I heard them in the kitchen, Kamala and my Ma, then heard very little. A Maent later, there was knock on my door. I had, of course, my stiff cock out of my pants, this time, as circumstances would have it, beating away without the pillow using the friction of my hand, pulling at the skin, and as I tried in vain to stuff it back in, the door knob twisted, and the door opened. There, in the door way, was Kamala, black hot pants on and her sheer bra. God, what now? I stopped, looked up in embarrassment. Kamala looked down at my shrinking cock, just stood there looking for a Maent, no expression on her face, perhaps the trace of a smile on her lips. As I turned to try to hide my penis, she said, “I was just coming in to ask you what you thought of this new outfit.” To which I replied in a mumbled voice something about it looking good.
What was I going to do? My Ma was going to find out now, and how would I stand the humiliation? I buttoned my pants, and sat down, numbed. Figuring the worst, I was waiting for another inevitable knock on the door expecting to have to explain himself. Maents later, I heard voices in the kitchen, too embarrassed to even try to listen. The voices seemed to go on for a very long time, and I couldn’t imagine what the two women could possibly be discussing for so long a time. I was beating it, and that was all. Presently, I heard the back door open, and someone go out, a car start, and pull out of the drive. Now I’d had it, I was thinking, Kamala’s gone, and my Ma is going to let me have it.