Date: Wed, 31 Jan 2007 05:25:53 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Young Stud, Part Fifteen

YOUNG  STUD

By Pete Brown   petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

Read all of Pete's stories at
groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories

Part  Fifteen

For the next few days whilst dad was sorting out the
paperwork of getting me back to the USA and whilst I
was still officially "recovering" in the hospital,
Miguel and I "fooled around".  I'd never really had a
sex partner of my own age - Jeff was of course older,
and Juan was much younger.  Come to that, I'd never
really had a buddy as close as Miguel (except Jeff).
He wanted to fuck me, but  I was bigger and stronger
than him and once we started rolling around in bed, he
soon found that he had no choice:  I definitely like
fucking, as you know, and all I wanted the whole time
was to keep burying my dick in his ass and fucking and
fucking.  Interestingly he never adjusted to it, and
was still scrabbling his fingers in the bed and crying
out just as much the last time I fucked him as the
first time.

After a good fucking, though, he'd half-lie on me and
we'd talk - and I began to know the loneliness that
only children experience, even though they might not
know it.  Listening to him talking about growing up
with Juan and Pedro made me so envious (especially
when he and Pedro had got around to fucking).  Somehow
the time just seemed to slip by, and  I was very
worried that he was neglecting the other patients.  He
seemed to work part-time, though, and so I gave him
some of the new dollars I'd earned "whoring" - I
suppose that might have made him think he was selling
himself to me, especially as all  I wanted to do was
ream his ass like that.

Funnily enough it was relatively easy to leave when
the time came - I didn't feel the same way about
Miguel as I had for Juan, and although I'd enjoyed our
time together, I knew that there would be other guys
who would give me as much satisfaction in bed.  And
he, too, wasn't particularly upset - he seemed so much
more concerned about finding Juan and Pedro, and it
was almost as if he was using me, as he thought I knew
something that I wasn't telling.

We flew to Mexico, and from there to Boston, and then
drove home - although not to the home I'd grown up in.
 Once mom and dad broke up he sold our house and had
moved to a splendid new apartment right in the centre
of town, so he could walk to work ("The other partners
can use the chauffeur now, Steve", he told me.  "They
think I'm looking after them, but now they have to
work in the back of the car on the way to the office,
just as I used to").  We had masses of space - a vast
living room, a dining room, den, TV room, a study, and
three huge bedrooms, each with a private bath.  What's
more, there was a swimming pool and a gym in the
basement that was shared with all the residents, but
most of them were older, like dad, and didn't use them
much - it was almost like having my own facilities.

I was lonely as all my high school buddies were away
at college, and when I went out in the evening to
bars, I couldn't really bring home a guy  I fancied as
I knew dad would object - and he was always waiting up
for me and wanted to know where I'd been if I got back
much after ten. So my chances of going home with a guy
were almost zero, too.  My sex life was almost zero
therefore, and I was back to jerking off, just like
some school kid, and really missed studding and those
nights with Jeff.

Dad insisted I went back to college, and it was
terrible.  I was older than the other guys as I had to
start again having missed two years, and although it's
rumoured that college life is just pure unadulterated
sex, I can tell you it isn't!  The girls all wanted
"dating" whereas all I wanted to do was to fuck, and
there seemed no way that I could just take one
casually and both of us have a bit of fun.  And it was
even worse with the guys - they were all terrified of
becoming known as fags, and so you couldn't even
compliment a guy on a nice butt, or a good body, when
we were changing for the rugger team or gym sessions.
I did find some guys who weren't worried, though, and
I went back with some of them to their dorm rooms - it
was pretty gross though, as they all wanted me to wear
a condom.   Well, it was sort of exciting to lie there
and demand that the guy roll it on to me - I think
that shows where the power lies, to make a guy put a
condom on your dick.  But then as soon as I'd got them
on their knees, I'd quickly slip it off before fucking
them - I mean, I like sex, proper sex, where you can
feel the heat and the slickness of a guy's ass really
gripping your dick, and you just don't get that with a
condom.  Afterwards, even when I knew I'd given them a
really good fucking, one they'd probably never
experienced before, most of them were pretty upset
when they saw my dick covered in their shit and
realised what I'd done.  Still, as you know, I'm a
big, powerful guy so that couldn't protest too much -
and it was only rarely that I had to slap one of them
around a bit to shut him up..

