Dear Fuckboi: A TomTord Satire

dont drop the soap

When Tom woke up, he wasn't in the random fucking jungle in the middle of motherfucking London. Instead, he was in the ol' crowbar hotel, with nothing but the stony walls and that big black guy staring him down to keep him company. He made a mental note to skip the shower, and go straight to sleep.

He was in the stony lonesome for a few hours, planning his Shawshank Redemption-esque plan to bust out. He just needed something to dig with...

His plan didn't get very far when two people he had never seen before came to get him out. The officer near his cell slid the gate open, and he was free at last. Welp, that was enough prison for one life, Tom thought.

Now, he had to confront these two strangers. Before he could ask who they were, Tom was stopped.

"No, the other boy, not this one," one of them said.

Tom was promptly shown back to his cell, but not before he watched as Tord strut out and joined the two. He gave them a fist bump, then waved a sarcastic goodbye to Tom as he was escorted back.

"Wait, wait, no, I'm with them!" Tom tried to tell the guard. "Hey, guys, get me out of here!"

The taller one raised his eyebrows and spoke softly to Tord. Tord laughed and shook his head, waving a hand at Tom.

"Do you know this guy, Tord?" the one with scruffy brown hair asked.

"No, but he's the one who peer pressured me into drinking," Tord said, pouting. Tom was this close to calling him out, but it would get him nowhere. He couldn't ask for help, either. He didn't need the help of his enemy.

Tom was thrown back into his cartoonishly-small cell. He wished he had a harmonica. If he was going to be stuck here, he should have been able to act just like prisoners did in the movies. Tord had long gone, and Tom was all by himself.

The officer said he would have to stay until nightfall, as that would have been twenty-four hours. The sentence was surprisingly light, and Tom was thankful for that. The only downfall was that he had less time to plot his revenge on Tord. Was there a way he could feed him poison in his sleep? Or maybe he could lace his food with his own jizz. That would be a deserving punishment.

Tom ended up skipping dinner. He wasn't ready to face other inmates. They were probably murderers or something. He was in prison for something lame. It was so lame, in fact, Tom would be ashamed to even mention it. He had always imagined that he'd go to prison for murdering Tord. He might not even go to prison for that. The judge would probably reward him for wiping that scum off the face of the earth.

Finally, he was free to go. Unfortunately, he hadn't conjured up a good murder plan, but whatever. He could think of it on the walk back to his house. Tom wondered who those other guys were, the ones who were with Tord. He was probably their little twink sex slave. Tom chuckled to himself.

He opened the door to his house, ready to either go to bed or lunge out his window and tackle Fuckboy in his own home. He hadn't decided yet. He didn't even make it up to his room. A figure was at the foot of the stairs, waiting for him. A short, round figure that made Tom roll his black, soulless eyes.

"Dad."