Mississippi Mustee

THE MISSISSIPPI 'MUSTEE'

by Bill Smith

[AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story takes place in Southern

Mississippi and New Orleans in 1842; just 21 years before

the Emancipation Proclamation]

"Masta, Masta," the young black shouted excitedly, "there's one of them there mustees, I think, coming in the gate. Either that, Masta, or they've got a white gentleman all chained and hobbled up just like a black nigger somehow. I'se don't know what to make of it, Masta! You better come out front, Masta, because none of us dumb niggers knows what's to do. I'se can't tell the difference most of the time no how between one of those mustees and a white gentleman, Masta, so you'se better come see for yourself. He's in a coffle with about 18 others, Masta, being led by a Mr. Peterson, that dealer from Jackson we do business with all the time. But I don't see them mustees much, but I suppose Mr. Peterson knows what's he's doing, yes sir, Masta."

The master, Mr. Stopes of the esteemed "Stopes & Carney, Esq., Livestock Dealers", slowly finished his morning coffee, placed the cup back in its saucer, lifted his considerable bulk up out of the office chair, and said, "God Almighty, Ganymede, cut all the damn clatter and stop telling me what to do, you goddamn little nigger bastard. I tell you I'm going to whup your black butt till it bleeds if I catch you telling me what to do one more time. You're getting just too damn uppity for a damn nigger slave that ain't worth what it cost to feed you. Now what's all this about a mustee?"

Ganymede looked somewhat chastised by all the admonishments, but promptly lowered his deeply lashed dark eyes and said, "Masta, there's a slaveboy out in the yard there that looks just like a white man, yessiree, and if he IS a slave and not some white gentleman all chained up or something, then his nigger blood sure doesn't show much, I'se don't believe. Mayhap he be a cross between a quadroon and a white man or something, but he sure don't show much of the nigger in him if he be a slaveboy all right. You'se remember that octoroon wench we sold last Spring to that gentleman up in Alexandria. Well, master, this slaveboy whiter even than her, I swear's." Ganymede made his little speech as contritely as he knew how and hoped he hadn't angered Mr. Stopes more than he seemingly already had. Only last week, Mr. Stopes had had Ol' Jacob give him five lashes on his butt for being too "uppity" which still hadn't healed and caused him to have to sleep on his stomach even yet. Worse, yet, those lashes had been administered in front of all the yard slaves which added to his humiliation, especially since he'd been kept butt naked the rest of the day so it would "get some air on you where you're still bleeding," as Mr. Stopes had said. Another whipping on top of last weeks and Ganymede just didn't know if he could take it or not. There was no way he wanted to get Mr. Stopes all upset with him again, no way. From now on, he was going to be the best little nigger boy Mr. Stopes ever knew in his whole life. No need to whip Ganymede, no need at all.

Mr. Stopes did decide to go down to the yard and when he got down to the coffle Ganymede was talking about, he let out a low whistle between his tobacco-stained lips. "Jesus, Josh," he said looking at Mr. Peterson, the dealer from Jackson, "looks like you all either bleached a nigger white or we've got a white man by mistake or something. Jeez, that nigger sure looks white, if that's what he is - a nigger I mean. I suppose you wouldn't have a white man all coffled like that, smart as you are, Josh."

"Look, Conrad," Mr. Peterson addressed his longtime business associate, "you don't really think I'd chain up a white gentleman now do you. No sir, Conrad, this is a genuine guaranteed mustee from up around the Delta region in central Mississippi. I bought him off some poor old white trash up there - that's the only slave they had to sell - and they wasn't very talkative about where he came from. I suggested to them that he was probably a bastard pup out of some master fiddling around with his octoroon gal or something and ended up near pure white. But eventually the man selling him to me told me it was worse than that. I fed him a little corn likker and he told me he was given to them as a baby about 20 years ago by one of the house slaves up on one of the big plantations up there on the Delta. Turned out, the mistress of the plantation was a fairly young widow woman who'd been fooling around with some of the bucks on the plantation. Seemed she just couldn't keep her hands off them and she didn't seem to give a shit what people would say about it - just sort of kept to herself on that big old plantation and just did what she damned pleased. He said one of her regular bed bucks was a big, strapping octoroon slaveboy she'd bought down here at this very spot. She'd no sooner got him home than she was bedding him down right regular and before too long, she found herself knocked up as big as any wench in the barns. Well, he claimed she tried her best to get rid of it, but all attempts failed, and so she just up and birthed the little bastard who was born as white as the driven snow. But she didn't want to keep it around because it raised too many questions due to its high color and all and she'd been a widow far too long to claim it as her own, so she had her maid give it to us to raise and sell when it got growed. That's what he claimed anyway. A pretty sorry story if you ask me, but that's what happens when our Southern women don't have the protection of men around. And, you know, those slaveboys are always going to despoil any of our pure white woman any chance you give them, yes sir. Sometimes I think we should just castrate the whole bunch of them, horny as they are all the time," and he spit into the ground for emphasis. "At any rate, after looking him over good, I'm sure he's got traces of nigger blood in him, all right, so I bought him from that white trash for a decent price considering the circumstances, and brought him down here with the coffle for you to sell at a big profit if you can find the right situation for a oddity like that."

"What made you believe a cockamamie story like that," Mr. Stokes countered. "I'm sure things like that happen often enough, but usually you just get rid of the git so there's no evidence one way or the other. Why would you give a baby away that could stain your reputation and all? Sounds mighty unlikely to me - especially if the widow were young and rich as you claim."

"I admit I was leery at first, but when you look this one over, I think you'll see the nigger in him, just like I did. But one thing that puzzles me, though" Josh continued, "is that this mustee doesn't seem to have much slave training in him at all. He's always protesting and carrying on like he don't think he's a slave at all. All I can figure out is that white trash just raised him like his own son or something and didn't consider he was a slave by blood and God's destiny."

Conrad snorted and said, "You telling me, Josh, you think this white trash so hard up he's selling his own git after he'd growed 'em and trying to pass his own white git off as a mustee? I've heard tell of it, of course, but it sounds to me like he knew all along this mustee was a slave. Maybe his own git all right, but most likely out of some nigger wench he had ahold of back then or something. My guess is if he didn't own any other slaves than this half-breed bastard he'd bred out of some bitch Negress, he didn't know poop shit about managing a slave proper and just brought him up free willed and wild as an willow. That's the way white trash is. They don't know nothing about breeding and raising livestock or crops or anything else. That's why they're always so damn poor they can't even afford to feed themselves, let along buy them the help they need to get ahead in this world," and Conrad tried to cover Josh's spit with his own on that definitive statement.

"Well, anyway, let's see what you got if you so damn sure you ain't got a white man all chained up here by mistake. Get him shucked down so I can do a proper examination. If he a damn mustee, no telling what stories he'll come up with to throw us off - all that human blood in a mustee makes them clever you know - but it turns devious in a white nigger so you got to watch out for'em all the time, I tell you. Have him gagged while he's being shucked down - I don't want to hear any of his damn white nigger lies while I'm examining him. Just what made you so damn sure, Josh? You just have looked him over good?" and with this Conrad raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"You get up close and you'll see those little tell-tale signs that no nigger can hide," Josh answered. "There's a little hint of kink in that curly blond hair of his and he ain't got much facial hair to speak of - at least not as much as most white men have - and he got's just a trace of yellow in the whites of those big blue eyes so I didn't let that fool me either and although I don't see a trace of nigger in his nose, his lips are quite puffy and pretty big for a white man - a lot bigger than most white men's at least, and his ears are smaller than most white men I know. That was enough proof for me initially, but what really proved it you've got to see for yourself, Conrad."

"Well, we'll see. Nigger blood's hard to cover up, all right, and it seems to be you've been able to see right through all that white blood in him to the nigger he really is," Conrad said in a warm, confirming tone. "But what's all this proof that will convince everyone he's a nigger deep down inside?"

"Come see for yourself," Josh said, and led Conrad back into the unshaded yard where the coffle had stopped but where the slaves now stood shed of what little covering had been on them on their long journey to New Orleans. The mustee was struggling in his chains and trying to yell but he'd been gagged effectively and all you could hear out of him were some muffled shrieks and wild-eyed looks. "See," he said, pointing to the mustee's genitals with their fine light covering of blond hair. "Ever see anything like that on anything but a nigger, Conrad?"

Conrad stared a long time, went up and hefted the sexual apparatus for a better look and after carefully weighing the ball sac and the penis in the palm of his hand, said "By God, Josh, you're dead right about this nigger. No one but a nigger could be hung like that. That nigger blood will show every time, even though this nigger boy could probably pass for a human if it wasn't for this horse dong of his giving it all away. Lord, almighty, just think, Josh, he could cover that monstrosity up with some fancy clothes and pass himself off in decent society as a white man if it hadn't of been for you and I. Thank God we've got him right where he belongs now - at an auction barn for nigger stock. No chance of him passing himself off to decent folk as human now," and he hugged Josh warmly in a gesture of self-congratulation.

The Antebellum South had racism down to a fine art. All slaves were black. Blacks were basically animals, inherently inferior, and needed guidance from their superiors. As animals, blacks best responded to treatment like an animal. Physical, social, and psychological coercion, fear, and constraints were all necessary just as they were for effective management of other livestock such as a mule or donkey. Failure to freely employ these techniques allowed their true slavish nature to emerge and predictable problems such as unrestrained licentiousness, inherent sloth and laziness, and moral depravity inevitably resulted. Slavery, where their lives were controlled by their betters, was actually a blessing for their own best welfare as well as uplifting in their development.

A slave who wasn't black had to be "made" black one way or another to justify his or her slave status. The way to do this was label him a "mustee" which meant, a white black. This would suggest the white had some black in him somehow and therefore justified that white being a slave. A careful search of the slave's physique and physiology usually managed to reveal traces of Negro blood in them. These traits were usually hints of features typical of many blacks such as kinky hair, thick lips, wide flat noses, and "yellowed" eyes. Blacks were also thought to have bigger builds and larger muscular structure than whites which demonstrated their draft animal status. Similarly, blacks were thought to be simple-minded, even childlike, in their mental abilities, not unlike most other domestic animals. Blacks' sexual organs were also thought to be comparatively larger, more comparative to animals such as horses than humans (whites), reflective of their animalistic sexual lust which generally had to be controlled one way or another.

A white possessing any of these features could easily be accused of being a black in disguise and therefore most whites were very careful to flaunt their exclusive white traits at every opportunity and hide those traits that might be associated with blackness. White women avoided the sun at all costs to avoid risking any skin darkening possibilities and face powders and other makeup was always as white as possible. Light colored hair and blue or green eyes, highly unusual among blacks, was seen as the ideal standard and much admired. Among white men, excessive muscular development was avoided, clothing was highly stylized away from practicality, and performing manual labor of any type was left to those "born to it." Wit, verbosity, and a commanding tone in the voice were highly valued traits in that they clearly distinguished the master race from the slave race.

