Berlin Garden of Erotic Delights by Unknown

Author:Unknown
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 0000000000000
Published: 2022-12-28T12:55:21+00:00

Until suddenly the burglar’s conscience is aroused. He gets up and says, “I gotta go . . . ”

Freddy, not paying much attention, says, “Hey, tell me your name.—I’ve no idea what your name is.”

“My name’s Shorgie . . . Call me Shorgie.”—And then he laughs and says, “You can also call me Little Shorgie.”

But then he pulls away and says, “Okay, now I gotta go!”

He gets up, straightens himself out, smoothing over his hair with the palm of his hand until it’s neat again—for it had gotten messed up in the heat of passion—and then looks around for his things . . .

Suddenly he kneels down next to Freddy’s bed and says, “You ain’t mad at me?”

Freddy is at first surprised, then understanding. “No,” he replies.

The burglar asks once again, even more intensely while grasping Freddy’s hand, “Ya forgive me?”

And Freddy replies softly, “Yes.”

“Ya know, I wont take nuttin’ from ya,” the burglar says, now almost pleading.

Freddy, who’s utterly indifferent as to whether everything or nothing at all is taken from him, says only, “Okay.”—For this could mean anything!

Yet Shorgie asserts one more time, “Im lettin’ ya keep all your stuff.”

Then hesitating and still a bit unsure of himself, he adds, “An I’ll never do my nite work agin . . . I’ll . . . Don’t tink bad o’ me . . . ”—He can’t find the right words, for he’s like anyone who, having been derailed from their life’s path by a sudden event, finds their customary way of living subverted, leaving them standing, so to speak, on the wreckage of their world view and feeling that they have to start all over again from the beginning to learn, to work, and to struggle.—Shorgie had really been something in his profession! At just twenty years old he’d already set several burglary records and was an accomplished thief. And now! What will happen with him now?—Oh uncertain future!

Freddy looks at him, who now kneels so quietly and questioningly next to him, also uncertain and questioning: “Do you really want to go?”

“I gotta go . . . Else Ill get caught . . . ”—But then with sudden fervor says, “Ill see ya agin, eh?”

“Yes,” says Freddy.

“When?”

“Tomorrow.”

And all at once Shorgie passionately buries his lips one more time into Freddy’s chest; then, pulling away from him, says, “I haf to see ya tomorrow!”

Freddy sits up, and reaching for him as if in a dream, says, “Yeah, sure . . . ”

Then Shorgie takes a small green object from his pants pocket: “Here, take dis . . . ”

“What is it?”

“My present to you,” says Shorgie.

Genuinely surprised, Freddy says, “It’s a scarab!”

“I dont know . . . but its sumtin’ good.”

Freddy then asks, inquisitorially, “Where’d you get it?”

Shorge replies matter of factly, “Some ol’ guy, insanely rich, ya know!”

“Keep your stuff,” Freddy says sternly.”

But Shorgie insists, “Ya hafta keep it. Ya hafta promise me!”—And now slowly and simply: “And I promise you I wont do this no more. I promise.”

Freddy shouts in a voice almost too loud for the late hour, “Shorgie, let’s be friends.

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