I could tell it wasn't going to work, though, and I'd
never complete college I reckoned.  But much as I
talked about it to dad, he wouldn't relent and told me
that if I didn't like it, I'd better get a job.  Well,
faced with a challenge like that, there's only one
thing a man can do, isn't there?  There's not a whole
lot of work in our town for unqualified people, and I
just didn't see myself filling shelves at the market,
or frying hamburgers!  But once I realised that there
are jobs in construction where they value muscle, it
was OK:  I deliberately chose the sort of stuff where
they couldn't get machines in because of space or
zoning or something, and happily spent my days
unloading trucks, digging trenches, barrowing cement,
and all the other stuff like that.  It meant I could
give up most of the time in the gym as my body started
to acquire proper "natural" muscle, that you really
can only get from hard manual labour.  I  began to
understand why Jeff's body had been different from
mine - his strong, sinewy muscles were from all that
work in the marines, not from pounding machines in the
gym.

There was another advantage of working construction,
too - although a lot of the guys were terrified of
being found out, there were a lot who, like me, liked
a good hard fuck with another strong man.  No one
spoke about it and they all had the glamour mags and
the other stuff to read at break times with all those
disgusting big-titted bitches.  They all bragged about
how many women they'd had, too - although I decided to
keep quiet, as they might think I was boasting if I
said how many bitches I'd shagged in the last couple
of years.   But once I saw the signs - the way another
guy would take a glance at my butt as I bent over, or
sneak a peak at my belly if  I pulled my shirt over my
head, or keep glancing at the bulge in the front of my
jeans as I worked away - it was usually easy to
suggest going for a drink on the way home and then, in
the bar, after a lot of general fencing around,
finally agree to go off and have some fun.  I met some
really nice guys that way, although I had to be a lot
more careful with my condom caper as some of them were
more than capable of flattening me!

In spite of the fact that I was much more cheerful
working construction, dad didn't like it:  he thought
all his partners at the law firm were laughing at him
behind his back as his son was a labourer and theirs
were at Harvard and places like that.  He kept on and
on at me to go back to college, but I just refused.
We might have gone on and on arguing until he
surprised me by telling me that an old lady, my
godmother (who I'd never really known properly as
she'd moved to California when I was a kid) had died,
and that she'd left me twenty thousand new dollars in
her will.

"Now, Stephen, we'll need to invest that", he went on.
 "I'll get some details of funds for you, and...."

"No, dad!  I'm going to use it to go and find Jeff."

"You can't go back to the South, Stephen!  Look what
happened when you were there last time.  And now
you're still marked as a slave, it would be criminally
foolish.  I can't spare all the money it cost to
rescue you again, you know."

"I don't care, dad.  Sure it's risky - but it's worth
the risk, to find Jeff."

"And what then?"

"You got me out, dad.... I'll do the same for Jeff."

"Stephen, this is foolish!  You risk being
re-enslaved.  You might never find him.  If you do,
you might not be able to get him out.  And if you do,
what then?"

"Well then we'll settle down together...."

"And what makes you think he feels the same way about
you as you do about him?"

"I don't think he does, dad.  But he needs someone to
look out for him..."

"He's a grown man, why can't he look after himself?"

"He can, dad... He's not stupid...  But he's used to
life in the marines, with someone telling him what to
do...."  I saw dad looking exasperated, and knew how
to end the conversation.  So I added "But in any case,
he's a great fuck, and I'll risk a lot to have his ass
again."

Dad looked totally disgusted, and said that he
supposed that now I was a grown man I could make my
own decisions.

Once the money was in my bank account, I went down to
New York to see the boss.  I suppose I hadn't thought
about it much, as when I arrived at reception of their
office tower near Wall Street, the snooty receptionist
brushed me off and said that the managing partner saw
no-one, and she emphasised no-one, without a prior
appointment.  I threw myself about a bit, and
ultimately one of the boss's assistants came down to
give me the same message.  Finally I said to her
"Please tell him that it's Steve... Steve who spent
two years with him."

"You were an associate of his?"

"In a kind of way.  Please just tell him it's Steve,
Steve Masters, and  I just need five minutes of his
time."

The receptionist was still giving me withering looks
as if to say she knew I was wasting my time, when her
phone rang.  She listened, then beckoned for me to go
over.  "I'm so sorry, Mr Masters.  There's a message
from the executive suite to say that our managing
partner sends his apologies, butt he has unbreakable
engagements this morning, and so can't see you until
three this afternoon - he has cleared his diary, and
hopes that you understand."  Clearly she thought I
must be some sort of power in the land to have had
that effect, especially as, in contrast to all the
"suits" scurrying backwards and forwards, I was in
jeans, work boots, and a rough work jacket that  I was
comfortable wearing on site.

