Date: Fri, 28 May 2004 09:46:51 -0700 (PDT)
From: Lance Kyle <lokiaga@prodigy.net>
Subject: Seaward Plantation chapter six

This story contains graphic but completely fictional
depictions of sex among men and men, and men and underage
boys.  If this offends you, if it is illegal for you to read
or download this, or if you are under 18, please go away.

Seaward Plantation

Chapter six

He didn't know how he came to be lying on his back in a
meadow of sweet grass and wild flowers, but he was.  Nor how
he knew that he was, since all he could see with his open
eyes was light.  But he could hear birds and insects, and
feel the soft grass with his fingers.  He was most puzzled
by the black panther lying next to him--and how did he know
it was black if he couldn't see it?  It was stretched
alongside of him with its tail across his thigh.  Its wet,
thick muzzle pushed into his neck and ear.  It seemed to be
purring.  The tail lashed softly against his thigh, so he
grabbed it with his hand.  The panther purred louder and
began to lick his ear.  The tail became less furry, more
skinlike, as did the big cat's muzzle.  The purring turned
to words.

"Master Mark, wake up!  Ooooo, that's nice, but we can't, we
don't have time, Papa will be waiting with the boat-- oooo!
Oh, master, that feels good, but wake up!"

Mark Appleby's sight returned, as the world darkened to the
early morning light of his own bedroom.  The panther had
turned into Troy, his twenty year old black slave, stretched
out full length beside him.  The nuzzling at the neck and
nibbling at the ear were real.  The tail..... the tail was
Troy's swollen penis, laid across the white man's thigh,
which he had grasped with his hand and was slowly pumping
and kneading.

"Master, please, not.... ooooo, yes!... but we really need
to....aaaaa!"  Troy was torn between duty and pleasure.  He
knew he should stop, but each pump of his master's hand,
each time the white hand bent the head of the full black
snake downward a bit, a wave of pleasure flowed over him,
making him clench his ass muscles and push his penis forward
into his master's hand.  Appleby likewise realized that they
needed to begin the day since they were sailing into
Charleston, but he felt mischievous and enjoyed the pleasure
he was giving his slave.

Troy quickly became lost in the rhythm of joy, aware that at
any rate it would soon be over.  The white man began pumping
harder as Troy stopped talking and began breathing heavily.
He put his head of crinkly black hair on his master's
shoulder and laid a dark chocolate brown arm across the
white tanned chest.  His legged moved on top of his master's
and he began rutting, pushing his groin back and forth in
time to the pumping.  It did not take long.  His whole body
clenched, spasming, shooting thick lines of white semen onto
his master and across his master to the sheets of the bed.
Gasping for breath, he clutched his master's chest tightly.
As his breathing slowed, he reached for the white man's full
penis, but Appleby decided to be responsible in that moment,
having taken enough pleasure from giving pleasure to his
slave.

"No, you are right, we have to be up!" he said, kissing Troy
quickly and springing from bed.  Groaning and laughing, Troy
jumped up as well.  The two men cleaned themselves and each
other from the basin of water near the bed, and Troy watched
his master shave, rubbing his own chin in hopes that a need
had arisen to remove some kinky hairs from his own face--but
alas, it had not!  Dressing quickly, for they feared they
would be late for the tide, they stopped by the pantry on
the way out, stuffing their pockets with bread for a
breakfast on the way.  Appleby had business in the city of
Charleston, a smudge on the horizon, and so he had dressed
more formally, wearing a hat, tie and coat for the first
time since coming to Seaward.

Priam, Troy's fifty year old father, did not complain when
the two men came running down the stone steps to the pier on
the west side of the island, panting from their hurry.  The
two black men were expert sailors in the small craft, the
Hesperus, and guided it out into the open sea where a
favorable wind caught its two sails.  Munching bread and
talking companionably, Troy and Appleby breathed in the
fresh sea air.  Priam was more silent, lost in his own
thoughts, and manned the rudder of the sturdy boat.  A brisk
wind pushed the boat speedily toward the shore.  The wooden
homes, tall steeples, train station, government buildings
and warehouses of the city became clearly visible.

With great skill, Priam and Troy guided their boat to its
berth on a long pier at the harbor, securing it tightly to
the steel rings bolted into the boards of the uprights.
Appleby had a plan for his day in the city, the first part
of which required his slaves to follow him.  He set the pace
into the heart of the town, consulting a hand-drawn map he
had made from an atlas he found in his study, while the
black men followed looking in wonder at the city that was
still strange to them despite the fact that they visited it
about once a week.  It was strange for its congestion, for
being on the mainland, for having so many white people--and
they also found the other blacks different.  People of their
color here seemed much more servile, even cringing,
especially in public.  Knowing the need to adapt, they
avoided eye contact with the white people they saw, stepping
off the board sidewalks and into the muddy street when
necessary to let them pass.