Black behavior was rigidly specified to meet these social expectations. Therefore, small, non-muscular blacks were devalued as "runts" or "defects"; blacks who were articulate or verbose were viewed as "uppity" and "smart-mouthed" and subject to severe but necessary "correction"; and blacks dressed up in white's clothing were seen condescendingly as amusing "dandified pets" or "showpieces" of their masters rather than the practical work animals that resided beneath that fancy clothing. "Bucks," the black males, were viewed as being continually "randy" and in an almost constant state of sexual arousal thereby posing a constant threat to the sanctity of white women. Blacks of both genders were thought to be so wanton and morally depraved that they enjoyed engaging in sex with anybody at any opportunity. These latter traits made the black slaves exceptionally good sexual playmates, rapacious in their reproduction, but dangerous in their licentiousness.

Racism was so embedded, so developed, so perfected in the South of 1842 that it affected the victimized blacks themselves as well as the white masters. Blacks raised in such an environment actually thought that the lighter the skin, the better the person; whites were smarter and brighter than blacks as a rule; blacks were probably much better at manual labor than whites and therefore were probably born to do that; and that blacks enjoyed sex more because they had great interest in it and did it better than their white masters. Believing some of this, blacks often risked imitating whites in speech, clothing, behavior, and even looks. Hair straightening, hair bleaching, highly stylized clothing, and exaggerated articulated speech patterns became almost comical in their imitative efforts and soon became the butt of white's jokes and characterizations which quickly embedded themselves in the rubric of stereotypes.

And white's got trapped in the same environment. Manual labor became despised and the plight of poor white trash who couldn't afford black labor; exclusive white characteristics became idealized along with white society's own cherished concepts of moral righteousness; white religion molded itself to support and uphold white superiority as God-given and divinely inspired; and the legal system, controlled entirely by whites, encapsulated all of these beliefs into a legal code which was designed to keep things just like they were and ward off any potential threats to the status quo of black slavery.

The story told that my dad had sold me to a dealer had it right for the main part. I was his offspring out of a octoroon slave woman he'd owned back then and he had raised me with the idea of selling me once I was full grown. Which is exactly what he did when a itinerant slave dealer showed up a few weeks ago. It was also true he was poor white trash just like they said and didn't know squat about raising slave stock since the only slave he ever had was the woman who had birthed me and she'd been sold off to raise cash shortly thereafter. Therefore, I knew practically nothing about how to be slave, let alone a "proper slave" they keep talking about, although I'm beginning to get the idea what with the constant beatings, humiliations, and physical and sexual abuse I've been getting since I was sold.

The very first night after I'd been sold, that dealer stripped me, chained me up to a nearby tree and then proceeded to rape me right there out in the woods where he had camped his coffee of slaves he picked up at one farm or another over the past few weeks. The rape, my first real sexual experience not of my choosing, was traumatic enough; the humiliation of being sexually used right in front of all the other slaves was equally traumatic at that innocent time of my life. Little could I anticipate then in those virginal days what lay ahead of me!"

But that original dealer had second thoughts on his new purchase the next morning and decided it might be real hard to sell me without a lot of questions being asked since I looked to be pure white for all practical purposes. The more he thought about it, comparing to the others in his coffle, he more he decided he better sell me off the first chance he got before people started accusing him of kidnapping or abducting whites despite the ownership papers he had on me signed by my own previous owner - my own father. Perhaps the father had sold him his pure white son to raise some ready cash. He decided he'd overstepped his bounds in acquiring this boy who looked too white to be a nigger slaver - it would probably be more trouble in the long run than the quick profits he originally anticipated.

The next day the coffle arrived in Natchez and I found myself chained to the wall of a barn of a Natchex slave dealer stark nude awaiting his inspection. Within a hour, a rather corpulent middle-aged man with a seedy unshaven appearance shuffled through the barn door with the dealer who had raped me and went straight toward me. "I just don't know, Jebediah, what you got with this here new purchase of yours, but if it be what you say, we'll get him off your hands faster than a pig shits its supper", laughing at his little metaphor but adding, "of course, the value goes down considerably when a nigger ain't got proper papers or maybe isn't a nigger at all!"

"Well, I'll be damn, Jebediah," this new personage exclaimed, "why he's as white as you or me. You ain't trying to sell a white man to me, are you Jebediah?" and he laughed at the absurdity of it all. "That's one of the whitest damn niggers I've see in a while, although I've seen several down in New Orleans that could pass if you didn't look'em over careful like."

"I'll need to finger him, Jebediah, so I can look him over proper," the new personage announced as he grabbed my genitals and pulled them toward him. "Boy, get those legs far apart as possible so I can see what you've got here," he barked. But I'd heard enough of this nonsense and just spit at him in total disgust. Without saying a word, he calmly took a buggy whip off the barn wall, uncurled it slowly and with careful aim lashed out at my naked torso. The pain was unbelievable - I could only describe it as white hot - and all I could do was gasp as my breath was simply knocked out of me. I thought I would faint, but the pain was too great. Then I felt it - blood flowing down my back and a burning feeling that nauseated me so badly I began retching. By that time, the second stroke hit and I reeled under the shock. The third blow and I was out.

I sputtered under the cold water thrown on me to hear "I'll say one thing about mustees I've noticed over the years - they just don't have much stamina - too fine- blooded and sissified I guess - a little bit of pain and they're gone. Yessiree, no stamina at all like you see in those big coal black bozals that they use down in the sugar fields. Why hell, you can beat on them all day and it just raises their appetite - doesn't seem to hurt'em a bit - damn good for 'em if the truth was known - keeps what little minds they got on what they're supposed to be doing - keeps 'em out of trouble too," he added sagaciously.

"Now, Jebediah, we'll look this boy over like I started to do" he said with one of the coldest glares I'd ever seen. Jebediah shoved me forward. "Well, look at that, Jeb. I've never seen the like - yessiree - this boy must have been owned by a Frenchie or Creole - probably kept him as a pet or something judging by the size of this," and he hefted my genitals in his palm to weight them.

As Jeb explained my origins, Mr. Peterson moved his hand to my penis and started stroking me until, despite my humiliation at responding so readily to him, I was at full erection.. He then looked me over good in every pore of my body. I can't explain why I didn't fight more at the insult of his examination. But I think my back hurt so bad I wasn't up to any fight whatsoever until the pain subsided. To tell you the truth, I don't know what he did or didn't look at or examine - I was just totally out of it right then. All I heard was, "Jebediah, you were right - there here's clearly a mustee, all right - look at that little bit of yellow around those blue pupils - that nigger blood shows every time. And look at that blond hair curling up at the ends - that's the kinky hair coming out. See those thick lips - oh, they're not nigger lips - but that thickness is due to some ancestor from Africa a long time ago and he can't hide that, now can he? But what convinces me you're dead right about him being a mustee is all that equipment he's sporting down there between his legs. No white man's hung like that! Why he's pure nigger down there and there's no way he can hide that fact when you see him big as a bull down there even though it appears as white as yours and mine. Might even add to his value if we find the right buyer and all," he added speculatively unconsciously smacking his lips.

Without further ado, I was sold to Mr. Peterson, my 'owner' for the next three weeks on the way to New Orleans. Sure enough, some papers were manufactured for me stating I had been bought from a Mr. Jebediah Smith of Mississippi and had been born on his property to his octoroon wench, Sadie, with sire unknown, but presumed white. Mr. Paterson read me the description of stated property on my bill of sale: "Mustee male, probably in early 20's, tall and muscular with good strong physique, sound health, and attractive looks. Unusual blond hair and blue eyes denoting some human blood. Could benefit from strong discipline and further training. Should consider as stylish majordomo, butler, or coachman. Potential stud for light-skinned offspring if desired. Seller guarantees sound body, sufficient wit, and freedom from recurring diseases to the best of his knowledge." So my life was summarized in one paragraph.

I can't describe the horror of the forced walk to New Orleans. It was marked by ankle chains chaffing me until I was usually bleeding half the time, a bullwhip cracking over my back and shoulders until they were black and blue with bruises, a chronic feeling of hunger and pain, and depression so intense I just stopped thinking after a while and shuffled along with the others. I was filthy most of the time, unshaven, and had my own waste all over the ragged pair of pants they'd issued each of the slaves for the trip. When we finally got to the slave pens in New Orleans I was actually glad. At last I might be able to get clean, get some rest, and avoid the constant 'touching ups' from the bullwhip that accompanied my every step. To add to my misery, my white skin burned badly under its constant exposure to the unrelenting Southern sun and I had even blistered in some spots before I began to darken up a little.

The sale was scheduled shortly after we arrived, so the very next day after we got to New Orleans, some potential buyers began to look us over prior to the 'venue' as the slave auction was politely called. Once in the holding pens, all clothing, even my shoes, were taken away and with each customer's 'inspection', we were expected to spread our legs, put our arms in back of our heads, tense our muscles, and passively submit to their pawing, probing, and fondling of our naked bodies. Most of the slaves hated this as much as I did, but they just gritted their teeth and endured. Those buyers checked everything: number of teeth, size and strength of your muscles, your skin condition, your bone structure, the condition of your feet, whether you were ruptured or not, and freedom from piles. Everyone under 40 was also carefully evaluated as potential broods and sires since domestic slave breeding was all important now that the importation of slaves had been outlawed by the damn Yankees for over 20 years now. For the women, this meant special humiliations such as the examination of the condition of their nipples and vagina along with inspection of the stretching of their belly skin in previous pregnancies. And this meant the men were repeatedly tested in how fast they became erect when stimulated and minutely evaluated as to the size and firmness of their genitals once they were excited.

At first, I marveled at the slave's unending patience at these horrendous violations of their privacy as well as their bodies, but it never occurred to me the same would be expected when it was my turn. Well, my turn came fast enough and when I promptly rebelled, that whip came down so fast and hard on me I was knocked unconscious. The next time I was up for inspection, I was as passive and spiritless as they were but coped by just not thinking, period. At least, there was no more pain from the whip.

The auction came the very next day and I was exhausted by the forced march, the poor food, the lack of rest, but mostly the humiliations and shame from yesterday's endless 'inspections'. I swear some of those people were just there to get their jollies at our expense in that the liberties taken with our bodies were just too much. And the idea of males and female slaves being together the whole time while this was going on was more than I could bear. I foolishly looked forward to the auction just to get out of this hell. I thought nothing could be worse.

Well, I was wrong again. The auction was worse. I thought they would at least give us some pants to wear since the auction was public, but when I was whipped up on that block stark naked with my hands chained behind my back, turned around for all to see like a piece of meat, and heard the auctioneer describe my bodily assets with a leer in his voice as he tried to paw me into an erection right there in front of everyone, I felt like I was going to faint throughout the process.

"Here's a guaranteed mustee," the auctioneer shouted to the excited crowd. Born from an octoroon mother and a white father, he's probably just 1/16th negro blood - enough to make him biddable, but human enough to make him a most unusual slave for the right owner. But his musculature, his size, and especially his equipment proves his background. Look at his manhood, genetlemen, and tell me if you've ever seen anything like that on anything but a black slave. Just proves the rarity this boy is - a purentee white nigger."

At one point, as my bid price grew higher and higher, one of the potential buyers asked to inspect me again. I was jerked off the block into a little side anteroom and when the customer entered, I was not just handled, but fondled until my shame dizzied me and I simply fainted. God knows what happened after that!