When I did get in later that afternoon the boss came
around his desk to greet me, indicated we should go
over to the couches in one corner of the vast office,
then said quietly to his assistant "No calls, no
interruptions of any kind, until I'm finished."

"Yes, sir", she said, although she clearly thought
this was unusual.

"I never expected to see you again, Steve.  What
brings you here.... down from... New Hampshire, wasn't
it?"

"Yes, boss.  Look, to cut a long story short, I'm
lost.  I can't go back to my old life.  I can't go
through college - too much has happened.  I'm a mature
guy, you know that.... And dad and me are arguing
about everything.  And I've inherited this bit of
money, and I've decided to go and find Jeff, and buy
him...."

"You're mad!  If you go back South, you'll be
re-enslaved."

I pointed to my jaw line.  "See, no SIN tattoo.  And
the chip has been removed."

"Roll your sleeve up, boy!"

As ever, the boss was sharp.  "Yes, well, that is a
bit of a problem.  But I can wear long-sleeved
shirts."

"And when you strip off, for sex?  What about your
butt?"

"I can go without sex for a few days....  Look, boss,
please help me:  I've tried searching all the
information on the 'net, but it seems there's not much
relating to the movement of slaves.  I found something
that says Jeff was registered to you, and that you
sold him.  But the trail stops there...."

"Yes, there's no requirement to register the purchase
of a slave.  So I suppose the man I sold Jeff - and
that young Mexican, whose name I can't now recall -
never bothered.  If they ran away, he'd report their
loss and give the SP their SINs then."

I must confess I was a bit shocked that the boss only
thought about Juan as "that young Mexican" and
couldn't remember his name, but I suppose that's how
you get about your property after a time.

"So you see, boss, I was hoping you could tell me the
name and address of the guy who bought Jeff..."

"Steve, I genuinely don't think it's a good idea.  I
don't think you should.  You'll only go down there and
get re-enslaved - and they do some pretty drastic
things to escaped slaves, you know: you certainly
would be gelded....  No, I'm not going to tell you
what you would like to know.  Headstrong young men
need to be protected from themselves."

"Boss, please...."

"NO, Steve.  It's too risky.  Go home to your father.
Settle down.  Put all this behind you.  You were
always a bit wild as my slave, but I thought you had
adapted to my discipline.  Now, go home, and obey your
father."

We were sitting on the couch side by side, and now I
slipped to the floor, on my knees.  I rested my hands
lightly on the boss's knees, as he had used to enjoy.
"Please, boss....", I repeated.

I saw the boss looking at me, and he was clearly
affected.  But not by my pleas, probably - no it was
clear that he was remembering the satisfaction of
owning slaves like Jeff and me, and of the things we
did for him.  Lowering my head in submission, I leaned
forward and gently pulled down the zip of his
expensive suit, and then tenderly reached inside for
his dick - not difficult to do, as it was ramrod hard,
and once I had shown it the way through his fly, it
stuck out proudly. I moved further forward, and now
lowered my head more, not just in submission, but to
take his dick between my lips, as he had used to like
Jeff and me to do in the old days.

It didn't seem to take long to bring the boss to
climax and I swallowed his seed hungrily, then
continued to slather his dick with my tongue as he
moaned feebly.  I wondered how long it had been since
he had last enjoyed a man's mouth around him.
Finally, though, I though I'd wrung the last drop of
juice out of him and rocked back onto my heels, and
smiled.

He ruffled my hair gently, as he had often done.  "Oh,
Steve... I'd forgotten the pleasures of owning a
slave!  In spite of all my junior partners and
associates and assistants here, I never get anything
like that here at the office."  He looked a bit
wistful and continued "Or anywhere else, for that
matter - as managing partner of this firm, I can
hardly go and pick up a man from a bar, can I?  Or use
an escort?  Think of the scandal."

"Think of the scandal, boss, if it was known that you
were a stud master during your 'sabbatical time', I
think they called it in Newsweek."

"You're trying to blackmail me, Steve...."  He didn't
say it in a shocked or annoyed tone, and there was a
slight smile on his face.

"No, boss.  But think of the advantages of having
someone like me perpetually in your debt.... And Jeff,
too.... And remember how you used to like it when we
both worked on you?  Two tongues simultaneously...."

