The Girl Next Whore (free sample book excerpt)

I’m offering this filthy, free excerpt from my humorous, erotic, autobiographical novel “The Wingman Chronicles.” Enjoy!

She was a sweet looking girl-next-door with an infectious smile and strawberry blonde hair. She was a fan of mine who’d seen my show in the city and was a year older than me but looked twenty-three.

Noelle had “liked” a few Facebook statuses in the past, but lately was liking more and more of the filthy jokes, creepin’ tips, blogs and videos I’d post. I was doing my usual show pimping and left her a comment asking if she was coming to the next gig. Within a few minutes she sent me a private message telling me she wouldn’t miss it. She also mentioned that she had read a blog post of mine called “The Mental Orgasm” and wanted to know if I really had the ability to do that to a girl. I had barely finished reading that message before another one popped up. She apologized if she had offended me, explaining that she was a bit tipsy.
I certainly wasn’t offended, and I signed on and we began to chat. Noelle told me in subsequent messages how she was on the rebound, damaged, and on the prowl. In other words, my kinda lady.
“If you’re not married, I’ll fuck you,” she said.
“Well I’m not married. When are we doing this?” I replied.
“Would you think it was weird if I called you Daddy?” Noelle asked.
“Of course not,” I replied. “How is that weird?”
It’s a shame what this world’s come to where guys have a problem being called Daddy by a broad their cock is inside.
We exchanged numbers, and she immediately began sending me naked pictures of herself—tits, twat, even face.
“I’m not a pussy,” she said. “But you’ll delete them, right?”
“Of course,” I replied. “What kind of guy do you think I am?”
Obviously I didn’t delete them. Deleting naked pictures a girl sends you is like being given a pan of baked ziti and throwing away the leftovers. I’m Italian and my family would consider that sacrilege.
Although she didn’t ask, I reciprocated by sending her a picture of my cock. I photograph well and I like to show off the work.
“Wow. You like to hurt your victims, don’t you?” she said.
“I just like to leave my mark,” I responded.
“I can’t wait for you to leave it on me.”
“You look great naked.”
“How tall are you?”
“5’4…Petite. Yourself?”
“Very nice. Perfect size for me to get on my knees while you pull my hair and I gag on your cock.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
She asked me to come over, but I was in bed and in need of a manscape, so I declined and told her we’d get together soon. I fell asleep wondering if once the alcohol wore off, would she have inhibitions, or would it make her yearn for me more.
I got my answer the next morning when I woke up to find a Facebook message from her.
“Ha ha ha hope you wake up with a huge hard on!! ;)”
I was thinking about that message on the drive home from the evening’s show in South Jersey, and as I started to get wood I sent her a text.
“Hey what’s up?” I wrote.
“Fuck me,” she replied.
Ah, what a nice girl. I’d manscaped earlier so I was ready to make a good impression. I headed to the Brooklyn dive bar that she’d been slopping around for the better part of the evening.
I had barely got out of the car before she jumped up on me, pushing me back against it and passionately mauling me like the love of her life had just returned from war. She grinded her pussy against my cock, reaching down and feeling my hard-on as if she wanted to make sure I hadn’t lost it in battle. I kissed her, looking into her wide eyes, which looked beautiful even if they were a little bloodshot. She was sloppy drunk, but still looked cute and innocent.
I kissed her and spun us around so that she was up against the car. Pulling her tits out of her teal blouse, I felt the lovely handfuls and sucked on them. They had the perkiness and firm nature of fake tits but were clearly real. I sucked on her nipple,
enjoying that first taste of tit, but then, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed some shady characters walking by.
Noelle lay back on the front of my Benz, sporting a sinister yet cute grin.
“Fuck me right here,” she said, as she ground her nails into my sides.
“Ahh, ahh … I would, but we might get shot. Let’s get you outta the ‘hood.”
She smiled and kissed me, feeling the back of my hair and putting her tongue in my ear.
I drove us the few blocks to her apartment as Noelle kissed my neck, rubbing my cock the entire time.
Noelle led me up into her abode, grabbing my ass while sticking her hands inside my tight jeans and boxer briefs.
“You want me lick your ass?” she asked.
“No … But we’ll find something for you to do,” I said.
Noelle responded by ripping my pants off and swallowing my cock like a fat guy trying to be inconspicuous as he devours a tray of free samples at the grocery store.
She had medium cock-sucking lips and they felt amazing as she undulated intensely, savoring all of my illustrious eight while cradling my balls and sucking on them as if they were cherry Jolly Ranchers. I pulled her hair and pushed her head down.
“Oh Daddy, your cock tastes so good,” she looked up and told me. “I’m choking
on it.”
She garbled some gibberish as she sucked me deeper and I jammed it down her throat. “That’s so sweet of you,” I said. “You fucking whore.”
Some girls don’t like being called degrading names, but given the fact that she was calling me “Daddy” and doing her best to “choke on my cock,” I knew she was different.