Some water was thrown on me and I staggered back up to the auction block (at least I noticed I was flaccid now) to the general speculation and amusement on the part of the crowd as to what went on in that little room. With a smirk on his face and a knowing wink, the auctioneer explained my fainting spell was due to excessive shyness due to a pampered background and the delicate nature often present in mustees due to their high content of human blood. The crowd roared in appreciation of his wit and humor.

I must have sold for a lot of money, because when the gavel came down there was a lot of talk and the buyer was given considerable applause as he came forward to pay for the merchandise. It was the same guy who'd handled me so intimately in the private inspection room only minutes ago.

"Don't wear that mustee out too fast, Mr. LaFitte," one dandy in his late twenties shouted over the crowd. "After you get him trained to your liking, you may tire of his charms eventually - that's when I'm counting on you to give me first bid on that buck," the dandy continued, "that is, if he can still get it up when you're through with him," and the man burst into gales of laughter with the rest of the crowd.

"That boy's gonna get rid just like a horse - three or four times a day where'all he's going," another man commented loudly, "and the rest of the time, he'll either be studdin' or nursin' at a big one, I'll wager." This comment brought gales of laughter with a lot of knowing looks.

"He'll need that nigger blood in him just to endure all the using he's going to get - knowing Mr. LaFitte's interest in the best use of good-looking slaveboys," another swaggering young planter sneered.

My manacles were undone so I could put on a pair of ill-fitting pants they threw at me, led out of the sales hall, tied to the back of his carriage, and forced to run through the streets of New Orleans for a mile or so until we abruptly stopped in front of a huge well-tended mansion. I was led around to the back door and, after delivering me to a huge black butler, my buyer turned and left.

The huge black told me he was my boss for now and he didn't want "no trouble or you'al will feel the whip till you can't walk no how." He was so big I wouldn't consider giving him trouble and meekly nodded. He immediately had me bathe right there in the kitchen, rubbed my body with some oils scented with sandalwood, and shaved me before ceremoniously holding his nose and throwing my pants into the fireplace. He then locked a heavy, but well fitted iron collar around my neck explaining I'd have to wear this collar so people would know I was a slave, being so white and all. Otherwise people might get confused and I'd pay for that dearly, so I was a lot better off with that collar in place in his opinion - for everyone's sake, including mine.

He didn't give me anything to wear before he led me out of the kitchen and up some grand stairs into a large sitting room on the second floor. I blushed with embarrassment and tried to cover myself, but he just laughed and said I'd get used to that soon enough.

When we first entered the room I didn't notice the young man sitting over by the window until it was too late. When I saw him, I turned fifty shades of red and tried to hide behind some furniture, but he just gently laughed at my plight.

"Oh, I see Monsieur LaFitte has bought me a shy one," he said rather lightly to the butler, "but he's certainly good looking and light-skinned. If he's as good in his duties as we expect, Mr. LaFitte may have earned himself a bonus this time around."

"Juno, get that slave up here where I can look him over," he directed his butler. "Lord knows he probably cost enough what with Mr. LaFitte's commission and all."

Instantly, Juno grabbed me, pinioned my hands behind me, and with his huge strength, easily pushed me right in front of the handsome young master, holding me rigid for this inspection of his new property.

"Oh! He's most promising and he's already clipped," he exclaimed as he blatantly and unembarrassingly grabbed my genitals. "Now let's just see what we can produce here," he said softly as he began to vigorously stroke me with one hand while gently massaging my balls with the other hand. "Monsieur LaFitte promised me he'd buy me a big one this time. He's always complaining that heavy-hung mustees are hard to find these days. But if anyone could find one, it would be Monsieur LaFitte, who seems to always have practically a harem of them in his own house."

I found the situation so unbelievable, I didn't know how to react due to my own shock and just stood there dumbfounded. A man no older than myself nonchalantly stroking away on a naked man's genitals right in broad daylight in his drawing room? And all the while, discussing 'heavy-hung mustees' and 'harems' as if one were discussing the weather or the beauty of fall foliage? To me, this was some sort of dark fantasy - it couldn't be for real. My upbringing had never prepared me for anything like this! Maybe I was just a hopeless country bumpkin!

Despite my shock, my genitals were responding as if they had a life of their own which embarrassed me all the more. "Oh, Juno, I think we may have something worth keeping after all," he said as he increased the tempo of his efforts. "But he is a shy one, isn't he? Look at that blush - if he gets any redder, he'd turn into an Indian," and he laughed softly at his little joke. "That's the trouble with someone as black as you are, Juno. I never know how you react to all these situations unless you're stripped down and I can check where you can't hide it. That's a good reason to keep you out of those silly butler togs as often as we can," and he chuckled as he fondly exchanged knowing looks with his butler. "If this one keeps growing, he's going to be a serious rival, Juno!"

"What's the last time you spurted, boy?" he asked as I shamefully quickly responded to his manipulations.

I stared at him and shook my head because I didn't know what he was talking about. I'm not sure I could have talked anyway I was so shocked by what was happening.

"Answer up, boy. He's talking about your juices. When did you last shoot out your juices?" Juno prompted with a sharp jerk on my pinioned arms.

"That man - that man that brought me here - the man that bought me - he, he took me in this little room before I was finally sold- and he started handling me - and I, I - I couldn't help it after a while," and I began to cry. I couldn't stop sobbing. This was just too much for anyone, I thought.

Juno sort of kneed me and I added, "This morning - this morning was the last time," and I cried all the harder realizing my own shame and embarrassment in this horrid situation.

"So Monsieur LaFitte had his fun with you, did he?" the handsome young man laughed oblivious to my misery. "It won't be the last time probably, if I know him, but next time he'll expect a lot more than you just juicing off for him," and he laughed even harder at the thought of it.

"Well, look what we have here, even with you wallowing around crying and all. You're a big one, all right, about as bright-colored as a nigger ever gets, and with some proper training you'll probably be just what we need around this place, eh, Juno?" as he increased his manipulations of me. "He's getting it up right proper like considering he's been milked not too long ago and all."

"Well, no use wasting his juices again," he announced as he let loose of me. "Juno, I'm putting you in charge of this one for some proper training - he's as unschooled as any slave I've seen lately. I want you to turn him into a proper fancy - you know what I mean - a slaveboy who knows what's expected of him and is eager to do it whenever he's called on. You understand, Juno?"

"Yes, master. We'll get this mustee trained all proper like in short order. Juno will make sure Master isn't going to be unhappy with this one."

"Well, here's what we'll do, Juno," he started in with a bemused little glint in his eye. "No use hiding something as pretty as this under a bundle of blond hair," he said as he hefted my genitals again in his hand. "Get him shaved all over down there until he's smooth as a baby's butt. And pluck those hairs out of his sac while you're at it - I want these balls smooth with no hairs getting in the way of anything." He let loose of me again but stood to run his hand over my chest. "See these hairs around his tits, Juno?" he asked. "Pluck them out. I want no hair up there if I'm going to suck on them once in a while. The rest of the front of him is already nice and smooth - I like these blond boys that aren't covered with a bunch of fur like some of the mustees I've seen. Now turn him around. I want to look him over good." Juno whirled me around and this time pinioned my arms from the front. "Good, no hair on his back, but his butt has a little. Shave him back there and make sure there's no stubble when I feel that butt. I like my boys bubble butted and baby smooth!" laughing at his own comments. "You can leave the hair under his arms and on his legs and arms - that doesn't bother me and look how nice and blond it is - sort of makes him sparkle like when you put him in the sun."

"You show him how to keep himself that way, too, Juno, while you're doing it. No use you always taking care of him like he was an invalid or something. He can just learn to shave himself in the future and keep himself presentable for me."

"Juno, you make sure he understands what he's here for and what we expect out of a fancy like himself. He might as well learn right now that high priced mustees like him have to earn their keep doing what's expected with no sass, no back talk, no reluctance, and no playing sick. Fancies like him have got to learn to be interested all the time, no matter what. And you make sure this boy understands what's going to happen if he doesn't work out exactly like we have planned for him. What I'd do, to start out right, is tell this boy what he was bought to do and what's he expected to do around here in the future. Then give him a thorough beating he won't soon forget so he fully understands what will happen if he doesn't fully cooperate at all times. Mind you don't break his skin, though, when you're training him this way. Then take him down to one of the cages in the basement, manacle him with his hands behind his back so he can't play around with himself, and let him sit there and reflect on how he can best meet his duties but no food and water for 48 hours. That'll show him again who's in charge here and what he has to look forward to if he doesn't fully cooperate as our new fancy boy. After that, shave him like I told you and polish him up with some of that perfumed body oil I got down at the Square the other day. Then send him up to me and we'll see how he works out. You might tell him that he's not only got to meet my fancy, but he's obligated to met the fancy of some of my friends too as we meet together from time to time and swap our boys around now and then. And you might as well tell him right now about loaning him out to Monsieur LaFitte now and then for some more intense training he'll need as time goes by to meet the needs of some of my friends who like to play rough. And tell him about loaning him out to some of my lady friends now and then. No use him thinking he's going to play preferences or anything - he might as well learn right now that slaves don't have preferences - they do what they are told to do and that's that."

"Juno, if he's not naturally inclined to meet my needs in bed, you might assure him you don't seem to be either, at least you weren't when I first bought you, and yet you manage fine with me and my men friends and it doesn't seem to spoil you at all for the enjoyment of the ladies I loan you out to. It won't hurt him anyway - might be good for him in the long run - it'll sure teach him to be more useful as a fancy boy and that's the big market for handsome young mustees."

"And get him the livery he'll need as one of my coachmen. But let him know he'll not be wearing those fancy togs in this house - that's just for show when we're traveling around town. He might as well learn now that fancy boys are either dressed to the hilt in the grandest outfits around or are butt naked. There's no in-between for - especially good-looking high-priced mustees like him."

"And you might as well let him know right up front that if he doesn't like all this, well, that's just too bad. But any willfulness on his part and he'll find himself sold over to Monsieur LaFitte so fast he won't know what happened. And Monsieur LaFitte, as you well know, can break a boy down to his will in short order in that basement of his."

I literally felt Juno shudder on this last announcement so the basement scene was indelibly etched in my memory as a horror chamber of some type.

"Look, boy," and he looked at me threateningly, "fancies often get cut when they don't cooperate to the very best of their abilities. It makes them safe around anybody's house and there's never a question of respectability when you've had your male servants altered. So you think how you'd like to be castrated like a lot of other domestic animals before you ever start objecting to anything asked of you," he said darkly. "That's what you are here in New Orleans - just a domestic animal. But you'll not be treated nearly as well as the lowest animal if you don't respect my wishes to the hilt!"

With that, he waved Juno and I away, but added as we were leaving, "Juno, as soon as you give him that lesson with the whip and get him in his cage down in the basement, you get cleaned up proper and come on back up here and bring Celia with you. I've gotten all excited with this new fancy and all. Maybe you two can put on an amusing little show for me this afternoon if nothing else."

"Yes 'em," Juno responded. "I'll be up just as soon as I finish up." I couldn't tell by his tone whether he looked forward to this, was just neutral about it, or dreaded it. There was no indication in his response.

