Sunday, June 26, 2011


I wandered that day along strange paths seeking forbidden knowledge. I saw you at meadows edge, arms outstretched as if embracing the late afternoon sun. Naked and plump like the first peaches of Summer; pale of skin and rosy bottomed. Bewitched, I stepped lightly over leaf and twig to your side.
You turned and beheld me as if I were a long awaited guest. Our eyes met and I saw your heart shine forth, like the light of an angel, from behind earthy brown eyes. Love came to me not as a cherub, but in the guise of the gay martlet that lit on your shoulder and whispered in your ear.
You floated gently away; drawing me into the golden meadow, promises of ancient knowing’s in your embrace. I could not move; you faded into nothingness leaving a whisper and a memory.
I linger days at meadows edge never entering. I have forsaken toil and pleasures of the flesh awaiting your return. The shadows over my soul deepen until all is black.
-Tom Allman

Friday, June 17, 2011


The first time that I saw Caroline’s pussy I was thirteen. She’d lured me away from a dungeons and dragons game with a Yoo-Hoo and some salty language whispered in my ear. It was mystical and fuzzy; I wanted to touch it. She told me she would never show it to anyone else. But when it came time to show her my goods I chickened out.
When I was sixteen I saw it again. We were at bible camp hunting mushrooms. She let me kiss it. It was salty and moist and tasted a little like the morels that we were supposed to be hunting. I came in my shorts from the excitement and was too embarrassed to talk to her the rest of the summer.
When I came home from boot camp she enticed me away from my buddies with a six pack of Pearl and some even saltier language. Now a world-wise Marine, I was prepared for action. A chicken-head rubber I bought in Tijuana adorned my member. It opened before me like the curtains of the whorehouse I had visited with my first weekend pass. She told me that she had never done it before and I was too stupid to know the difference.
The last time I saw Caroline’s pussy was yesterday. It beckoned to me from the bedroom. The kids were asleep and the kitty needed scratching. Still salty and sweet perhaps wiser from childbirth. It’s forever the like the forbidden peach in her short and curly Garden of Eden.

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

The Torture Never Stops

There is a pause in the IBM Selectric’s staccato as the author surveys his progress…

The metal door of her tiny cell hisses open… The Dark Lord is silhouetted by red, green, and amber lights. He enters, preceded by a floating sphere dripping liquid pain. She chafes against her restraints, her meticulously coiled hair now spilling about her shoulders. His metallic breath catches as he sees her; who is the torturer and who is the tortured. No questions are asked, she knows what he wants.

The wordsmith jerks the paper from the machine, its platen and feed roller clacking angrily in protest. He starts to crumple the offending page…

A Cheshire-like grin begins to form; new possibilities careen across plot lines and branches.

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Sweet Revenge

Delores’s Family told her that she was being paranoid; which proved that they were out to get her! Her Cat, Mr. Puss, confirmed her worst fears. “Darling, your loved ones mock you whenever your back is turned.”  
Delores decided to have a third eye grafted into the back of her head.  She took a “ME” weekend and had it done on the sly. It was neatly covered by her mop of auburn hair. “I’ll show those eye-rollers and tongue-sticker-outers,” she fumed.  
The duplicitous feline told the rest of the family what Delores was doing. “He’s been so helpful and given us such good advice since the operation,” they all said.
When she returned home they followed her around striking lewd poses and making “do you want your face to freeze like that” expressions. This was the last straw.
Terrible and irrevocable things were said, dishes and collectibles hurled. This home was now broken. His job complete, Mr. Puss lay in a laundry basket grooming the area where his testicles had been and savored his sweet, sweet revenge.

Monday, February 7, 2011

The Truth About Cats

I love this story! I'm not sure if it's Literature(y) enough to submit anywhere but here.

The Real Story by Tom Allman
As I stared out of the window, thinking of nothing, I suddenly wondered what Cats might use as a form of currency? The old lump of fur in my lap stirred, stretched languidly and began to clean herself. "You know, at one time, cat's were fabulously wealthy," she mewwed.

"Can you read my mind?"

"Shut up, I'll tell you the story, but then I'm going to have take another nap!"

"Ummm, OK."

"Cat's were given fabulous piles of gold coins by the pharaoh Ramses the First." "To keep them safe we stuffed the coins inside the remains of adorable baby birds we'd tortured then buried them in the yard." She circled my lap, claws unsheathed. "We kept watch over them from the highest and sunniest perch's we could find." "When we dozed off though the damn squirrels dug them up and spirited them all away."
"Very sad stuff," I sniffed.
From the corner of her eye she caught sight of a grey maned bandit on the window sill, sending her tail a-twitching. "Brigands," she hissed, "One day we'll be avenged!"
With that stinging ephithat still hanging in the air; she dozed off again.

Sunday, January 16, 2011

Friday Flash + 52/250 challenge (for Emily)

Rhino Rampage by Tom Allman

All signs and portents had been pointing to this fateful ending.  The unpleasantness could no longer be delayed.  It was time to tell the 3year old we were leaving the zoo.

This dangerous and distasteful task called for tact, diplomacy and logic.  Or, a really great lie. 

Don’t roll your eyes at me, I’d like to see you drag a screaming 3yr old a mile and a half through the zoo. 

So I told her that a rhinoceros had escaped and we were evacuating.

She warned (loudly) everyone we passed that a rhino was running amuck!  Strange and condescending looks were cast.  Did she know the truth?  Maybe, but letting dad make an ass off himself is more fun than a tantrum any day.

Friday, January 7, 2011

Downstream (first 52250flash of 2011)

My body is stuck in an inner tube bobbing slowly down our little river.  My mind is moving somewhat faster. I zip past a paddle wheeler whose cub pilot is marking twain.  Then, after shore leave in the Big Easy, I ship out to the Heart of Darkness to find the White Whale.

My bony old butt scrapes a rock and I have to paddle like an upside-down turtle back into the current.  Under full steam again I scoot by Gilligans’ Island and render honors to Darwins’ Beagle.  Soon though, I arrive at my ultimate destination, my tiny kingdom somewhere in the Pacific.

This is where my dreams always end, in a hammock under the bluest sky you’ve ever seen.  Every morning the children gather flowers to weave into my crown.  In between sunrise and dinner I manage to fend off European invaders and a giant squid. This is the somewhere I’ve never been that is more familiar to me than my own skin.