Noelle was amazing—from the feel of her mouth to her rhythmically varying positions, intense passion and impeccable attention to detail. When I finally came in her mouth she gave a thorough pornstar swallow, guzzling the massive load with enthusiasm. It was one of the most awe-inspiring blowjobs I’d ever received. “Oh my God that was great,” I said. “I’ll be ready to go again in a few minutes.”
We lay together on her bed, bullshitting, joking and flirting as anyone would on a first date.
“I usually get hard again quicker than this,” I said as we shared a cigarette. “I had a long day—did a show and drove five hours—but I’ll be ready to go again soon.”
“You wanna wait till another day?” she asked.
“No, no,” I said. “I just need a few minutes.”
She let out a sigh as she lay back and smiled, looking at me like it was prom night and I was about to take her virginity. “I really like you James,” she said. “You’re cool.”
“You’re cool, too, baby,” I said.
It was a genuine moment. Not the type of moment when you’re coming on a girl’s face, but something that could occur even if our genitals weren’t on display. Noelle kept grabbing at my flaccid dong, but I still wasn’t ready to go. I’m a guy who could go again and again, but she had sucked a lot out of me.
I fingered her. She felt so good—warm, gooey and sweet. I stuck my fingers in her mouth letting her slurp up her own secretions. Jealous of her enjoyment of the tasty treat I thought it was time I sampled it. I stuck my fingers back in her pussy and licked them. The sight of my enjoyment of her juice had already brought her near climax.
“Ohhh fuck me, Daddy!”’ Noelle moaned as her eyes crossed.
Instead I continued to tease her pussy, waiting for my cock to get back into battle position.
“I want it so bad! Ohh … Ohh,” Noelle persisted.
As she lay back and pushed my head down with her hands, I stuck my face between her legs. I liked the way she pulled my hair while I licked her clit. In hindsight it probably wasn’t the best idea to go down on a girl who had fucked me within minutes of meeting me, but damn, she had the best tasting cunt I ever ate. With some girls it was work to eat pussy—like eating a shitty meal at a relative’s house—but this was something I’d pay for again and again even if it was overpriced.
“Oh god, James … Oh … Fuck me Daddy, fuck me!” Noelle grabbed her tit and sucked her finger.
I subtly rubbed my cock on the bed, desperately trying to harden as I ate her warm cunt and squeezed her ass. I slapped her buttocks as I shot my tongue up inside her.
“I’m almost there,” I said, closing my eyes to conjure perverted thoughts and pressing my dong into the mattress.
I figured I could get her to where she was about to explode and then muster up some semblance of a hard-on inside her, and ride it out until she got off.
“I want that cock … Give me that big dick, baby. Give me that big dick,” Noelle insisted in her best phone sex operator voice.
I felt around, grabbing for my condom as my face remained buried in her crotch. I pulled up and got it open. Grabbing my cock for a few rubs, I pulled on the condom. My hard-on was back.
I pushed it inside her and began to thrust. The hardness immediately increased, taking me back toward maximum capacity. “Oh yeah, fucking so big, Daddy!” she yelled. Fucking so big.”
I sucked her tits as I thrust. “Fuck me, Daddy! Fuck me!” she continued.
I was back at full gyration, squeezing her ass as I pushed my cock in and out of her stellar vagina.
“You like that, you whore?” I said. “Are you my fucking whore?”
“Yeah, Daddy, yeah,” she panted. “Fuck. Fuck!”
“Come on whore, come on you fucking whore!”
I pulled her hair and thrust harder.
“Oh god,” I said. “Your tight pussy feels so good you whore. You like it? You like my cock? Is it big, baby? Is it big?”
“It’s so fucking big, Daddy! Fuck me with your big cock, Daddy!”
“That’s right, you fucking whore! You’re my fucking little slut! Little goddamn trollop … You need to be punished, you bad little girl!”
“Punish me Daddy, punish me! I deserve it! I deserve it, Daddy!
I reared back, almost all the way out and then pushed back in, powerfully slamming her tight cunt repeatedly.
“Oh god,” she said. “Hurt me Daddy! Hurt me! Ohhh…Ohhh.”
“You like that,” I said. “You fucking whore! You like that!”
I slapped her ass hard.
“Oh Daddy, I’m so fucking bad!” she said. “I’m so fucking bad. Am I your whore … Am I your whore?”
She let out a squeal. If it had been any higher, only dogs could have heard it. “Oh yeah, you fucking whore!” I said.
I squeezed her ass tight as she dug her nails into my back, and continued her high-pitched moan.“Yeah yeah, yeah, yeah Daddy!”
She was coming so hard that she sounded on the verge of tears. I continued to thrust through it.
“Ohhh,” Noelle moaned. “Ohhh … Ohhh … Ohhh.”
“You coming, whore?” I said. “You coming for your Daddy?”
“I’m coming Daddy, I’m coming, I’m coming again.”
I kissed her intensely, nibbling her lower lip as I thrust. The squeals continued until her constricting pussy ultimately pushed my cock out, leaving me soft and tired. I didn’t get off, but she had three intense orgasms.
We lay next to each other, relishing the experience.
“Thank you, Daddy.”
“You’re Daddy’s little whore, aren’t you?
“Yes I am,” she sighed. “Ohhh you’re the best Daddy in the whole world.”
“And don’t you forget it.”