The minute we were back in the kitchen, Juno started explaining things to me. Although exceedingly handsome "fancy boys" had been around for decades in New Orleans, the latest trend was to get them as light-skinned as possible, so most of them nowadays were either mustees like me or at least quadroons. "Fancies" had a variety of uses around the elegant homes able to afford them. They served as expensive ornaments to be shown off by their owners as status symbols in which case they usually ended up as coachmen, ladies-in-waiting, drivers, waitresses, majordomos, butlers, maids, or valets - wherever they'd be readily seen and often envied. But most fancies had less visible duties also levied on them in sensual New Orleans. Picked for their appeal and exotic good looks, most also served as bed mates for their owners. Exceptionally well built and handsome male slaves who were well equipped, as well as phenomenally beautiful females, were eagerly sought out as concubines, always ready and totally compliant to their owner's wishes. Males became popular among widows, neglected but daring wives, and rich divorcees. But the largest market for male fancies was with rich male owners who could afford to indulge their natural proclivities with no fear of public sanction as well as wealthy males who could afford to fully explore every whim in all avenues of sensuality and pleasure despite their natural proclivities one way or the other. Still other moneyed males bought up male fancies just to use them to shock people's sensibilities with their own outrageousness or, even more likely, to get a feeling of power only inherent in the total and complete control of another man's body.

Mr. LaFitte had purchased me acting as an agent for his close friend, the Frenchman upstairs whose extremely wealthy father had left him with no worries for money ever. The Master, as even Mr. LaFitte called him, could pretty well do what he wanted due to his great wealth, including flaunting what few restrictions the French of New Orleans placed on anyone's behavior. Therefore, he didn't hide the fact he kept fancies of both sexes around for his amusement, and even shared them with his intimate friends as the mood struck him. Mr. LaFitte had purchased me, though, in that men of the highest social class (as the Master was) attending a slave auction, with inspection of the livestock and the ribald talk about the slaves that went on there, was considered poor taste and generally beneath them. Mr. LaFitte, of a lower social standing, would certainly know what to look for in that he himself kept a whole stable of fancies, mostly but not exclusively male, over at his own house which he not only used himself but frequently loaned out, usually for a substantial fee of course, to his friends which caused a great deal of talk about town much to his delight and amusement.

Although I'd soon be outfitted with a coachman's togs, I would only wear those when the Master went out in his carriage complete with his coachmen: Juno explained as the head man he would serve as the driver, and the other slaveboys would fill in as an assistant driver, a "horseman" whose duties would be to ride the lead horse, and two footmen riding in the rear for a total entourage of five. All of the other slaveboys were fancies too although I'd be the only mustee. Juno, our supervisor, was black; two were octoroons and the other was a quadroon; but all of them, like myself, were mainly kept around for their "other duties". Like those other men, when I was in the house, I would usually be kept nude unless the Master was expecting guests he didn't know well in which case I'd have to wear my coachman outfit because it wasn't worth bothering to get me other clothes. The only other fancy around was Celia, a light-skinned female beauty who did most of the cooking, helped Juno supervise the men in their cleaning of the house, and participated in the little "tableaus" the Master liked to stage with his fancy boys in the upstairs salon for his own and others' entertainment.

"You've already heard how the Master wants you body shaved and all and I'll train you in that area when I shave you the first time. You pay attention, because from then on you'll need to keep your body exactly as Master wants it. Once we get you trained and looking pretty, you make damn sure you always do exactly what the Master or his friends want and you be perky about it. As you heard yourself, any hesitation or lack of enthusiasm on your part and you'll find yourself over in Mr. LaFitte's basement being trained, and believe you me, you'd rather die than go through that. He's a mean bastard if I do say so myself, but there ain't nothing I can do about it," he said with a deep sigh.

"Now when he calls you up to his rooms, he expects you to show you're happy to be there and ready to go if you know what I mean," Juno continued. So you practice a little on getting it up and keeping it up - that's expected of fancy boys. It shows Master you're willing and interested and that's what he expects at all times. I don't ever want to hear of you getting yourself off without permission. What you got you save for the Master. That'll do more than anything to keep you interested and able when the time comes. You belong to him now, boy, and don't you forget it. And I don't want you fooling around with the other boys or Celia either. You keep your hands off of them - you're here to serve the Master and the Master alone - not get your own pleasure. If those other boys or even Celia try to tempt you or get you cornered or something, you let me know about it and I'll handle them myself. Naturally, they're a randy lot - that's why they're here - but don't you go wasting your juices on the likes of them or you'll end up in that basement I was telling you about. What juices you've got's for Master's use - don't forget that."

"No matter what Master asks you to do, you just do it. If you don't know what to do, you just do the best you can and ask me about it later. A pretty boy like you must have some experience under his belt by now so you just do what comes natural and what you know men like. But Master expects a lot and you may not know how to do everything he wants exactly how he wants it done. You can ask him what he wants if you really don't know and you're really sincere about learning, but mainly you just do what you're asked to do the best you can and ask me about it later. You been with a lot of men?" he asked.

"No," I answered with some finality.

"You sure?" Juno prodded.

I blushed. "Well, the dealer that first bought me raped me the first night he had me."

"That's all?" Juno responded incredulously.

"Yes," I replied with a cold look and Juno seemed to believe me, but was shaking his head.

"Well, what about women then?" Juno continued

"Not really," I answered.

"Well, how many then? You're no virgin I'd wager - not looking like you do."

"Well, no," I admitted. "I've been with about four women I guess at least once." And then I remembered my experiences with some slave girls that used to sneak out from a plantation nearby. "Well, maybe about 10 women, altogether. Two or three of them I was with several different times," I added hopefully.

"Jesus," he snorted, "you might as well be a virgin. Who in the hell owned you anyway? Some dried up old woman or what? Talk about a waste. Shit, boy, you're going to grow up in this house, believe me, and I bet you love every minute of it. Hell, you look like a natural from what I saw upstairs."

"Those women you serviced. Were they the venturesome kind?" Juno asked. "What'd you do with them once they got you into their bed?"

It was obvious Juno couldn't even imagine a situation where you didn't "service" someone or you weren't ordered into someone's bed. "Well, I made love to them, that's all," I explained rather feebly.

"Well, well. A romantic if I ever heard of one. Making love, eh? Well, that's a good start, anyway. But you're expected to do more than 'make love', boy. You're expected to bring your owners the greatest pleasure they ever had - time after time without fail - and if you call that making love fine, but it's not love to them - it's getting their pleasures in all ways possible. That's what it's all about now."

"As little experience with men as you've had, you must have been owned by some old man who only liked girls or didn't have any idea at all of how to use slaveboys or was over the hill. That's not going to help you out either upstairs with the Master or when Monsieur LaFitte borrows you now and then. You've got a lot to learn, boy, and you're going to have to learn fast. That tiny bit of experience with some slave girls will help you out a little maybe when the Master loans you out to some of his lady friends now and then, but you have a lot to learn in that area too. There's a big difference between servicing one of the Master's lady friends and fucking a slave girl, believe you me. The expectations are entirely different. From now on, you're there to service, not get your jollies. Oh well, you'll learn soon enough. It was going to happen sooner or later. It's hard for a pretty well-built boy like yourself to avoid the attention of rich men intent on exploring all the pleasures," he added understandably with a wink.

"No man's ever owned me," I retorted angrily, "let alone for that!"

"Well," Juno chuckled, "they sure as hell do now."

But his tone changed dramatically as he said coldly, "Grow up, slaveboy. Just because you weren't used up to now will only work to your disadvantage now that you've been bought as a fancyboy. You're mighty expensive to just have sitting around playing with yourself," and he looked at me as if he was sure I was lying about my previous experiences. "Well, you can lie to me if you want, boy, but it won't do you no good. But if you're telling the truth - just by chance - you've got a lot to learn before you're going to make the Master happy or get loaned out to his friends. If you don't learn quick, you'll really come back in a state of shock, believe me. But broken in once and for all, if I know the Master and Monsieur LaFitte and all their friends." Juno looked so disgusted with me I felt sick with apprehension.

"You're a damn virgin for all practical purposes," Juno said with contempt. "With some of the master's friends, and especially Monsieur LaFitte, you'd be just what they're looking for and they'll wear you out in no time at all, believe you me," and he laughed uproariously at the thought of it. "And those lady friends he'd loan you out to - they eat virgin boys alive. You better keep that to yourself or they'd wear it right off of you, yessiree," and he went into another fit of laughter.

"Well, let's see. Where's that whip that won't scar you up? Oh yes, here it is," he said as he grabbed a whip off the wall rack that had several menacing wide leather straps attached to its stocky handle. "Get yourself down to the basement where I can get you shackled up for the whipping. I ain't got all day, you know. Master will get real mad if Celia and I aren't up there to amuse him within the hour. And I've got to wash up after training you a bit."

With that, he shoved me down to the basement, fastened me to the wall so my backside faced him, and, without further explanation, proceeded to "train" me with the whip. My screams ended in whimpering little sobs after a while and I just slumped in the manacles unable to move after a short while. After that I must have passed out, because when I came to I was in this little cage cramped up where I couldn't stand up, stretch out, or lie down flat. All I could feel was white hot pain in my back and rump muscles, a gnawing hunger and raw thirst. It was a misery I'd never ever experienced before and it was a real lesson before it was over. I resolved to never, never question anything again and to just do what I was told REGARDLESS - anything to avoid this ever again. The training was a real success, I thought ironically.

Two days later, I was released, cleaned up, shaved everywhere as ordered, and properly oiled, groomed, and made presentable for the Master upstairs. Juno made sure I understood all this was to be my responsibility from now on and I paid careful attention to what was necessary, including such trials as shaving my ass cheeks with a mirror, plucking stray hairs out of my tits and balls, and other challenges.

Next, I was fitted with the coachman's outfit the Master had personally designed for all of us: skin-tight indigo blue cotton tights that laced up the crotch which were fitted so low on the hips the top came to three inches below my navel, a white pullover shirt made up of a tight fishnet material that allowed total viewing of your upper torso, shiny black patent leather boots and a indigo blue headband which kept my hair neat. The entire outfit was revealing I felt even more naked than I did in the house, probably because I was obviously "on display" in this outfit, especially since the white laces over the crotch contrasted so with the dark indigo tights that people's eyes were drawn to the clearly defined budge in that area. With the iron collar around my neck, the fact I was someone's possession was plain for all to see and the outrageous costume seemed to publicly announce that possession's main purpose.

But the outfit was only to be used when we were outside the mansion and Juno taught me how to properly fold and store the outfit as soon as he was satisfied with the fit. Juno reminded me once again that my shaved body was to be fully displayed at all times I was in the house or on loan to one of the Master's friends.

Then it was upstairs with me and a reintroduction to my new owner. When I arrived, he called me to him and began playing with me right away until I got erect. I never moved while he was doing this, but kept my legs spread apart and my pelvis thrust out as he instructed. He then had me remove his clothing and led me over to his bed. I did everything he asked without question and tried to please him with my gentleness and interest in his pleasure as Juno had strongly suggested. He told me to hold it in until he granted me permission to cum or I'd be sorry, and even though this was one of the hardest things to do I'd ever attempted, I did manage it using every trick I knew of (and some Juno had shared with me on the way up to the drawing room) and when my master told me I could "get off" at last I sighed out of pure gratitude and had the most copious discharge I'd ever experienced in my whole sheltered life by a long shot.