Reluctantly he tucked is dick away and zipped up, and
went to his desk.  I went and sat opposite him as he
typed some stuff on his laptop.  "This is so secret
even my secretary does not have access - records of my
dealings in that special time in the South, that I'm
keeping for when I write my memoirs....", he told me.

He pulled one of those yellow legal pads towards him
and scrawled some stuff on it.  "Here you are then..
The name and address of the buyer of Jeff and the
Mexican kid.  I think he was going to give them to his
son as an eighteenth birthday present - or a going to
college present, or something like that.  He planned
to send them to a trainers as his son had always
wanted a pony, as I recall."

"A pony?  Jeff?"

"Why not, Steve?  Think about it - Jeff had long legs,
strong thighs, a broad chest so lots of lung
capacity... He'd be a credit to any owner, pulling
his trap.  And the Mexican was going to become a groom
or something, so the son wouldn't have to bother with
feeding him or washing him or trimming his pubes or
anything like that."

"But ponies are always niggas..."

"Not always, Steve.  And this man was very wealthy,
very wealthy indeed:  I expect he wanted his son to
cut a dash at college, turning up not only with his
own pony, but with a whitey at that."

"But Jeff would hate it..."

"So what?  He's a slave, and it's not for slaves to
like or dislike anything...."

"....and he couldn't take the discipline.  I'm
worried, boss...."

"I think you'll find that pony training is rather
specialised:  they learn discipline, Steve.  Or,
rather, it's beaten into them.  And then there are
some things you might not have noticed:  ponies are
always manacled to their traps, it's kind of
traditional.  So once locked to it, he can't escape or
anything like that, or even evade pulling t trap
properly:  an owner's whip would see to that."

I nodded "Fuck me, Jeff will be in real trouble..."

"Well I wish you luck.  But I remain concerned that
you might be joining Jeff, or have some other dreadful
role when you are caught and re-enslaved...."

"I've got to do it, boss.  I've got to save Jeff."

"You two always were so close, especially latterly.
As I said, I wish you luck.  IF you make it back, come
and see me again.  I might even employ you and Jeff...
You have certain talents...."

With that he rose to his feet and shook hands with me
- it did feel strange to be treated like an equal by
the boss, I must say - and showed me out.

Back at home I started to plan my trip, but first I
thought I'd cheer Miguel up by letting him know I was
going to search for Jeff and his brother.  To my
surprise, my screen flashed almost immediately with
messages saying he wanted to go with me.

Messaging backwards and forwards isn't all that
satisfactory, so we arranged for me to call a public
phone that evening, and at the other end was Miguel.
"Please, senor Steve, let me come with you....", he
started immediately.

I told him about the risk, but he cut in "I can help
you minimise that, senor Steve.  I am still a slave -
I have the chip still in me.  And the brand mark on my
face.  I can accompany you as your slave - the
Southerners are always suspicious of Northerners and
will look closely at you, but if they see you own a
slave yourself, they will think you are 'one of them'
and will be less suspicious.  Take me as your slave,
please, senor Steve."

Well the idea did have its merits, and, anyway, having
someone like Miguel to fuck would help relieve the
inevitable tensions.  So I arranged to send him some
money to fly to Acapulco, and a few days later joined
him there having flown down myself after another
blazing row with dad.

There's a special "slave zone" around Acapulco as you
probably know - most Southerners holidaying there
don't like to be without their personal slaves, and
the economy needs their trade so much that the
Mexicans decreed that the Southern laws relating to
slave ownership should operate there.  It's a bit lax,
though, as you'd expect from anything in Mexico, and
it was easy enough for Manual to slip over the border
of the zone to meet me ( well they're probably not
expecting slaves to try to get in, are they? ).

I had to wear long swim shorts at the pool at my hotel
of course, but I decided that I should emphasise that
I was a slave owner by having Miguel always at my side
by the pool and have him rub more sun cream into me
whenever I came out of the water - as a slave he
wasn't allowed in, of course, because of concerns
about slaves deliberately pissing in the water.  He
hated it as I made him wear a "minimum string" as he
tended to me - with all his pubes shaved off, I fitted
him with a tiny G-string, exposing his bare ass
totally, and leaving little to the imagination as far
as the size and shape of his dick was concerned
because of the thin fabric.  A lot of slaves around
the pool were in tiny Speedos, and some in jockstraps,
but Miguel's costume was  the briefest and most
revealing of all.