To see what else happens with Noelle “The Girl Next Whore” and other broads and uncouth adventures order “The Wingman Chronicles” right here in paperback or Ebook.

The Wingman Chronicles available on Amazon

In the UK, order it right here!

The Wingman’s Guide to Sorostitution

The fall creepin’ semester is upon us and many clumsy virgins are walking around college campuses with perennial hard-ons in hopes that they’ll pop their first cherry or touch their first tit.

Think of the cash your parents are laying down for your “education” as an unlimited account to the Bunny Ranch. If you have trouble charming chicks, that means it’s time for a little sorostitution. You won’t have to worry about cockblocking yourself with meaningless chit-chat in the presence of sorority girls. They’re usually too wasted to require any sort of legitimate connection.

Let’s face it, it’s not unlikely for a sloppy sorostitute to drool over the guy who does the longest keg stand, or is a champion at beer pong. While in the real world of creepin’ those amazing feats won’t get you quite as far.

I find the easiest way to maneuver a sorority house hookup is to play the “Big” and the “Little” against each other. In a sorority a veteran member will take a new pledge on as her “Little Sister”… Like real life sisters, they’re immensely jealous of each other. Pick which sister you’re less attracted to, get her flirting with you, and the other sister will work to outdo her and it’ll go back and forth and if you’re lucky you’ll hook up with the Big and the Little, maybe even at the same time. Everybody wins.

Let’s break down some of the different types of sorostitutes.

THE PLEDGE: Girls in the rush process are often encouraged to hook up with the most pathetic guy as part of their hazing. Find out how much of an evil, twisted tyrant the pledge master is. The crazier they are, the more action you’ll see from an impressionable young rush.

THE WILD PARTY GIRL: It’s like spin the bottle, she could land anywhere.