Then he called Juno up to the room and said, "Juno, he cooperated well enough, but he doesn't seem to know how to please a man. He gagged and carried on like he was going to choke when I had him suck me off and when I fucked him, he squirmed around and groaned like it was the first time ever - why, hell, Juno, he didn't even use his ass muscles to milk me when I screwed him. Tell you what, Juno," he continued with a sigh, "I'm giving you special permission to beat this boy every night just like you did two night's ago so he'll learn his place and then I want you to fuck him good so he'll loosen up some and learn to use that ass of his to start bringing some pleasure to people in this world. And then I want you stuffing that black monster of yours all the way down his throat and you get him to swallow that thing all the way down while he's sucking his heart out. And you make sure he swallows every last drop, you hear, Juno?". Then, while he's digesting your cum, you lock him up in that cage in the basement so he can reflect on how to best serve his master. Just for two weeks, mine you, to sort of give him some good training. And, Juno, while I'm thinking of it, you have Apollo and Adonis and Buck stuff it down his throat and up his ass while we're at it - but those boys aren't going to be allowed to shoot off while they're using him - just you - that's all the cum we can waste around this place," he laughed, "but just for two weeks, that should be enough to get him trained proper like."

He looked threateningly at me and said, "you pay attention to learning how to please a man proper. If that training with the other boys doesn't do it, I'll sell you to one of those brothels over by the river port where you'll be fucked so hard around the clock by every old bastard with a nickel to spare you'll barely be able to walk ever again."

With that, he played with both Juno and I until we were both erect and dripping and then sent us back downstairs where Juno was to send up another one of the coachmen, an astonishingly handsome quadroon named Buck.

Buck had been property of the Master for several years now and knew exactly how to stay in his favor. As a result, he taught me a lot in his spare time, especially since Master frequently loaned Buck out to a lot of his men friends and a few of his lady friends in return for a special favor, as a birthday present, or just to alleviate their boredom. So Buck had a lot of experience with a wide variety of men and quite a few rich women as well and could wise me up on what fancy boys were expected to do to survive in this world where fancies earned their keep as instruments of pure pleasure.

The other two fancy boys in the house, besides Juno, were octoroons and almost as white as myself. Apollo and Adonis, as they had been named when they were sold as "fancy boys" had been in Master's service now for about ten years but were still relatively young since he bought them when they were 16 or so. Nevertheless, they were beginning to show their age and boredom just a little and weren't quite as enthusiastic about their duties as Buck was in my opinion. But they were smooth when it came to "servicing" Master and his friends. There wasn't anything in this world those boys didn't know how to do and do well when it came to servicing, and that extended over into the trips to Monsieur LaFitte's also. Their main concern was what was going to happen to them when they got too old to please their owner. I realized this was the plight of every fancy (and really every slave) when you got right down to it. All you could hope for was that you'd get eased out into "regular" domestic service which I assume most of them were eventually. Whenever I talked to them, I couldn't help notice their casual, non-evaluative way of reflecting on their duties as bought chattel - I wondered how long it'd be before I was just like them.

After my two week "training period" was over and not only Juno, but Buck, Apollo, and Adonis had all used me over and over as the Master had ordered, my life settled down into a routine. At least one daily call up to the Master for his pleasure; sometimes twice a day. Sometimes with Celia while the Master watched or even directed on occasion. Sometimes with one of the other fancy boys in the same bed with us. And occasionally loaned out to one of his friends as a gift who generally used me pretty hard until I'd be sent back to Master's completely exhausted. Several times, I simply couldn't "get it up" when he wanted me after some of these loans, so he got in the habit of giving me eight hours relief after the visits before he asked for me which pretty well solved the problem. I'd been loaned out to Monsieur LaFitte twice, but thank God each time he simply fondled me until I ejaculated just like back at the auction house and then let me just watch the others in action until he had me suck him and a few of his friends off and I was sent back. Of course, his demands could change at any time.

One time, while I was servicing the Master and one of his friends simultaneously, the friend asked if he could borrow me to 'serve stud' for a few of his 'broods in heat'. "Be doing all of us a favor," the friend expounded. "Using a light-skinned stud like this would help brighten the breed," and we can start with three wenches I got need to get knocked up - been over five months now since they popped their last suckers. Pay you a sizable stud fee, of course, once they take."

The next day I was delivered to the friend's estate and within five minutes was stripped and shown into his drawing room with the three wenches he's selected for studding. I waited for him to leave, but he said he was staying for the show and so I started in on my assignment with the shivering girls, none older than their late teens, who, judging from their extensive stretch marks, had already been through this "successfully" several times before. Several days later, after many directed breedings, I was returned to the Master without comment or even knowing the girl's names. I suppose they were pregnant because I didn't go back there and Juno told me the Master got a big "stud fee" for my services.

Even his women friends bought me for stud rather than just pleasuring sometimes. One lady had me sent over to her house to service three of the female slaves in her house who were kept constantly pregnant. Like the masters I'd been lent to, she stayed right there while I performed my duties, urging me on and even directing me at times. With her first maid, I drove into her as far as I could when I orgasmed. Just then, I felt a cold pair of hands on my balls squeezing. "Empty it all, stud, empty those balls until they're completely dry," the mistress directed as she squeezed. I did, of course, but she had me do all three in a row, so I don't imagine the last two got too much out of me on that first round anyway.

Since the importation of new slaves from outside the South was outlawed, slaveowners' biggest source of profit came from successful slavebreeding and consequently slave women were kept pregnant throughout their childbearing years by a succession of carefully selected slave studs put to the task of improving the breed through lightening, more musculature, more stamina, more size, and more good looks. This meant only the male slaves epitomizing these qualities were allowed to breed and they were utilized heavily. Consequently, slave studs were invariably light-skinned, big boned, very muscular, extremely handsome, and very heavy hung. It was hoped that within two generations slave stock would be dramatically improved through these breeding schemes. Upon birth, the results of these breeding efforts were separated from their broods, shipped off to the plantation nurseries where they were reared by slave nannies, and carefully trained toward a compliant uncomplaining life of exacting servitude for their owners. They were auctioned off around 16 of 17 years of age to the huge profit of their original owners and most were, as could be predicted, happy in their slavery since no concept of free choice or self-determination had ever entered their heads and they were content to be wanted, taken care of, and used for their owner's betterment in one fashion or another. Slaveowners took breeding very seriously because slaves were the most profitable cash crop around and fortunes could be made in this area with just a lot of patience and a little effort to mate the right male to the right female.

For me, not carefully raised to be a slave and one who knew what free choice and self-determination actually meant, it wasn't an impossible life - it was just a totally degrading one. True it had its rewards for a healthy young man like myself, but the thought you were there for their pleasure as a bought piece of beef never really escaped you.

I had been counting the days since my dad had first sold me into slavery. To imagine spending a lifetime of this, like the two octoroon fancies here in the house for a decade now, seemed inconceivable. But, really, what could anyone do about it? Did Buck, the quadroon, or those two octoroons, any of whom could easily pass for white in any society but this one, ever see the total injustice of it? Did they ever think life could be drastically different for them in either a different setting or with just a little more white in their skin? Did they ever dream of what was ahead of them in a little over 20 years - emancipation regardless of how dark they were? And could they think of making their way in the world if they couldn't use those beautiful bodies to their advantage? Could they really make decisions for themselves after all this time of always complying to what others wanted? Could they really plan their own future after so many years of having others do it for them? After being exploited themselves for so long, could they avoid exploiting others given the opportunity since they'd had no modeling in how to do otherwise? Could the effects of such drastic racism EVER be thrown off, even by those most victimized by it? And since morality didn't affect slaves and other animals, could they embrace a moral code that would effectively govern their own behavior once they were free and considered human?

But the rich whites got help in maintaining black slavery. Even in New Orleans of 1842, freed blacks were busy buying up other blacks so they could exploit them as slaves. And most blacks in 1842 New Orleans appeared to be so dispirited by what they saw happening to blacks around them they rarely seized any opportunity to advance themselves or their fellow blacks when given the chance if they viewed it as more work for them. And the truth is, most black slaves were being effectively managed and supervised by other blacks seeking favor with their owners (such as Juno keeping us in line). The majority of overseers, slave drivers, assistants to slave auctioneers, and slave trainers throughout the South were themselves black slaves if you got right down to it. It seemed like a perfect system for the wealthy who owned all these slaves. No wonder it lasted over 400 years without abatement!

Celia was interesting to me because she was one of the few female slaves I could really get to know well. She'd been born in Alabama to a mother who'd been the house cook; her mother had confided in her that her daddy was actually her master although her "daddy" gave no sign of it ever. That's why she was so light colored, she explained. Her mother had a child about every two years or so, usually with a different "boyfriend" assigned by the master after she'd "birthed", so Celia had many half brothers and sisters she grew up with. She'd also gotten use to having a man around the house, at least during the evening hours and night, and of hearing her mother "take her pleasure" when she could in the little one-room shack. She'd been sold away from her mother and family when she was about 14 and had already birthed one little boy as a result of her master giving her as a prize to one of his young male slaves after he'd won a boxing match for him. Celia never did learn her child's father's name but said he was a handsome and hugely muscular boy who really just sort of raped her right in front of the master and his friends. She claimed he was so inexperienced with women he barely knew what to do and had to be coached by his master as he proceeded to ravish her. Celia's baby was given to her mother to raise when she was sold so she never saw him again. She supposed he was still there on that plantation, probably weeding the garden by now and she smiled at the memory.

Celia's new master saw a lot of profit in her and, after sampling her body himself nightly, took her to New Orleans to the huge slave venues there with the idea of selling her to a brothel with her good looks and unresisting body. But Monsieur LaFitte, always alert to Master's needs in the slave market, saw her and snapped her up for the Master's needs. The demands on her here in the house were certainly better than having to sleep with the old dealer who bought her, and cooking came natural to her due to her childhood training by her mother. Actually, she liked it pretty well here. She didn't have to work very hard, she was bedded down with the best looking men she'd ever seen, and even being "on stage" for Master's shows was no worse than "seeking pleasure" in a one-room shack with everyone looking at you like her mother had had to do all her life. And her mother had no real choice who she bedded down with either, so what difference did it make? Did any slave woman get to bed down with just who THEY wanted? She doubted it - that was just white woman's stuff as far as she could tell and even there, the typical marriage of a white woman seemed as confining to her as slavery did in many respects. At least Master did exactly what he wanted to do, but then he was rich and white and knew what he wanted. How fortunate for her! If she'd been sold to a rich woman as a serving girl, her life would be quite different and not much fun, Celia informed me with a knowing look.

Celia said, "You'se mighty good in bed when we'se have to perform for Master's pleasure, but I'se always got the feelin' you'se not real relaxed and loose about it like I'm. You'n just need to loosen up a bit and enjoy yourself more. I'm mighty mystified as to why'n you don't just forget about white folk watchin' us and you'n goin' ahead and enjoy what you're doing because it's mighty, mighty pleasurable when you want it to be. There ain't much you can do to change what's going on anyway." Celia continued that "a slave has to take pleasure when it's offered, pretty boy, and not ask any damn fool questions.". That was her philosophy and her life proved how wise that was. She told me, "when I was in the slave pens waitin' auction, I took on several of the male slaves placed in that same old pen with me regardless of what they looked like. It felt good to me and I had no idea when the next time I would have the chance to get 'pleasured'. Besides, they were grateful as all get out and treated me as nice as could be after that. Sure beats getting raped," she added to prove her point.

