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Excerpt for Shameless by , available in its entirety at Smashwords

Shameless


Copyright 2018 Andrew Lafleche

www.AJLafleche.com

Published by Pub House Books

www.PubHouseBooks.com




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This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or

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Table of Contents

The Author, on Shameless

The Glenda’s

Futuristic

Carpe Diem

Yogini

Unsolicited Advice

Nostalgia

Rationalizing

Capitalism’s Reach

A Fool’s Optimism

Boudoir

Pavlov’s Dogs

Star Gazing

Red Wings

Anne

The Prisoner’s Dilemma

The Bastard

Dinner Conversations

Style

Tuesday Afternoon

A Gamble

Unnecessary

My Muse

Vengeance

A Clouded Mirror

Rome

Accountants

Wisdom

Peers

True Love

Orcas

The Warehouse

Fashion

Shakespeare

Polliwogs

Janey

An Illustration

Toilets

Perros

Pee

Social Worker

Same Old Tiff

Relativity

The Mature Woman

Acid

Wasted

Benders

Jacklight

Lullaby

Hardwood Bathtubs

Bill’s

Oompa Loompa

Shameless

Fan Mail

The Dance

Learning to Live Together

Wavering

International Incidents

Humanity Remains

One Step Ahead

Elizabeth

The Final Act

About the Author

Other books by Andrew Lafleche

Connect on Social Media


The Author, on Shameless


DRINK.

SMOKE.

SNIFF, SNORT, TOKE.

HUFF,

PUFF,

PASS.

LIFE’S ONLY GUARANTEE:

IT WILL KICK YOU IN THE ASS.

THE GLENDAS



as I write,

more and more

women

send me

photos.

photos of their

breasts.

face photos

with a finger

dragging the bottom

lip

or lips pursed,

duck lips.

photos of them

legs spread

slits shaved clean.

all of them eager

to send these photos

unsolicited,

then taking requests

“what do you want to see?”

selling themselves as good girls

sending the wrong message,

same as I do

with these

words.


FUTURISTIC



I told her

when I make it

as a writer

I’ll be invited

to universities

to give readings

where I’ll have

to fight off

coeds

trying to fuck.

“no” she replied

“I’ll travel with you”

so I said, what about our cat?

“we don’t have a cat”

so I told her

I would buy a cat,

something for her

to take care of

in my absence

she replied

“I’ll kill your cat”

and I believe she would

so I dropped the subject

and I secretly hoped it takes

just a little

longer

to make it as a writer,

at least long enough

until she’s replaced

by someone

who will

take care of the cat 


CARPE DIEM



she sat behind

the driver

in her own car,

I sat in front

passenger side.

her boyfriend

was driving,

my girlfriend

sat behind me.


we were headed to a wedding

or maybe it was a funeral.


the front of the car

silent

the girls, however

were chatty.


often enough

his girlfriend

would include me

in the conversation,

having to look back

to reply

she’d spread her legs

each time enough

to glimpse the light blue

of her panties.


don’t ask me

the color of her dress.


I got an erection

and ignored it.

she saw and smiled.


the game continued

the rest of the drive

to the wedding

that might have been

a funeral.


whatever the occasion

I remember the cloakroom

and a stack of chairs

and it was nice.


YOGINI



part of the allure

was her ability

to squirt,

something

I’d only heard about

something I’d never

experienced

something I wasn’t

prepared for.

“I should have known

you’d be drunk” she said,

she’d driven

two hours to see me.

not one for wasting time

she showed herself to

the bedroom

laid a towel on the bed

and immediately

went to work,

led to me

rubbing my

tongue

on her clit,

then

together

fucking.

when she was ready

to orgasm

having never been

squirted on before

I wanted her to finish

in my mouth

so I pulled out

and shoved my face

there,

but she swatted my head away.

a stream of orgasm exploded

from inside her,

the liquid hit my chest

splashed everywhere

soaked everything.

it was incredible.

I started to laugh

if she hadn’t swatted

my head away

I might have drowned,

which wouldn’t have been

a terrible way to go

like those men

who have heart attacks

while fucking.

to be so blessed.


UNSOLICITED ADVICE



“these poems about sex”

“some of them bother me”

“the ones about other women”

“I know I’ve shared about my ex’s”

“but I don’t like reading about yours”

“I don’t want my parents to read your writing”

“why don’t you write about nice things”

“people aren’t going to read these”

“are you coming to bed soon?”

“why do you look like that?”

“I’m going to bed now”

“you should, too”

“goodnight.”


NOSTALGIA



in retrospect

she was rare,

the type of rare

you hope to find in

art and gems.

more often

this is how

the story goes.


great tits atop

a tight little body

a figure

easily maintained

by her unwavering

commitment

to bulimia.


the sweet

repugnant scent

of a nutrition starved

body,

her only flaw.


she didn’t believe

in rape,

another quality

I adored

she rationalized:

a woman

would never be

in a situation

where rape

was a possibility

unless she secretly

harbored

the desire

to be had.


to buttress

this position

she kept a collection

of

ski masks

and rope

and hunting knives

and serrated blades

hidden in decorative

boxes

strategically placed

around her house,

always close

at hand

for the times

she asked me

to break in,

the tools required

to enact her fantasy

easily accessible

regardless the door

or window

I entered through,

unannounced.


her resistance was

fraudulent.

a show.

resisting,

but not really.

her body would spasm

at the cold steel

pressed against her

throat.


she truly was

a rare gem

of a girl.


once during sex

of a more traditional

nature

she asked me to

spit

in her mouth,

a line

at the time

I could not cross,

so I dressed

and left

and never

to saw her

again.


regret is never about

the things we’ve done

more what we failed to do.