That night he really argued about it with me and
started to demand that I allow him at least a
jockstrap the next day as he was so embarrassed.
"Listen, Miguel, it's so they all look at you, and
then they know I'm a hard master as I make you
humiliate yourself like that.  It diverts suspicion
form me."

"But senor Jeff, I hate it...."

"Look, Miguel, I've decided, and that's all there is
to it."

"No., I will not wear it."

I shrugged, and smiled to end the argument, as it was
dinner time.  But the next morning Miguel stood there
obstinately in his G-string, then pulled a set of
slave shorts on over it.  "See, senor Steve, I am
still sexy."

"But not as sexy as when your ass is bare, Miguel."

"No, I will not wear that string by itself...."

"Miguel, may I remind you that you're supposed to be
my slave, and what I say goes?"

"Fuck you, senor Jeff, I am not wearing it."

I grabbed his arm, much to his surprise, and holding
him relatively immobile pulled down his slave shorts
with my other hand.

"No, I will not wear it....", he shouted.  Now you
know I'm big and strong, and there was no way he could
stop what I did next - I grabbed at the string, and
ripped it off him.

"Right, Miguel.  Here's a lesson for you.  Never argue
with me, or you might get what you were arguing for...
 You don't want to wear the string, so you will not."
As I said this, I began to move towards the door,
dragging Miguel with me.  As I got to it and opened
it, he began to realise what I intended.

"NO!  Senor Steve, please, no... Please do not make me
go out totally naked...."

"Yes, Miguel!  I think you will be even more of an
interest as you massage me today that you were
yesterday."

And so he was!  It was not at all usual to see a
totally naked slave at that hotel (although it was not
illegal of course, as an owner is not required to
dress a a slave, and there's no suggestion that a nude
slave is in any way an affront to public decency as a
nude man would be).  So all eyes were watching him as
he rubbed sun cream into my skin - especially when the
excitement of massaging my pecs and belly was too much
for him and he began to bone up!

Within a couple of days I had a small circle of guys
who all asked to "borrow" Miguel for massage, and I
was a well-accepted part of the pool-side life.
Miguel didn't like it at all, though - especially when
some of the guys lay there with a towel draped
discretely over their middles whilst Miguel knelt
between their legs and sucked their dicks.  He
complained bitterly to me the first night after it had
first happened, and I just shrugged.  "Miguel, you're
a slave, right?  You agreed to come back to look for
Juan, so what's the problem?  Anyway, most of the guys
around the pool have pretty nice cocks, I should
think."

I got to be so much accepted, and most of the guys
were so pleased to be allowed to use Miguel (as they
said, it was good to get a proper blow job, rather
than having to beg their girlfriends to do it), that
when I explained to one of them that I was having
problems with my car, he offered to drive us across
the border on his way home as it was much easier to
hire one there that would be up to the normal
standard.  Consequently at the border the guards saw
two real "southern boys" and a slave, and it looked
all perfectly normal.  I was back in the South!

For the first day or so I was almost constantly
terrified that someone would call out "escaped slave!"
as I went past, the SP would be called, I'd be
stripped, and my brand and SIN tattoo would reveal
all.  But I began to realise that appearances were
everything:  I had casually elegant, expensive clothes
and during my time at home I'd allowed my hair to grow
a little longer so I no longer had a "slave crop" but
respectable short hair as anyone who was clearly some
sort of athlete would have.  I looked every inch the
southern gentleman, and the effect was completed by
Miguel, who trotted along obediently two paces behind
me. Obviously I made him wear traditional slave
costume as I had done for so long, and the tight white
shorts did, I think enhance his nice firm butt, and,
if anything, his darker skin and hairy body set off
well the T (although I decided that his hairy arms
were so attractive that he should have a T without
arms, cut loose and short, so that a strip of his
hairy belly was also exposed).

It is, I realise, a great convenience to have a slave!
 I didn't have to carry my own bag in from the hire
car to our motel room, or pack the next morning, or
anything like that.  And of course I was never
frustrated sexually as I could fuck him whenever I
felt like it (usually before sleeping, and first thing
in the morning:  I find that's a great way to get rid
of your morning hard-on).  Miguel had at first
resented all this, so I had to emphasise to him that
it was important that he acted like a slave at all
times to maintain our cover:  consequently he was
required to call me "master" even when we were in bed,
and it was of course unseemly for him even to think
about fucking me.  I also required him to use the
enema kit as I hated my dick covered in my shit.

