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He did chuckle, which I couldn't fault him for doing, but there were nogreat guffaws designed to make me feel small and insignificant. Insteadhe stood at his desk and looked me over before giving me a sheepishgrin. "Sorry about the sweats," he apologized. "I figured I'd loan themto you until we could come up with something better."That caused me to blink in surprise as I first looked down at theclothes I was wearing before looking back up at him. "These are yours?" Uh huh," he said absently as he sat back down and resumed typing."They were all I could find. I hope you don't mind." No, no," I assured him as I sat down in the chair beside the desk."It's fine, I really appreciate it."As he nodded once again, his attention clearly focused on what I wasguessing was his report involving me, I couldn't help but turn my headslightly into the folded back cowl of the hood breathe in deeply.Instantly my nostrils filled with the faint smell of laundry detergentso I knew it was clean. Beneath that. The video was ecstatic and I didn’t even realize when I completely removed my shorts and became bottomless.I was completely immersed in my dream world when all of a sudden my Room’s Door opened and there was sunita standing with a Bucket full of water in one hand and a Mop on the other. Aghast..!! There I was, lying half naked in my Bed, holding my dick in my right hand, masturbating furiously. There was a moment of complete absurdness; I and sunita were looking into each other’s eyes.We were completely numb for a few seconds and suddenly there were moaning sounds from my laptop’s Video. We came back to our senses. She immediately shut the door and I leaped on to my shorts. I wore my pant, closed my laptop and went out to look for sunita.I was afraid, yes I was. I realized that I could be thrashed left and right if this incident went into the ears of my parents. I found sunita in the adjacent room moping the floor. I went to her not knowing what to say. All I could utter was, “Sorry.
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Now, on with the show! –Benn Morland —————————————– Prologue The wizened old man shambled up the attic stairs, his failing senses unable to tell the difference between the creaking of the wood below his feet and that of his weary bones. He was going to die before the sun rose again. He knew this, though he could not tell you how he knew. His gnarled fingers, twisted by time and by activity, lifted the lid of an oaken chest clad in faded leather from a cow slaughtered long before the old man was born. He sneezed from the dust, which in its turn brought on a cough from his tired lungs that took several minutes to run its course. The old man did not bother to fight the cough anymore. At the top of the chest’s neatly packed contents were letters written in a woman’s graceful hand. The old man set them aside for later. Gramophone platters were next. They couldn’t be listened to anymore. The ancient gramophone had broken down some years before, and the old man had been unable to obtain.

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