is that if I cancel on him now, he’ll just end up fucking somebody else.”

I’m like “You know it’s really not that easy.” He’s way more likely to be jealous that you’ll hookup with somebody else. It’s so much easier for a girl to get laid. Pretty much any girl could call up a random guy and get laid anytime she wants.

GIRL: “Hey Billy, this is Tina. You don’t know me, but I was thinking maybe I could come over and suck your dick… Would that work for you?”

GUY: “Ugh, yeah… My Momma still up but she go to bed by midnight. Actually come over now and I’ll slip some drugs in her cup a’ tea so she pass out. Momma got the bed in the house, so I’ll put her on the stoop.”

Unless you’re a celebrity or a sultan, it’s not so easy for guys. I know how to creep, I’ve been with a lot of chicks. But it’s still rare to be able to call a girl… No date, no woo, and just fast forward to fucking.

I can’t call a girl and be like: “Yo Nikki, it’s James. I was thinking I’d come over and blow my load in your face tonight. No, no dinner. I already ate. I just wanna pin your knees behind your ears.”

Yeah, that’s not happening. The pussy has the power. When you ladies start realizing your pussy has the power you’ll eliminate a vast abundance of relationship drama, and be free to enjoy the limitless control you have over guys.

If you want to regain the power, it’s time for a time out.

I do it with drunken strippers who cause an embarrassing scene and yack in my car, and you could do it with your indecisive man. How will he ever learn without discipline?

All you have to do is nothing. The next time he contacts you – text, Facebook, email, phone, Skype, smoke signals, singing telegram – you ignore him for twenty-four hours from that moment. But if that twenty-four hours takes you into the wee hours of the night, you round to the next day, in the afternoon.

You don’t want to make contact in the middle of the night because that’s a sign of weakness. It shows you’re lonely, alone, and thinking about him. Early morning doesn’t work either because that shows him you wake up and he’s the first thing on your mind.

I know you’re going to look for ways to skate around this. You’ll rationalize: “I didn’t text him, I emailed him… He saw I was in the Facebook chat… I answered the phone but that’s because I answered real quick and couldn’t see who it was.”

Those are weak excuses, and if you continue to act weak on your own, how could you ever take the power in this relationship tug o’ war?

Why Time Out?

It will shift the struggle for power. He’ll be blowing up your phone, and his stomach will be in knots because he’ll be scared to death that you’re in the throes of passion with another gentleman caller. Remember, it’s so much easier for a girl to get laid. And even if they won’t admit it every guy knows the pussy has the power.

Text Decoy

When trying to play it cool or conduct a time out, girls and guys; we all have a roller coaster ride of emotions  going through our bodies that keeps us on the edge of a breakdown making it nearly impossible to not make contact. You’ll find yourself wanting to say everything from “I love you,” to “I hope your dick falls off and burns from all the dirty whores you’re fucking.”

You know some things nice, others, a little hurtful. Relationships are tough.

Since your feelings will be erratic and those messages might not better your situation, you need to find yourself a text decoy.

Whatever you want to say, say to a good friend instead. You could even have them respond in character. I did the same with my friend Brian. All was going great until Brian’s wife read some of the messages. She was pissed.

Last time I went over there she tried to videotape me. I said “No! Absolutely not! I am not like that… No way I’m doing it on film.”

What… She made a good dinner. And Brian is very good looking. And big. I’m still sore.

Relax, I’m just joking. Somebody has to break the tension of  the relationship wars. There’s nothing homoerotic in this player’s life.

Online marketing  

   It’s amazing how the most meaningless Facebook status or tweet could turn even the toughest guy into a little bitch. It’s even more amazing how despite what many women go through with a guy, they’re still afraid to post even the most innocent status. Do it.

Mention you’re out doing something with a guy friend, say you’re spending the night clubbin’, out for sushi… Have male friends comment on your page.

I’ve known some girls who were so nervous that guy friends would leave an innocent Facebook comment about meeting up, or whatever, and they’d immediately delete it. That doesn’t sound like the behavior of someone who deserves to win the war.

If you want power, punish him. If you’re afraid to hurt him, then you’re weak and obviously don’t deserve power. You’re always thinking a move like that will drive him away, but in actuality, it’ll pull him much closer.  People are as powerful as they feel inside.

Play like you just don’t care

    The problem is things are going to start going well and it’s going to feel so wonderful, and you’re going to want more than anything to make a spontaneous grand gesture for him. Do not! It will only put you right back where you started, and you’ll again be fighting to regain power.

Sometimes you gotta whack a guy.

   Sometimes you could strike, take over the power, and the guy will actually step up and be who you want him to be. More often, however, the situation is not going to change. The guy will fear losing you and it will shift briefly, and then it’ll flip right back. History will continue to repeat itself, and the cycle of hell will continue. You could usually tell fairly quickly if that’s what’s going on, and if that’s the situation it’s time to make the problem go away.

I’m not saying kill him, that could be hard to get out of and hitmen can’t always be trusted. But it’s time to say goodbye.

You’ll leave with power… But you must move on with no contact whatsoever. You’re like a drug addict, who just got released from rehab, and must totally abstain to stay clean. Addicts tend to think they could still snort a line of coke socially and keep it in moderation. They can’t. Must we reference Charlie Sheen. Well if you want to be winning, and the situation isn’t right, you’ll whack the guy for good.

My humorous, erotic, autobiographical novel “The Wingman Chronicles” is now available on Amazon. Check out description, customer reviews and a free sample right here.

My filthy novel “The Wingman Chronicles.”

In the UK get “The Wingman Chronicles” right here.

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