"We're lucky, you know," she continued. "We're handsome looking stock and white people are drawn to us like bees to honey. Imagine what your'll life would be like as some ugly ol' bozal down in the sugar fields sweating away or what my life would be like working dawn to dusk picking cotton up in Mississippi. Like hell, I'd bet, and there wouldn't be a damn thing I could do about it either."

"A pretty mustee like you, well built and with all that equipment you got, you never have to worry about nothing. Some rich white's always going to want to bed you down and all you got to do is cooperate with 'em. Pretty easy life. You and me - we're the lucky ones."

"You wouldn't say that if you were sent over to Mr. LaFitte's for an evening or too," I ventured.

"Don't shit on me, boy. What you think Master want me to do when he loans me out to some of his women friends? It no different than you and Monsieur LaFitte or Master, as far as that go for you boys - ain't no harder - ain't no easier. But it still a hell of a lot easier than most poor blacks have it, believe you me. You know, you should just relax, like I keep telling you, and stop evaluating everything - that's your trouble. You don't want to service Mr. LaFitte - tough shit - there's nothing you can do to not do it - so just do it and forget whether it was your idea or his. You'd live a lot longer, pretty boy," and she stroked my cheek with almost motherly affection. "Those other boys around here don't mind it a bit, even getting used by all his friends, cause'n they know it ain't going to hurt them anyhow in the long run. They know getting Master and Mr. LaFitte thinkin' positive about 'em and on their side is very important here in New Orleans if you're just a slave. You don't want to make an enemy of either one of them, believe you me. A sore ass or whatever for a day or so ain't nothing compared to them or their friends getting down on you," she added without malice.

I blushed at her openness and obvious knowledge of what went on in Mr. LaFitte's house when we were sent over there or the endless hours we were upstairs in Master's bedroom by ourselves or with one of the other boys. But an idea just sprung into my head. Perhaps I could somehow figure Mr. LaFitte into my plans to get up North and be free. I thought I could sort of test the idea of Mr. LaFitte's vulnerability to my "escape" plans the next time I talked to Apollo and Adonis who'd had a lot more experience with him than I had. Those two, along with Buck, had spent many a night over at the LaFitte mansion and were obviously highly prized in that Mr. LaFitte often asked for loan of at least one of them two or three times a week.

The very next day, the five of us males (Juno, Adonis, Apollo, Buck and myself) were ordered to dress in our form-fitting (and revealing) livery and before long were ornaments on the Master's carriage for one of his shopping excursions. Juno drove the carriage with Buck sitting up on the driver's seat alongside him ramrod straight. Adonis rode on the lead horse as a showy added touch. Apollo and I stood at strict attention on the footman's steps located at the back of the carriage since our job was to open and close the carriage door but was primarily for show. Like the others, I quickly discovered that the friction from the tight fishnet shirt irritated my nipples as we bounced along the streets and it didn't take too many miles before my nipples were swollen and tender. And the pants were so tight they tended to chafe you the minute you did anything but stand up in them. But what bothered me more than anything was the stares we would get as we went down the street. It was obvious you were primarily there for display, and you could simply "feel" the people talking about you and what you did and who owned you and what you looked like with those pants off and all the rest. But like everything else in my life as a slave in New Orleans, you got used to it and after a while learned not to think about it.

Since we had to stay "in place" while he was in a store, it was a perfect opportunity to talk to them about Mr. LaFitte. They didn't seem to mind too much talking about serving the Master's best friend since just standing at attention by the carriage got terribly boring and talking about anything, even Mr. LaFitte, helped alleviate the long waits.

Buck was newest to the scene and strangely the most enthusiastic. Adonis and Apollo seemed more matter-of-fact and resigned to their fate but probably knew Mr. LaFitte as a person better. All Buck talked about was what Mr. LaFitte's friends wanted him to do, how well he was able to accommodate their wishes, and how much they bragged about him to Mr. LaFitte. Buck obviously felt vastly superior as a man to whose he was asked to serve and seemed to revel in the idea of others admiring, envying, and desiring him. The thought he really had to pleasure them, no matter how he felt about it, never seemed to occur to him. The overriding thought to him was that they wanted him to pleasure them because of who he was: a relatively rare super-male who was highly desirable.

Adonis and Apollo were both more circumspect. Their duties at Mr. LaFitte's house were viewed as chores they had to do because they didn't have much choice in the matter so they might as well just "grin and bear it" and, if possible, learn to enjoy it. At any rate, Mr. LaFitte and his friends must always be convinced that they were doing the slaves a favor by choosing them to pleasure them.

Fancies of both sexes were purchased for a definite purpose. Slaves purchased for that vocation were expected to meet their owner's expectations that being chosen to pleasure their betters was a rare privilege afforded few slaves and they should appreciate this opportunity. Comparatively, the owners had a point. Fancies at least got to experience a lot of sex and its physiological pleasures unlike most slaves; fancies almost always got good housing and food; fancies often had beautiful clothes they could wear in public much to the envy of other slaves; fancies often did indeed enjoy at least some of their "work"; and fancies were often admired, praised, envied, and petted by their owner's friends and sycophants. Fancies seldom were exposed to backbreaking manual labor, were never mutilated or scarred in any way that would mar their natural beauty and were given the best of health care. Although they were often passed from owner to owner as people became bored with them, each new owner generally coveted their new possession and rarely asked them to do anything they didn't expect. Fancies quickly became acclimated to exposing their naked bodies to others, being handled, stroked and fondled frequently, and being denied any real choices in their sexual activities, especially since most fancies quickly realized that any resistance in these areas would be totally self-defeating if not devastatingly painful.

Buck seemed to really like Mr. LaFitte and viewed him as generally a very kind and gentle master, but one who had definite sexual proclivities which were going to be well satisfied by his slaves without hesitation or question. Buck told me that "once after I'd pleasured Master LaFitte especially well, I asked him if I could have a candy drop he had in a dish on the table nearby and he gave me a whole handful of them cause I'n had pleasured him so well. Then, after a while, he took his pleasure again with me, and when he was through, he said I was a mighty good slave and he was going to 'commend me to his friends. I like'n a master than 'preciates you and all. Some of his friends have just used me and then never said a word about it one way or another - just sort of dumped me like a sack of potatoes or something once they'd been satisfied and satisfied well, I'll tell you. But Mr. LaFitte isn't like that - he's the 'preciative type who values a good slave."

I asked Adonis and Apollo if Mr. LaFitte had ever done them any special favors or if they felt he would if they asked him special.

"What sort of favor?" Adonis asked cautiously.

"Oh, say, giving you a rest or something if you were especially tired or if you had some pretty heavy demands placed on you by some of his friends or something," I countered.

"He pretty reasonable," Adonis said. "Don't take no nonsense about not doing something you not too fond of. One time I hesitated a little too long when he asked me to do something I never even heard of, let alone know people did to each other, and he had we whipped good and proper - hell, I couldn't even walk for two or three days after that whipping - so I never done hesitate on nothing he asked after that, no matter whether I'd ever done it or not. But if'n I just plumb wore out or kinda feeling sickly or something, he right receptive 'sidering I'm just a slave and all. Once'n I just couldn't get all worked up like he wanted me to and I really tried hard but it was just one too many times for that day and I thought he'd have the bejesus beat out of me but he just looked at me solid like a long time and then patted my head and told me we'd get back with it the next day when I'd had a chance to rest up. He's most understanding that way. Mayhap that's why I don't dread going over there like I imagined I would - he's right reasonable considering we'se just property, that's all. Those things he has us do - I never heard tell of people doing all that, but, truth is, it don't hurt you none - no more than what the Master always asking us to do - just so much you can do no matter what it is or who you with - slaves can't choose no how so no use thinkin' about it one way or another."

"Well, what if I asked Mr. LaFitte to do a special favor for me? Say, like, going off by myself for a little while to get the Master a present?" I ventured.

"Where you get any money to buy a present?" Apollo asked suspiciously. "You been stealing or something? You do that and you drag all of us into real trouble," and he gave me a dark look like I'd pay dearly if I brought him any punishments.

"Mayhap he whoring on the side," Adonis added. "Master find out you doing that without his permission and he whop you till you wish you a dead man. Where a slaveboy like you'un getting hard money without stealing or whorin? What I wonda where'en you getting the free time? And now askin' around about getting more free time. You gon'na get all of us in trouble, that's what you gon'na do, and get us all whipped heavy," said Adonis threateningly. "You'all better learn to behave like a proper slaveboy or you get us all in trouble, that's for sure," Adonis added more or less closing the topic. I found it interesting Adonis could only think of a slave selling his body or stealing as means of getting ahead in the world.

But I was persistent and queried Apollo again as to how he would go about getting a special favor out of Mr. LaFitte.

"First off, I'd keep my mouth shut until he was pleasured exceptionally well and exactly as he wanted. And I'd make sure he knew I appreciated the privilege of pleasuring him more than anything else in the whole world. Then I'd try to get him interested in using me again just as soon as he able. Then mayhap I ask him for a little favor, but not too much out of line because he real strict like with his slaveboys as you know yourself by now. He not too tolerant with a lot of talk out of niggers, especially slaveboys he brought over to his house to service him," Apollo answered.

But Adonis interjected. "But that Masta Johnson, he quite different like. I think he light in the head or a horse kicked him or something. Once he got his pleasure out of you, he just don't seem to give a damn about what a slaveboy up to. Nosiree, he very different than Masta LaFitte on that score, believe you me. I think he just white trash or something. You do just what he want and get him off good and he do anything you want - he just that dumb. That white trash don't even own a nigger himself and don't know shit about handling niggers. He'n just let 'em run wild once he gets off good. You want to go chasin' around stealing a present or somethin' - he'd let you if you serviced him 'till he really got off. I don't understand why Masta LaFitte hang around with white trash like Masta Johnson - it just not becomin' to'im."

"He and Masta LaFitte mighty attracted to each other, that's why," Apollo said. "Masta Johnson mighty good looking fellow and he hung like a nigger stud, " Apollo added. "One time I standing available like with the two of them right there and they got so involved pleasurin' each other they forgot I standing there available and all. I never saw a white man hung like him - he's almost as big as most nigger fancy boys."

I found Apollo's observation rather interesting in view of the fact that Apollo himself was as white as Masta Johnson ever was and yet he was viewed as in another world. Nevertheless, the white man's tendency to be lenient with slaveboys right after he had been pleasured sounded like my way up North.

"What does Masta Johnson like to do with you'all, given the chance," I asked.

"Just the usual," Adonis said with a bored look. But Buck added, "he really likes to show off that equipment of his. Gives him a sense of power, I think, he doesn't get not owning slaves himself and all. Seems to me he most enjoys showing off his power as a Masta to you, like shoving it to you with you all bent up double and sore as all get out. The last time I had him, he really got off on me moaning from being so sore and tender from him using me so heavy. When he asked me what I was moaning about, I told him it was because he was too big for me and that really turned him on and seemed to be most satisfying to him. I noticed he got off really strong after that. Of course, I could handle it all right, but I was putting on a little show for him cause I knew he really got off on that."