He really objected, though, when I decided it would be
easier for him to think of himself as a slave if he
was collared.  It's not as if I required him to have
one of those heavy iron things that field workers wear
- I bought a relatively thin, smooth, shiny stainless
steel one.  When I gave it to him that evening in our
motel room and told him to put it around his neck so
that I cold break the seal that released the glue to
fix it permanently, he actually refused!

"Look, Miguel, it will make it easier for yo to act as
amy slave", I reasoned.

"Senor Steve, please... It will make me feel like I am
no longer a man", he protested.

"That's the idea!  You're a slave, and you need to act
like one.  You're not a man now!  Now, put the fucking
thing on, before I make you.  And didn't I tell you to
refer to me as 'master' and not 'senor Steve'?"

He looked at me and said simply "No.  Fuck you,
Steve!"

Well, even if he hadn't been my slave, I don't take
that from anyone.  I grabbed him,  threw him over my
knee as I sat on the edge of the bed, yanked down his
shorts, and began to spank his butt.  I'm powerful and
strong and I've got hard hands, and Miguel's skinny
butt resounded with the slaps as my blows landed.  He
began to shout in anger, but that soon turned to sobs
of pain, and finally a long, continuous wail as I
continued to beat him.  Finally, I pushed him off onto
the floor, and he lay at me feet, tears streaming down
his face.  Interestingly, his dick was rampantly
erect, and so, I realised was mine.  So I pointed at
my fly, and ordered him to service me.

Afterwards, as he knelt there between my legs  licking
his tongue around his mouth to get rid of the last
traces of my cum, I rubbed my fingers through his hair
tenderly, as the boss had so often done to me.  "I'm
sorry, Miguel, but you've got to learn to think and
act like a slave.  And a slave who abuses his master,
or who does not obey orders, gets punished.  It's as
simple as that.  And it's for your own good, you
know... The more slave-like you are, the less chance
there is of us arousing suspicion and getting caught,
and the more chance there is of us finding Juan."

He nodded, and I snapped "So put the fucking collar
on, boy!"

He did so, but very hesitantly, and I broke the seal
and the glue held it permanently.   This simple act
made me feel even more powerful and in control than
before, and I could now understand why buying and
owning another man is such a powerful turn-on for so
many guys.

The boss had given me the address of Jeff and Juan's
buyer, and it turned out to be one of those huge
colonial-style mansions near Baton Rouge.  I called at
the house, deciding to improvise, but the slave who
answered the door said that the master was on vacation
in Europe.  I enquired after his son, professing to be
an old school friend, and was told that young master
Brad was at college, in New Orleans.  "Did he take his
pony with him" I asked, "When we last spoke he was
just about to get it as a present, and he promised to
take me for a spin."

"Oh yes, sir", the slave replied.  "Master Brad has
used the pony every day since the master gave it to
him, and would not have gone off to college without
it."

The man looked sad as he spoke, and I looked at him
questioningly.  "And...?"

"Nothing, sir, it's not my place to say."

"Out with it, or I'll report you to your master, for
dumb insolence"

"Oh sir, it's just that, well, the pony was really
nice when he arrived, with his groom:  all us slaves
here looked forward to having  two new guys around:
especially a big handsome guy like the pony.  But
then.... Well, Master Brad sent him off for pony
training, and when he came back, well he was no longer
 a slave, sir..."

"What on earth do you mean?"

"Sir, there are many masters here with ponies - slaves
who work as ponies, that is.  But after his training
Master Brad's pony wasn't like that:  he wasn't like a
slave any more, sir, a slave who could be with us in
the slave quarters...."

"What do you mean?",  I repeated.

"Please, sir, I've said too much..."  The slave looked
so nervous now, that I decided to let it drop.  After
all, if I made too much fuss, it might voice his
suspicions about a caller to his master.  So I turned
and left.

I decided not to tell Miguel about this conversation,
which, frankly, I didn't really understand.  How could
Jeff be a pony and "not like a slave"?  I thought
about it a lot, but there didn't seem to be answer,
and so we set off for New Orleans.  Although Miguel
was impatient and wanted to proceed immediately, I
decided on caution:  I rented a house for three
months, a quiet, suburban house where the householders
in the neighbourhood had at most one or two slaves.
Then I bought myself some additional clothes, "college
clothes", as you might say, and set out to find this
Brad guy and my buddy Jeff, who was a pony, but not a
slave.

End Of Part Fifteen