THE UGLY SISTER: All sororities invite a few less attractive girls to pledge in order to make the hotties feel better about themselves. The Ugly Sister will be available and vulnerable. Aim for a sorority that’s so hot that the Ugly Sister is still pulling a six or seven rating.

THE SHY GIRL THAT GETS CRAZY: Quiet ones always have a dark side, get to know it.

THE GIRL TRYING TO KEEP UP WITH HER SISTERS: She’s so desperate and attention starved, you could get her to do anything. For you virgins, a first lay should be a lock. For more experienced players, use them to experience the off-the wall shit the girls you bring home to mother won’t give you.

THE MADAM, I mean the PRESIDENT: Sorority house royalty… Could be tough your first time out, but some of the bosses of the sorostitutes play games involving hooking up with desperate freshmen and virgins.


Word of a sub par performance spreads throughout a sorority house faster than crabs. To keep your reputation intact, you might wanna start with one of the nastier houses on campus. For insurance purposes make sure the foreplay is lengthy and fruitful. Eat em’ for twenty then you could fuck em’ for two… That’s how you get the stud status. And don’t forget to choke her.


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

Charlie Sheen Talks to Kindergarten Class Teaser

By James Holeva

CHARLIE: PART 2 (Sequel to Charlie Sheen: Motivational Speaker)

I don’t know if you noticed but Charlie Sheen has been in the media a lot lately. Being that I have yet to see a comedian, talk show host, columnist, blogger,  or even a person talking with their friends provide commentary on Charlie, I felt it was my duty to be the one to break the ice.

I did so with a blog entry I posted on Saturday entitled: “Charlie Sheen: Motivational Speaker.”

I mentioned that due to the man’s intense initiative, if the acting doesn’t work out Charlie should speak to school children, in an effort to motivate them to be a bit more “winning.” A lot of people shared with me how boring they remember their school assemblies being, but if the man with tiger blood and Adonis DNA walked in they most certainly would have perked up, listened and adhered to his advice. After all, he is a Warlock.

Here is an excerpt of a motivational speech Charlie Sheen would provide to a kindergarten class.

CHARLIE: “Children a lot of you are obviously trolls and clowns, but I’m here to expose you to magic and provide you with a performance enhancing drug called Charlie Sheen. While I have tiger blood and Adonis DNA, you have rabbit blood and Snooki DNA.

I fucked Snooki by the way. She didn’t want any money, but I felt better paying.

Look for “The Wingman Chronicles” hitting book stores in next year to read the rest of the story!

Creepin’ at the Hospital Teaser

How do you get laid, while you’re laid up?


Sadly, no matter how good your coverage, under the current administration insurance companies refuse to offer sex workers as part of your health care package.

I don’t believe it myself, but despite my charming bravado I lack the political clout to make a difference. So it’s up to you.

If you’re laid up in a hospital, and you want the best treatment, it’s your responsibility to fight for it.

There’s nothing that will cure a man’s illness, or injury, and the mental anguish that accompanies, more than an ejaculation induced by someone other than himself. Personally, I think that should be in a nurse’s job description. They’re emptying your bed pan, why can’t they blow you, or at least administer a hand job?

She could wear a rubber glove if it’ll make her feel better.

I mean these nurses say they want to make a difference, here’s their chance. Even a good old fashioned wet dry hump will aid in your recovery.

Anyway, until nurse/whore becomes a combination occupation, the creeping is up to you and me.

Look for “The Wingman Chronicles” hitting book stores in next year to read the rest of the story!

Thanks Weakender!

 My Free Publicity Acceptance Speech


   Although I was unaware of it, I have been receiving a great deal of free publicity, and I couldn’t be more honored. 

   A blog called was brought to my attention Monday night. Apparently, this blog has been kind enough to give me free publicity related to the column I wrote for Northeastern Pa. arts and entertainment weekly The Weekender from September 2009 through March 2010.

    It seems the purpose of this blog, which is operated by a fella who calls himself Head Rantketeer , is to criticize everything about The Weekender. Since launching in October, Mr. Rantketeer has been mentioning my former column “The Wingman Chronicles,” but as I am not terribly web savvy I just saw this for the first time last night when a friend sent it to me.

