Leslie’s Books and Antiques

Leslie’s Books and Antiques

The Pleasures of the Damned, 1993 was a good year – putting me on like Chapstick. The bookstore doubles as a sex shop –

Leslie’s Books and Antiques – the only ‘antique’ is a stuffed cobra fighting a mongoose sitting in dust on the counter while a floral curtain

the kind you’d find in a 1950’s farmhouse, too orange, too pink, is the only thing that separates the Best of Woman’s Weekly’s winter recipes

from the gang bangs of Bonnie Rotten and her spider web tit tattoos. Leslie looks bored behind the cock rings at the counter. It’s 3pm on a Friday

she reads Black Beauty and if her horse was willing, she’d ride at night – the thrill of fog over the creek, but he’s in Camberwarra at her ex-girlfriend’s house

she’s afraid he’ll be sold, he’s getting past his time. But one can dream – do you read Stephen King? Cujo’s on the top shelf, there’s one left – worth a look

I was in a coma five years ago, two days, as soon as I came to, I read Cujo and realised nothing scared me anymore. I used to be religious – pledged my vagina to God

no men or women for a year – then the coma happened and I realised no one sits on a throne of clouds, no one cares about my vagina

I might as well sex who I want and open a book store with all the essentials, she winks. Sex takes as much imagination as reading. Why not have them together?

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