Appleby stopped at a long row of shops, checking off each
destination from his list as they went.  At an apothecary's
shop he ordered medical supplies and a few basic
instruments, patent medicines, bandages, and rare dried
herbs.  At a dry goods store, he asked for bolts of cloth,
spools of thread, needles, scissors, pins.  Stopping at the
telegraph office, he sent a number of telegrams.  Troy and
Priam exchanged guarded looks of surprise when he stopped at
a gun shop and ordered half a dozen double-barreled
shotguns, powder, flint, wadding, shot, and other
necessaries.  At a granary office he ordered large
waterproof sacks of dried wheat, rice, and oats.  At a store
serving the fishing boats down by the harbor, he ordered
netting and floats.  In each place of business, he indicated
his servants who would return to collect the goods in
another hour or two.  His last stop with Troy and Priam was
at a stable, to rent a simple but spacious cart and a mule
to pull it, to be ready in half an hour's time.

Walking out into one of the public squares near the stable,
Appleby stopped by the window of an establishment offering
meat pies, bread, and beer for sale, with tables inside for
eating.  "Does that look good to you?" he asked Troy and
Priam, who peered around his shoulder.

"Yes, Master Mark," each replied.

"Let's go eat," said Appleby, and began to open the door,
when Priam whispered urgently at him, "Master!  we cannot go
in there with you!"  Taken aback, having become completely
used to the easy life he lived with the slaves of Seaward,
Appleby thought for a moment.

"Alright, I will buy some food and drink and bring it out
here, we can sit in the park here in the middle of the
square."

Troy and Priam exchanged pained glances, and Troy whispered
in a mixture of sorrow and urgency, "No, Master Mark, we
can't do that, either.  We can't be seen eating with you."

Appleby was at a loss, and a wave of disappointment washed
over him.  "The boat?" he asked.

"No, master," said Priam, now smiling gently as if
explaining how things were to a child, "not there either.
We cannot be seen eating together."

Appleby's disappointment changed to anger, and then to
determination.  "Wait here," he said, plunging into the
shop, leaving his worried slaves on the board sidewalk.  He
came out with two baskets, one containing food for two, one
with a solitary meal.  Handing the larger basket to Priam he
said, "This is for the two of you.  Probably best to eat it
at the boat."  Priam nodded agreement, looking with interest
at his master.  It was agreed that the black men should
collect the morning's orders in the mule cart and take the
goods to the boat.  They also had some equipment and stores
for Seaward that they themselves needed to pick up, or that
the women had requested, so they headed off, nodding
courteously to their master.  Looking at them go, Appleby
heaved a sigh, then crossed to the park to eat his lonely
lunch on a bench.

His good spirits somewhat restored by the meal, Appleby's
first stop of the afternoon was at the lawyer's, Hector
Smith.  Smith expressed a pleased surprise to see him, but
Appleby explained that as he had to be in town on business
anyway, he decided to go ahead and sign the papers that
Smith had previously planned to bring over to Seaward later
in the week.

"You are quite determined, then, Appleby?"  Smith inquired.
"As your attorney, I must urge caution...although you are
surely rich enough to buy replacements later on if you see
that this was in error."

"Now, Smith," said Appleby, drawing himself up to deliver a
little speech he had composed for the occasion, "as I told
you in my letter two weeks ago, Professor Nutbottom of Yale
has proven his new economic theory that a wage incentive for
the stimulation of industrial and agricultural--"

Smith raised his hand, smiling indulgently.  "Enough, my
friend, you will have your new-fangled Northern ways I
suppose.  I make no further objection.  Here are the
papers," he said, pulling them from a safe.  Calling in his
clerk to witness, he notarized them and made Appleby sign
three copies, handing two copies to him and putting another
back into his safe.

"This is all now perfectly legal and complete, is it?"

"Yes, my friend, it is.  You know what to do with one of
those copies."

"I do, and I thank you.  Oh..." Appleby said, picking up his
hat and making ready to leave, "this is strictly
confidential, is it not?  I don't want to be embarrassed if
my, um, economic theories fail."

"Strictly legal, strictly confidential.  Thank you, so nice
to see you again.  You must sail back over for dinner some
time," said Smith, with genuine affection for his law school
classmate.