    The blogger was kind enough to include the following in his writing.

   “A couple months ago, the Weekender was home to a column called The Wingman Chronicles. It was, if I can be polite, the most vile piece of garbage ever to be put to newsprint. It was a sexist, misogynistic story of a 30-something man who tries to get other men laid by sharing details of his sexual exploits. Stories included him having sex with a woman in a pool of another man’s semen and committing statutory rape with a underage girl he took across state lines into New York City. I am not making these stories up. These were actually published in the Weekender. It was meant to be a humor column, but it was actually sickeningly repulsive.

   “Then, suddenly, almost out of the blue, The Wingman Chronicles was gone. It disappeared without notice and without a trace. That second one was literal as all mention of the column was removed from even the Weekender’s website. It was a thermonuclear attack on the Wingman, and not a speck of him was left.
   “I took this as a positive sign for the Weekender. Sure, they did publish the Wingman’s column, one that was horrible both in terms of content and how the content was delivered. But they eventually came to their senses, realized that the column had no redeeming value either as humor or as entertainment, and then got rid of it.”

   Mr. Rantketeer also was nice enough to include:

   “It appears that the rampant misogyny, pig-headedness, and down right lack of humor of the Wingman was not the issue with his dismissal.”

   And of course, the very complimentary: 

   “I can’t believe I am going to complement the Wingman, but his stories had a beginning, a middle and an end. And everything he put in the story — for the most part — served to move the plot along.”

   This blogger even asked if anyone knew the drama surrounding my sudden dismissal, to please email him.

    I am personally honored my column still has such an impact. I’ve been busy with other projects and promotion, not to mention all the creepin’, but my column has been absent from The Weekender for almost a full year. I have so many people I’d like to thank.

  Of course, Michael Lello, the former Weekender editor, who gave me the opportunity to write this irreverent column. He did an excellent job editing my work, and allowed me to be as truthful and raw as the paper could allow. His leaving The Weekender is a major loss for the paper.

   Of course, my friend Ralphie Aversa of 97 BHT, who gave me more than two years of publicity via a weekly segment called Wingman Wednesday that aired weekly on his Ralphie Radio Show.

   And I cannot forget the Times Leader publishers, whose names I’m not aware of, but were kind enough to go out of their way to suddenly banish my popular column from the paper on my birthday… Even going as far as to not only discontinue the column, but to immediately remove all of my archives from the website. Thank you so much.

   I appreciate that. Apparently, it increased the Wingman hype dramatically, and I didn’t even have to do any work. Nice!

   As for the Weakender blog and its operator Mr. Head Rantketeer, please continue exactly what you’re doing. Anybody who knows me knows having a career that first began as a standup comedian while I was still in high school; I enjoy a good roast… From the old school Dean Martin roasts, to the raunchy Friar’s Club and Comedy Central roasts of today. We only roast the ones we love, so thanks again!

   I know I’ve truly made it now… This is almost as good as tabloid allegations of homosexuality. I’m gracious to anyone who’s kind enough to provide me with such excellent publicity, free of charge.

   Oh, because I want the best for your site, I just wanted to say first off… Although I do go by The Wingman and the column was called The Wingman Chronicles… It is not a secret alias, it’s a brand. Every piece I wrote for The Weekender, which includes the column as well as various features, were credited to my birth name James Holeva.

   And while I continue to utilize The Wingman brand, on radio appearances, personal appearances, anywhere I appear, as well as using it when I write material that fits the brand…  I am always billed as “The Wingman James Holeva.”

    Second, you had said in your blog that I was in my thirties, I’m actually 27 and was 26 when I wrote for The Weekender. The column last published on March 10, 2010, which was my twenty-seventh birthday.

   Third, the piece that you’re referencing where you said I snuck an underage girl over state lines to New York to commit statutory rape never ran in The Weekender. It is a short story I wrote more than a year before the column launched, and while I am immensely proud of the way I wrote it and the creepin’ itself, it would’ve been deemed too offensive to print in The Weekender. However, you’ll be able to find it in my book, The Wingman Chronicles, a memoir which is currently in the works.

