Read Online My Dirty Little Book of Stolen Time by Liz Jensen - Free Book Online

settled themselves upon my breasts – which, being clad only in the thin film of my cotton bodice, left nothing, in their drenched state, to the imagination. I cursed myself for not going to the back door instead, but there was no time to shake him off, for he had me by the arm & was pinching tight.
    â€˜Not so fast, my dear,’ he breathed, frog-marching me back inside the hall. ‘You seem distressed. You must tell Papa all about
it’ {Papa! I nearly vomited.) My heart was still banging from the shock of what I had heard from that basement room, & my breath came
out in panting gasps, which (O God!) seemed to arouse ‘Papa’ even further, for his eyes lit up as he proceeded to enquire
whether I had been a ‘naughty little girl’, & whether I needed to be ‘severely punished’ for my sins. Fru Schleswig stepped
aside as we passed, & shot me a look, but I made a gesture for her to button her lip or else, for despite the shock I had
suffered, & my anxiety to get out of that place, I smelled quick money on the horizon & Christmas was coming.
    â€˜I have a room upstairs I would like to show you, which is to be my personal study in which the Lord & I can conduct our intimate conversations,’ Pastor Dahlberg said, marching me up the steps with him & fair shoving me inside, where he did not waste his time undoing his breeches, & I did not waste mine – my temper & nerves being somewhat frayed by the alarming experience I had undergone only moments before – demanding with blunt insistence a fee often kroner & making it clear to him that I would accept no less in future, & if he wanted cheaper there was always the street. So ten kroner it was, & when I had pocketed it, he made sure I earned every ore by pressing me up against the leather-topped desk & leering at me with his clacking teeth & his chomping lips all a-guzzle, & calling me a dirty little temptress & then getting on his knees & burying his nose in my underskirts like a slobbering dog. I knew that if I did not hasten him on, he would take his horrible middle-aged time, so while he muttered & whispered & groaned on about naughty, dirty, sexy whore under his breath, I racked my brains for inspiration. Lord, much as my work had its delightful moments, there were times when I would have given anything to be a humble librarian in a quiet provincial town! However whilst he was huffing & puffing I finally hit upon the notion (him being a religious man) of suggesting that I was a nun being ravaged at the altar, which (praise be!) did the trick – so speedily indeed (a mere three or four more feeble pumps sufficed) that one might be forgiven for suspecting that great friend & conversational companion of the Pastor’s, the Almighty himself, had intervened on my behalf.
    That night, Fru Schleswig & I polished off the bottle of schnapps & I’made my way to bed, drifting into slumber with pleasant
fantasies of the blackmail of Pastor Dahlberg on my mind, & waking the next morn feeling optimistic, refreshed & determined
to confront the ghost in the basement that very day, for there was no time like the present. And goodness gracious, why not
blackmail a ghost, too, while one was at it?
    Yet despite my bold plans, I will confess to you, O beloved one (& please do not think less of me for my cowardice), that
as well as the curiosity I harboured about Professor Krak’s basement secret, there was fear in me too, & it took all the courage
I could muster to go near the place the next morning. And when I did, with the mumbling & grumbling Fru Schleswig at my side,
complaining that I was making it all up & I’d ‘red too mennie sillie bookes as a chylde’, quite a sight met my eyes. A new
bolt & huge new shiny padlock had been added to the outside of the door. Upon which, beneath the now reeking pig’s trotters,
hung a makeshift wooden sign covered in huge writing.
    I felt the blood drain from my