Stepping into the street, Appleby could barely suppress a
guffaw.  Professor Nutbottom, indeed--of course, there was
no such person.  Just part of a necessary ruse.  But then
Appleby was momentarily startled.  Did he see Priam ducking
behind a building at the end of the block?  No doubt he was
mistaken, there were so many African men in Charleston.
Appleby walked around for a bit, having two hours free until
the appointed time to meet his men at the boat.  Up and down
he walked, admiring spacious white wooden houses with cast
iron railings around two story verandahs.

After about half an hour, he turned down a street that
appeared to house several businesses.  Walking by a stone
building with an open window he was stopped abruptly by the
sound of a whip... a whip meeting flesh.  A voice cried out
in pain, and it had the throaty resonance of an African
voice.  "STAND against that wall when I tell ye, ye damned
blackamoor!" another voice, white, bellowed in a roar.
Appleby looked at the bars on the windows set in the stone
wall, at the sign "Negroes for sale" over the door, and
realized with revulsion that this was a place where slaves
were bought and sold.... and evidently mistreated.  A sense
of horror warred with anger in his mind.  He stumbled away
quickly, keeping his eye on the barred window, and nearly
tripped over the front stoop of the next business down the
way.  Recovering himself, he looked straight up the steps
into the eyes of the man who stood there.

"Yas, yas, a disgraceful business, old Levitt over
there..... scares the customers and damages the goods,
dontcha know."  There stood a middle aged man with pasty
skin, a fat, doughy face pushing out a bulbous red nose, and
greasy hair coming out from under a greasier, ancient hat.
He was quite portly, and his clothes neither the cleanest
nor the newest.

"McGillicuddy, Aloysius McGillicuddy is the name, yas, yas,"
he said, lunging at Appleby with a grubby hand held out for
a shake.  Appleby took it, as much to steady himself from
his near fall as out of sociability.  It was.... well, it
was sticky.

"Mark Appleby, at your service, sir," came the polite reply.

"Have you an establishment here in town or in the country,
if I may so inquire?" said McGillicuddy in a wheezy, nasal
voice.

"I own Seaward Plantation, out..." Appleby gestured toward
the port, "out there."

"Ah, a land owner!  A plantation!  No doubt always in need
of servants.  Come sir, let me invite you in for a drink and
perhaps to inspect my stock."  McGillicuddy heaved a stout
leg down a step and cupped a fat hand around Appleby's
shoulder, guiding him toward the door.  It was then that
Appleby saw the sign above this door:  A. McGillicuddy and
Co., Negroes Sold and Bought.

"I... I have no need for more servants, sir," said Appleby,
feeling a sudden distaste for the whole matter.

"Of course, yas, yas, but it can't hurt to look, can it?  We
never know in life," said McGillicuddy, hooking a grubby
finger in his vest and lifting a grubbier finger into the
air, "what life will bring.  Suppose you return to your
estates and find the pox has taken off half your servants?
What then, yas?  No obligation, sir, I assure you, come in
and examine the stock, no need to buy today at all, no, no,
just looking, eh?  To be aware of what may be had, and at
what price?"

Naturally courteous, Appleby did not wish to be rude.  And
he had more than an hour before needing to meet Priam and
Troy.  And.... and to tell the truth, he was curious.  A
little... interested.  Perhaps.... drawn.  He had no
experience of slave markets in Boston.  He had had nothing
but the most wonderful (and indeed, life-changing)
experiences of the slaves of Seaward.  Could it hurt?  What
could it hurt!

"I... I suppose so, but for just a short while.  Really,
sir, I have no need of servants at the moment and I have...
I have other appointments this afternoon."  He did not add,
of course, that his only appointment was with two of his own
slaves, one of whom he was physically intimate with.

"Yas, yas, all understood quite well," said McGillicuddy,
leading Appleby into a dingy hallway.  "Now, I must tell
you, all our stock are in the best physical condition, well
fed, examined by the finest veterinarian in town, Doctor
Ladwig.  All bathe fresh first thing every morning so as to
purge all offensive odors, yas, yas.  And we have only just
opened for business, at one o'clock, sir, so you see our
stock at its freshest and most, uh, untried."

They passed locked doors with barred windows, through which
Appleby could make out stark rooms lined with benches, black
people inside milling around listlessly or sitting on the
benches.  Males and females appeared to be separated in
different rooms.  Soft voices could be heard, nothing more.
He could not imagine what McGillicuddy meant by offensive
odors; there were none, and he had certainly smelled none on
the people of Seaward.  He could not say the same for
McGillicuddy.