"You got that right," Adonis said. "The more you moan and groan about he the biggest you ever had and you don't think you can handle it and all that, he really get turned on and it ain't too long after before you all done with your duties and he's happy as a lark saying you a good slaveboy and all."

Apollo laughed through a big smile and said, "I thought I was the only one knew that slave trick around here, but I see you all a big a whore as I am. The last time I ended up with Masta Johnson I spent most of my time telling him he the biggest I ever saw and I scared he gon'na hurt me and all that and before I knew it he was pushing me out of his bed with a big grin on his stupid ol' white trash face and I none the worse for wear."

Adonis joined in the laughter. "Masta Johnson thinkin' he so big and all - why he ain't near as big as any of us fancy boys. And that scrawny ol' body of us wouldn't bring a plug nickel on the auction block downtown. You put that pasty faced white trash up for sale as a fancy boy and you'll starve to death real fast - everybody just laugh their heads off he such a joke and all. The only way he big like is because he a white man and friends with Masta LaFitte. Lookins to me like you got to have some nigger blood in you to get to be a real man," and he sort of thrust himself out in his blue tights to prove his point.

Our master returned from shopping and our talk ceased instantly as Adonis and I leaped to help him into the carriage. As we began rambling down the street, I thought to myself that Masta Johnson didn't sound like such a meal ticket to the North and freedom as I originally thought. With my limited experience to date over at Masta LaFitte's, I was pretty certain I didn't want to go through all that would be necessary to get him to grant me some free time. There must be an easier way than that I thought, although I knew the others riding along with me on the carriage would have viewed that thought as pretty uppity for a slaveboy.

Perhaps I could "escape" when I was on loan to one of the Master's female friends. So far, my loans out to their homes had been tightly monitored and observation of my whereabouts were ever-present by either the woman I had been loaned to or her majordomo. And how far could I get with that iron collar around my neck anyway?

Suddenly, it hit me. If I were dressed up in my livery but had a long dressy flock coat with a high collar, I could pass for a rich gentleman planter, even wearing tights, and, most importantly, it would completely cover my iron neck ring if the coat collar were cut high enough. With the articulate accent I'd picked up by my owner/dad, my ability to read and write, and my knowledge of Southern aristocracy mannerisms I'd observed from the perspective of a freeman when I thought that's what I was, I could easily pass all the way to the North. Once I actually got pass the Mason-Dixon line, I could worry about getting rid of my damned locked neck collar. Now all I needed were two critical items: lots of pocket money and the necessary flock coat. I'd start work on those two items immediately, I thought as I jostled along at the back of my owner's carriage. Perhaps Masta Johnson would come in handy after all if he had a reasonably decent flock coat flung aside in his reveries, especially if he had some ready cash in the pockets of his flock coat. If Masta Johnson was playing around with one of the fancy-boys he'd hardly be too concerned about the whereabouts of his flock coat.

Perhaps, I thought, I'd team up with Buck or Apollo or someone the next time I was loaned out to Masta LaFitte and Mr. Johnson happened to be there. The sobering thought I could end up being a bed buck the rest of my life to anyone that had the cash to buy me tended to keep my thoughts centered on the task at hand.

One of my master's women friends came over and I was afraid I'd be loaned out again, but instead she and Master had a romp upstairs with Buck and me that began with first using me, then Buck, then trading around again. After repeating the whole scene a second time, everyone, including my Master's friend, seemed pretty satiated. Buck and I were pretty exhausted ourselves after that round and weren't in any shape to be loaned out for further use at any rate.

But a week later, Mr. LaFitte visited the Master and shortly thereafter Buck, Apollo, Adonis and myself were all ordered up to the Master's drawing room. There both the Master and Mr. LaFitte looked us over thoroughly and after a lot of fondling, stroking, pinching and poking, Adonis and I were ordered to get into our livery and accompany Mr. LaFitte back to his house on another loan. Once there, we were expected to strip down to nothing, of course, but this time I made sure my tights and boots were easily accessible in case a good opportunity for escape turned up. Mr. LaFitte ordered Adonis and me to stand straight up with our legs spread wide apart, but he seemed interested only in me at the moment and stroked and fondled me until eventually I sprayed my seed all over the place which seemed to be what he wanted. It was humiliating and demeaning but certainly one of the lesser demands of that particular house and I just grinned the whole time. He then turned his attention to Adonis who had a sheepish grin on his face and led him into his bedroom where poor Adonis really got some heavy use that went on for several hours. During this time, I was pretty well left to my own devices and I was able to slip away, root through Mr. LaFitte's wardrobe closet until I located a fancy flock coat with a very high collar, was cut to extend well below the hips, and which fitted me reasonably well. Checking all the other coats and pants hanging there yielded about $60 dollars, a considerable amount in those days. Within minutes, I had struggled back into those indigo tights and patent leather boots, got the stolen coat on until my iron collar was completely covered, stuffed the $60 in the coat pocket, and was sneaking tippy-toed toward the front door past his bedroom.

"Stay right where you are," Mr. LaFitte ordered and I froze in place in the outer room. "Now get those legs up proper like before I have to tan you good, Adonis. You're kind of slipping when it comes to pleasuring, boy. Maybe you need a little touching up with that new whip I just got to get your mind on it."

"No, Masta. My mind on it good. I do just what you want and will pleasure you good. You see, ol' Adonis just as good as he ever be, Masta. No need to touch him up" and I heard the bed squeak as Adonis obviously shifted positions.

Standing absolutely still, I heard Adonis' low groans followed by some heavy breathing from Mr. LaFitte and the bed squeaks took up a regular rhythm. This was my big chance and I stealthily crept out the front door and onto the street outside.

As luck would have it, a cab was within hailing distance and within a minute I was safely in the cab headed for the New Orleans docks. The cabby seemed to fully accept my ruse as a genuine Southern gentleman out on business.

Judging what I knew Adonis and Mr. LaFitte were involved in, I assumed they would be totally occupied for at least 15 minutes or so and, knowing Mr. LaFitte, would probably be repeated as soon as he had recovered and Adonis' sweat had dried off a little. That would give me enough time to locate a boat upriver, hide myself in one of its cabins, and wait out the journey to a riverport on the other side of the Mason-Dixon line.

When I reached the dock, there were about five different boats posted for upriver travel to the North. The one leaving within the hour was not really a passenger ship but mainly a freight barge. But the pilot said I could book passage for only $5 if I didn't mind the tiny little cabin that was the only one available in that all other people on the boat were slaves and slept in the hold or on deck. He added there wouldn't be any fancy service or anything, but I could spend most of my time out on the deck just looking at the scenery, sleeping in the tiny cabin, or eating some pretty good grub cooked up by an old Negress he'd bought years ago up in Memphis.

As promised, the old freighter cast off within the hour, headed up the Delta with her chimneys spewing forth volumes of smoke from all the wood stuffed in the furnace and her paddlewheel churning up a lot of froth in the muddy waters. The old boat only had a crew of five: the old cook, two huge perspiring blacks that cut the firewood and stoked the furnace, one older man in charge in the boiler, and a very short, good looking, muscular young black kid who did repairs, stacked the cotton bales, and apparently did all the rest of the work that needed to be done.

As soon as we were safely out of New Orleans, I ventured onto deck where I was greeted by the young black boy. "Afternoon, Masta sir," he started out. "Nice day for a gentleman traveling upriver. Mighty glad to have a distinguished white master on board, sir," he gushed out with his barrage of everything he could think of that would be acceptable and not risk any trouble. "Where'in you all headed, Masta sir, if I may ask?"

At first I thought I'd just play the role of the typical arrogant white planter and tell him to shut his damn black mouth and mind his own business like a good slave should. But then I remembered that I didn't even know what river port was actually in the free North and if he'd been on the boat very long, he'd know exactly where to get off. Coming to New Orleans as part of a walking chained coffle with a whip on your shoulders half the time didn't lead to a good geography lesson and my education as a boy was just what a poor white trash father who'd never been anywhere talked about.

"Heading up North, boy," I answered. "Need to get home to my business up in Illinois," I said since it was the only state I could think of that I thought was in the North. "Never traveled by river boat, though. Always used the train and don't rightly know where to get off most convenient for me," I queried.

"What town you all from, Masta sir?" the slaveboy asked with a look of genuine interest.

"Oh, just a town close to the river in Illinois - the first town you get to when you get to Illinois on the river," I said cleverly so as to not reveal my total ignorance of where I wanted to go. Suddenly I remembered my dad talking about a Cairo, Illinois (which he pronounced Ka-ro) which was a river port where the Mississippi met the Ohio river. "Place called Ka-ro."

"I's heard of that place, Masta sir. We unload at Ka-ro most every trip up north. It's where we take on wood, Masta. 'Course I can't read or nothin, but it's this nigger's back that carries most of those boxes we unload at Ka-ro, Masta sir."

"So you plan to stop at Ka-ro, boy?"

"Yes sir, Masta sir. That'd be the place you'd get off all right."

"How far from here to Ka-ro, boy?"

"Don't rightly know, Masta sir. Never done been off this boat since I about twelve or so when Masta Clements bought me at market," the young slave added without any tone of regret. "Couldn't be too far, though, Masta sir, because we'se be there in less than a week if our wood holds out," he added helpfully.

"You happy living on the boat?" I asked.

"Yes sir, Master Sir," he answered cautiously. "Masta Clements, he a good Masta, fair and all longs' as you works real hard and he feeds well too. Only whipped me hard three or four times since I been owned by him and that hardly scarred me up at all. And he give me a new pair of pants and a shirt every year at Christmastime."

"What did he whip you for, boy?" I continued.

"Twice for getting too lazy like and slothful in my ways he said - he probably right that I did need a little touching up about that time to remind me to earn my keep and all. Once for sneaking off to fool around with a gal from another one of the river boats we docked next to up in Memphis without his'n permission and last time for playing with myself when I didn't know he'n watching me. Masta Clements don't tolerate no niggers playing with themselves. He says I'se his property and he wants all that kept for his pleasure or me having to pleasure those big bucks back in the furnace room when'n he say so. Says big nigger bucks need to be satisfied if they be manageable. But he don't seem to worry none about me too much," he added wistfully. "Wish'n he let me get together with some nigger wench to fool around like'n up in Memphis that time, but he tell me I not to do it with any gal. He says white mastas way too lenient like with their nigger bucks and the nigger race getting too mongrel like as a result. He tell me niggers need to be bred toward improvement and I too small and runty to improve the breed. He won't even allow those big bucks back in the furnace room to breed proper - says they too ugly to breed - and here I'se ends up having to satisfying them," he said rather angrily. "Other mastas don't seem so worried about improving the breed and all - just Masta Clements."

"But he's not the only one with those notions," the young boy continued. "One time we brought a coffle down from near Memphis. Best looking niggers I'se ever did see. Females just as big boned but mighty comely as you can imagine and most of 'em seemed to be knocked up going by their swollen bellies. And all the male slaves were really big and muscular with mighty handsome features. I bet every one of those bucks were over 6 feet tall and weighed close to two cotton bales apiece and the womenfolk were almost as big. And all of them sort of a pretty brown color with fairly straight hair - not kinky and matty like most real black niggers. Those niggers told me they'se going to market as breeding stock. Turns out they'd been bred themselves at a special breeding farm up in Mississippi and now they would be used as sires and dames for plantations that wanted to improve their stock. Those nigger boys mighty proud of themselves and strutted around to show themselves off every chance they got. They told me they too expensive to be sold as anything but stud niggers and that's all they'se trained to do - just studding 'till the day they die - and lovin' every minute of it. Of course, I 'pose they exaggerating a little. They get too old to stud after a while, but they not worried about that now. That's what I'd like to do - just be a nigger stud - that's this nigger boy's idea of heaven," and he laughed as he finished his story about the breeding stock from Mississippi.