   Also, if you take another look at the piece you’ll realize the sixteen year old I hooked up with I met while I was in New York City… I had actually gone to New York for a wedding with an adult woman from Pennsylvania. The minor was hanging out at the hotel after her prom. We had a great time. That story and all my Weekender Wingman Chronicles Archives are available on my blog…

   And for future reference, sneaking a minor across state lines from Pennsylvania to New York would make no sense because last I checked the age of consent in Pennsylvania is sixteen years old, while it remains seventeen in New York.

   Of course, I have snuck underage girls from New York to Pennsylvania, but not the other way around. Again, you’ll be able to read about these shenanigans in my book.

   (Disclaimer: Having sex with a minor is completely legal provided they have reached the age of consent, and it is consensual sex without money changing hands. As long as the adult isn’t acting as a pimp, or john… Isn’t videotaping, or photographing nude or explicit images… Isn’t seen as an authority figure — a teacher, coach, babysitter. And isn’t providing drugs, alcohol, nicotine, or firearms, he or she is certainly within their legal rights to enjoy the uncouth adventure.)

   Again, I’m just trying to make sure that your reporting is accurate so you could make the Weakender blog as truthful and honorable as I’m sure you aspire for it to be.

   By the way, if you’d like to give my television pilot “The Wingman” any free publicity, I’d be very appreciative. Here’s the trailer.

   I hope you’ll come out to see me do standup sometime, and if you feel you’d like to give me even more publicity, I’d be much obliged to your good will.

   I also must address that I noticed in the comments section somebody accused me of writing The Weakender Blog. While I am now a fan, I am not involved in any way, and just found out about it myself Monday night.

    Here’s what the ANONYMOUS comment entailed:

   “Wow, WINGMAN. Referencing Sorry Mom and Dad and Justin Brown just proves you are bitter that someone got a column after you. Such a bitterness that as soon as his column starts, you start this blog. Well it was time for the WINGMAN to make room for the MAIN MAN. Deal with it.”

   Whatever anonymous person wrote that comment obviously doesn’t know me, because:

   A: I would never spend any time writing, creating, or performing anything without taking credit for it by name, because I love attention.

   And B: I am awful with any type of technology, and anything computer or web related , and I wouldn’t be able to figure out how to create a blog that looks as good as

   The blogger responded with:

   “So, you think I’m the Wingman!?!?! Bwahahahahahahahahahahahahaha! Listen, I know you hate the blog, but there’s no need to get insulting.

For the record, I am NOT the Wingman. And the thought of that makes me want to take a shower. The Wingman is/was just as bad as Justin is. On subject matter, he was far worse. Justin, as of yet, has not written about having sex in a pool of another man’s semen or taking an underage girl across state lines to have sex with her. So Justin, while repulsive and disgusting in topics, has a ways to go to match Wingman. However, from a technical standpoint, the Wingman is a better writer than Justin. Which isn’t saying much, because a monkey hammering away at a type would write better than Justin.

So, it pretty much is a wash between the two. Both are self-promoting, misogynistic yahoos who have no business being in an arts and entertainment weekly. Because neither is as funny or as entertaining as they think they are.

   But hey, since you are such a fan of Justin, god know why, maybe you can peruse the other posts. I talk about him in just about each an every one.spread the comment love around!

And thanks for reading!”

    All I could say is thank you again for continuing to reference me almost a year after my column last ran in The Weekender. And I think it’s great that you provide a link for author  Brandon Halsey… He’s a good friend of mine, and a terrific writer, who I always enjoy reading.

   Check him out, buy his book, and enter his world!

   Oh, since you’ve been following my work for so long, if you’d like to check out the writing of another Holeva, here’s my sister Jessie Holeva’s fashion blog

   She, too, is a fan of your blog and would appreciate any free publicity you’d like to throw her way. Good luck!

   Thank You,

   James Holeva

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