RATIONALIZING



“whenever you disappear

for a while,

I know you’re writing,

and that makes me happy.”


I don’t know if she was

lying to me

or to herself

you must always be vigilant

against being deceived

especially toward

self-deception

it’s most common form.


her and I

when we were young

would meet secretly

because she had

a boyfriend.


she’d read my writing

perform fellatio

and always ask

“do you think

I am a bad person?”


we justified this

and agreed

oral sex is not cheating.


we still do.


CAPITALISM’S REACH



we ordered escorts

from the yellow pages

two girls

for two of us

figuring we’d spend

the same money

during a night on the town

where getting laid

was not guaranteed

and might only

end up with a kiss

goodnight or worse:

her just lying back

with you doing all the work.


the lady who answered

knew we were green

to this sort of thing

and must have

advised the girls

accordingly


they arrived

and set the rules,

something that must

never be

allowed.


a blow job for cash

without even a throw

fool me once the saying goes.


the sex trade is

an economy like all the rest

governed by the same

rules of our capitalist society,

therefore:

treat hookers like real estate

the seller needs to sell

the buyer doesn’t have to buy

and negotiate from this position.


A FOOL’S OPTIMISM



a girl I use to go with

asked me to lunch

to “catch up.”

this girl

she has a family

now

two kids

a husband

and by all

understanding

should mean

nothing

to “catch up”

about.

so I said yes

knowing

full well

going back

is rarely

a good strategy

for moving

forward,

hoping “catch up”

meant “blow job”

like it used to

when we met

for lunch

before

she was

married

two kids

and a husband. 


BOUDOIR



I knew a woman

who liked to fuck

although we never did.

she would call me

on the telephone

and lead me through

tantric

verbal

sexual

experiences

until we both got off.

we never went out much.

she lived with her boyfriend

I lived out of town.

the times we did go

together

we would catch a game

drink beer

then head to this posh

wine bar to drink wine.

one night

at the game

she spilt her beer

on the guy seated

in the seat below us.

this kind of thing happens

but she didn’t apologize

which pissed me right off.

what kind of person

doesn’t apologize over spilt beer?

it’s not milk.

after the game

in the car on our way

to the posh wine bar

to drink wine

she told me about

the guru she was paying

to teach her secrets about

time-space,

things “I could never understand.”

she paid this guru

ten thousand dollars

for these secrets

I could never understand.

the poor girl.

at least I understood

between us,

in that moment,

it would never

work.


PAVLOV’S DOGS



eating sandwiches

over

the kitchen sink

always enraged

her


me leaning against

the counter

eating

the crumbs

would fall

down

the drain

the mustard

that dripped

easy to clean

there would be

no dishes

to wash


I have always

known

ingenuity

is

eating

over the sink


she tried

to make me

feel bad

about it

the way

catholic’s

are always trying

to make people

feel guilty

about something

no matter,

I am not fazed

by guilt


fried the eggs

toasted the bread

sliced the cheese

“what are you doing

in there?” she screamed

her blood

a boiling kettle

eating a sandwich, I said

“you’re not

eating a sandwich!

what are you doing?”

I looked at my sandwich

confused

I continued eating

she stormed

into

the room

“what are you doing?

what are you trying to hide?

go eat at the fucking table”

too late, I said

shoved the last

of my sandwich

into my mouth


next day

and every day

after

same thing

not purely for spite

I really do

like eating

sandwiches

this way


the last day

“I’m not putting up with this

anymore” she said

bags in hand

she slammed

the door behind

her

leaving me to eat

my sandwiches

in peace.


life moves on.


STAR GAZING



two thousand stars light the sky

lying on my back

staring into the Milky Way,

the breeze

warm.


the girl at the grocery store

the one wearing the blue skirt

she would have been a great lay,

her cunt young and plump

she’d have pouty lips,

her breasts not as big as I prefer

but that ass,

what an ass.


the nurse at the hospital

the one wearing the cheap engagement ring

and innocent smile,

her brown hair long enough to be pulled,

I’d press her against the wall

guide my cock into her hole

and she’d bite my shoulder

as I exploded passion

all over her scrubs.


the girl on the street

the one staring at me as I approached

her eyes begging to be had,

pleading

with me to tear her blouse…


hey, there goes a shooting star. 


RED WINGS



waking up in a place you’ve never been is exciting

despite the initial confusion of reorientation.

the hangover fog adds depth to the adventure

and it’s now, a smile will form as you remember

the debauchery you survived the night before.


the first time I gave head to a woman on her period

was followed by a morning like the one I just described,

we had been drinking steadily all night, the tension

thickened knowing we would have each other soon.


unaware she still lived with her parents

ignorant of her being Iranian or something

over-there-istan

we retreated to her home and straight to bed.


me on my back, her working my center with her hands

I throbbed to be inside her, but she would not let me in.

I rolled her over, making my way down her body

only to be stopped again, this time with explanation,

but I was not deterred.


every once and a while the wet dangling string

would wrap around my tongue or lodge in my teeth

and I’d laugh.

this made her uncomfortable and we switched positions

her working my center with her mouth this time

eventually fucking and passing out.


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