"You ever want to be sold to a new master, boy?" I asked.

"Sometimes I wonder what it'd be like living off a boat and having people other than just the five of us around. And sometimes I think I'd like the excitement and all of a big city like New Orleans or Memphis. But I's gets around. The master takes me with him sometimes when we goes shopping in the city and so I gets to see more than most niggers and when I sees what niggers have to do sometimes loading and hauling I think I got it pretty good. And some masters mighty strict like when it come to their livestock. I's seen a lot of backs awful scarred up along the riverfront and when we stop to load sugar I sure wouldn't want to trade places with those poor devils bought for the sugar mills. Those places just eat you up alive. Some of them fancy-boys bought up for display and all seem to have a good life. I'se heard all they have to do is pleasure their masters or mistresses in bed and wear all those fancy clothes when they out on display like. That'd be nigger heaven I bet! Course'n they all mighty fine looking slaveboys - better looking than I've ever be," he added with a sigh. "I'se probably best off where I'm at with Masta Clements - it's bout a good a life as this nigger boy likely to see. I never go hungry and I'm not beat half to death either," he stated rather proudly. "Yes sir, I'm probably best off right here on the boat."

"Boy, you got a name?" I asked.

"Yes sir, Masta sir, Masta Clements calls me Toby."

"Where were you raised, Toby?"

"On a farm up around Memphis somewhere."

"What did you parents do?" I continued.

He stared at me a moment and then said, "They slaves of course. My mammy worked in the fields but she had 13 pickaninnies 'fore me but I never knew her much. She died when I about four or five giving birth to her fifteenth, so I was raised by another one of the nigger ladies on the farm who ran sort of a nursery there what with so many pickaninnies running around loose. Never knew a daddy. They all told me my mammy pleasured with a lot of different fellas and no one was ever sure just who fathered who along the way. The men folk would get sold away a lot, so I don't know if I ever actually met my daddy or not."

"Why did your master sell you from the farm, Toby?"

"They way too many of us around to feed as we got older and not nearly enough work to keep everyone busy, so he sold off a crop every year or so of excess niggers. That place as much a nigger raising plantation as it was a cotton farm. I think he made more money selling us niggers than he ever made selling cotton," and Toby smiled at the thought of this. "Always a ready market for niggers, it seems."

"Seems that way," I added thinking about the huge crowd at the auction where I'd been sold in New Orleans buck naked.

By this time, we were well into the Mississippi channel headed upstream in a part of the river very easy to navigate and Mr. Clements took a reprieve on the open deck from his piloting chores. Toby saw him coming and quickly launched into rearranging some cargo on the deck to make it easy to unload at their next stop. His furtive glances toward his master revealed he thought he had spent way too much time talking to the boat's sole passenger and his burst of energy at his chores was designed to make sure his master didn't feel any corrective action was going to be necessary.

"Where will you need to depart, Mr. Roberts?" Mr. Clements asked.

"I'll be getting off at Ka-ro, Mr. Clements," I answered as politely as possible. "Mighty good day for river cruising, seems like, and your crew seems most capable."

"Keep a firm hand on them, I do, but it pays off in the long haul I imagine. Most been with me quite a while now. Niggers getting so expensive they tend to get uppity if you let them. We should be in Ka-ro in about five days, God willing and our wood holds out. Please don't think me inhospitable or rude, but I really must get back to my piloting or we'll end up on a sandbar, I'm afraid. You look mighty hot in that fancy flock coat. Feel free to take it off if you please. We don't stand on formality and fashion on this old boat. If you need anything, Toby here can probably handle it. The only thing Toby can't offer you is a good woman and good booze. Don't have either one on board," and he laughed as he returned to the pilot house. "But you can use Toby if you really get hard up," he shouted from some distance and laughed uproariously at his own humor as Toby blushed a deep maroon.

That night I slept with my flock coat on buttoned to the top in the hot stuffy little cabin. I didn't see where I had any choice without risking someone seeing the slave collar around my neck. Better to sweat to death than risk that I thought. Besides, Mr. Clements or Toby could enter the cabin at any time and if either one saw even a glimmer of that collar, I would be instantly labeled a mustee slave on the run and my life, if I weren't killed on the spot, would be hell: branded and shipped back to Master for his disposition which would probably be sale to the river port brothels.

Exactly as Mr. Clements had predicted, we arrived at Ka-ro within five days which passed quicker than I thought. Toby and the two big blacks unloaded all the crates marked for that dock under the careful eye of Mr. Clements who carried a coiled whip for this part of the operation.

I got lodging at the fanciest hotel in Ka-ro to avoid suspicion which only cost me another dollar for the night and supper. The room was large, clean and airy. For an additional 10 cents I arranged to have one of the hotel's servants bring up a copper bathtub and buckets of hot water which was refreshing after the long boat ride in the hot flock coat which I couldn't loosen around the collar for obvious reasons. My body odor was pretty strong by now, and I'm afraid was matched by my tights and flock coat but there wasn't much I could do about that.

As I left the hotel the next morning to start my life of freedom, unbelievably the itinerant slave dealer my father had first sold me to years ago came ambling down the sidewalk right toward me. I knew it was him and I felt doomed. Under the Fugitive Slave Act, he could seize me on the spot, take me back to the South, and sell me right back to any situation where he'd get a maximum profit which meant I would once again be a "mustee slave" up on the auction block, but this time with a big "R" branded on either my creek or forehead as a runaway. I tried not to panic, brushed my expensive flock coat down smoothly, deliberately posed in a jaunty, arrogant fashion, and turned my head slightly away as if looking for a friend on the other side of the street. The dealer glanced at me briefly, spit some tobacco juice out in the street, and continued to walk right past me. I wished I could bash his brains out right then and there but decided it would be self-defeating at this particular moment. To think he was quite willing to buy me as a slave from my own father and send me into a life of degradation, shame and constant humiliation as a pet for a well-heeled spoiled French gentleman for some ill-gain profit made the bile rise in my throat. Well, maybe God would get him - I didn't have time to bother right now!

I started walking rapidly in the direction he was coming from. After about four blocks, I begin to feel less panicked. Then I realized!! I was free. Although the Fugitive Slave Act could send me down river to be sold as a slave, I had to be identified and claimed as a slave to put that into action. All I had to go was get rid of this collar locked on me and get some decent clothes.

I wandered around Ka-ro and ran across a half-drunk blacksmith who looked like he could be bribed and would have an alcoholic's memory. Sure enough, he got that collar off of me with the bribe of a fresh bottle of corn likker, and after I'd poured him a few drinks, he passed out and I stripped him of his clothes. In his ramshackle house attached to the blacksmith shop, I found the rest of his wardrobe and took it too since we were both about the same size.

Newly attired, I hit the road and realized I still had $53 in my pocket, no outward signs of my period of servitude other than a few callouses left from my iron collar, and a willingness to do anything to keep myself out of the South.

It was 20 years later I volunteered for the 'Illinois Brigade for the War to Protect the Union,' and was eventually promoted to serve as Captain over 100 men. When we reached New Orleans in 1864, I found out my old Master had fled by ship to Brazil only two days before, taking two of his favorite fancyboys and all of his money with him so he could continue his life in a slave society unabated. I "liberated" the remainder of my old Master's slaveboys who weren't of course the same ones who had served with me but fresh handsome meat that looked as good as I'd looked when I was there.

The stable included a mustee that looked so much like I did years before I concluded he had to be a product of when I was loaned out on stud to service one of my former master's friend's slavegirls and then he had bought the boy when he was ripe for auction. Another fancyboy left in the house was one of the last slaves sold in the New Orleans slavemarkets before they closed down or went undergrown with the Union takeover. He looked to be around 18, had skin the color of creamy coffee stretched over a magnificent muscular physique, the high cheekbones and heavy eyelashes of a Moor which made me suspect some Indian or Arab blood in him, and good looks that were only matched in appeal by his huge genitals which were well shaped and seemingly perpetually excited. Despite the fact the Union Army was entering the city as he was sold, he still brought a staggering price at the slavemart. - a compliment of sorts I suppose or else his buyer thought he would never actually never grant this slaveboy his freedom, no matter what!. These two and three other fancyboys still in the house couldn't handle freedom any more than I had thought they could years ago - they'd been bred and born into slavery and couldn't be happy outside it with its decision making, responsibilities, and hardships. I took them over with their eager consent and they're my "fancyboys" now, complete with fancy costumes for going out and buck naked for the house. My old master had trained them well, including the mustee (perhaps my own offspring) and the new boy so recently purchased! I haven't come across one single thing those boys can't do to perfection that I've wanted in the line of servicing.

On thing my old Master had taught me whether he wanted to or not. He taught me what pleasure was all about and my inclinations to seek my pleasures with men every chance I get has stayed with me throughout my adult life. My problem is, I was born to be a master, I guess, in that I want to be the one getting sucked and doing the fucking instead of the other way around that had usually characterized my life as a slaveboy in New Orleans.. But up North, you couldn't just order someone to your bed when the whim hit you like the Southerners had enjoyed for years. But I knew my time would come!. I took advantage of every minute in my old Master's house and those boys' throats and asses were probably chronically sore from all the use I got out of them, let alone the use I put them to loaning them out to my other Union friends who appreciated having such bodies available for their pleasure. Since post-war New Orleans was changing fast, within months I set up a brothel available to all who could afford the fees with my newly acquired fancyboys "hired" on as staff for room, board, and a set of "going-out" clothes. Technically the "fancyboys" weren't property anymore but "employees" - it was all legal and no one asked where they came from. The "boys" loved it - it was the security and direction they needed in their lives and their familiar duties of offering up their bodies for other's pleasure were all they knew in their lives anyway. And they knew they were lucky in those chaotic days to get food and shelter under any circumstances. Most of all, they appreciated a strong "Master" in their lives. Experience on the other side makes the best masters of all, my boys tell me, and they seldom try to shirk their responsibilities or resist any requests made of them because they know I'll see right through them having been a slaveboy myself.. I never have told my mustee boy who his sire probably was. It'd just get him all excited about serving stud and those days of slavebreeding are over now, I expect. My wealth grows daily so there is no need for financial worries now or in the future - my boys are young enough to have years of usage left in them - and the last sold slave in New Orleans is moaning away in as I plow into his muscular ass for the third time today.

A mutual friend told me my old Master, the French dandy, was now living in San Paulo with his two favorite slaves he taken from New Orleans and eight new boys he picked up in the Brazilian slavemarts. And, he reported with a twinkle in his eye, those Brazilian fancyboys are decked out in red silk pantaloons that you can see right through, bare chests with ringed nipples, brass collars around their necks , and bare feet whenever they accompany their Master outside the house. Some things never change!

THE END