"Now, sir, if you will sit here," said McGillicuddy, showing
Appleby into a small room.  It had a single wooden chair
next to a table with a few objects on it. McGillicuddy
gestured grandly toward a particularly dirty glass half full
of some beverage, the sight of which revolted Appleby.
"What may I show you, sir?  We have some very nice wenches,"
he said, winking and guffawing, a wave of horrible breath
rolling out of him toward Appleby.  Turning his head briefly
Appleby said, "no, no need of such."

"No?  field hands, then."

"I, I have no large fields, sir.  My servants do lighter,
useful work in small fields, gardens, and the house."

"Ah, yas, yas.  You want presentable servants.... no
wenches?  no, no, you said so, yas.  Well, then comely male
servants for footmen, valets, butlers, and the like, eh?"
Appleby nodded, eager now to get the thing over with and be
on his way, away from the odious McGillicuddy.

"Right!" said the slave dealer, showing more quickness than
he had so far, "Let me find, shall we say five or six likely
speciments for house slaves?  Also, good breeding stock, I
assure you.  Now, here," he said, indicating the objects on
the table, "is some goose grease.  You may wish, sir, to
make... an examination," said McGillicuddy, "to check for
piles and other infirmities."  Appleby looked in shocked
fascination at the pot of grease on the table.  "And here
sir, are towels and soap and water.... oh, and some waste
paper if you wish to examine the Negroes for," and here he
winked horribly and grinned, showing a line of rotting
teeth, "for their breeding potential.  Quite alright, sir,
quite the done thing, feel free."  Appleby looked at him
questioningly, genuinely puzzled.  "Oh, you know sir," said
McGillicuddy, and made the unmistakable motion of
masturbation with his right hand.  "Good breeders, dontcha
know, yas!"  He guffawed again and left the room to find
some... some goods.

In the hallway was the sound of McGillicuddy giving loud
directions and the answering murmur of soft voices, the
shuffling of feet, the opening and closing of doors.
Appleby thought about what was to happen.  Examinations?
for piles?  for breeding potential?  He began imagining what
he could do, what would happen.  Powerful, contradictory
feelings rose up in him.  He remembered that when he was a
boy, his mother expressly told him not to eat any of a pie
she had left to cool in a pie cupboard.  Of course, he ate
the whole thing, with shocking intestinal consequences, but
it felt so good to do it while he was eating.  Appleby now
stared into the pit of something he felt to be evil and
wrong... but his imagination told him that it would feel so
good.  Not for the first time since coming to the South, the
spirit of slavery arose in him, a spirit of total control
and ownership over other people's bodies.  He began to
think, to plan, to lust.

"Now, sir," said McGillicuddy, a little breathless, wheezing
in the doorway, "I have some prime Negroes here in the
hallway, sir, and will send them in one at a time for your
perusal.  I know, I know!  not buying today!  But can't hurt
to look, can it?  Look 'em over, send 'em out, I'll send in
another one" he said jovially, then reached over and pulled
into the doorway the first slave that Appleby would examine.

Into the room McGillicuddy pushed a coal black youth of
perhaps eighteen, then departed down the hall.  The young
man stood with head bowed, awaiting orders. He was six feet
tall, whippet thin with long, hard but thin muscles up and
down his arms and legs.  His belly was thin, rising out of
flat-sided hips that curved out in back, pressing against
the tight, white cloth wrap that was his only garment.  His
abdomen did not have prominent muscles but was a plain of
smooth muscle beneath night black skin, so black it was
nearly purple.  His chest was high, and made of two taught,
rounded but generously thick muscles with pointed, deep
black nipples on oiled skin.  It appeared as if his whole
body might have been lightly oiled for presentation in the
market.  Appleby was overcome.  He rose.

"Come," was all he said.  The slave approached, eyes still
downcast.  Appleby stood a foot from him, then reached out
and with a violent jerk pulled off his wrap.  It fell,
revealing a long, ten inch penis, not very thick in the
shaft, that curved slightly to the left.  A surprisingly
dense, bushy patch of black pubic hair sprang out from above
this snake, and continued down around the youth's penis onto
his balls, which were carried in a large ballsack that
dangled  four inches below his groin.  A feeling of total
power and control surged over Appleby.  With his hand he
lifted the chin of the slave, who nevertheless kept his eyes
downcast.  Thick, wide lips, purple brown and of equal size
top and bottom, a wide nose with flared nostrils, thin jet
black eyebrows, heavy turtle lids on his eyes in a thin,
long face.  His head must have been shaved only a few weeks
ago, for tiny, wiry hairs covered his scalp tightly, not
grown enough yet to have formed a cap of hair.  Appleby, in
total freedom, ran his hand over the rough, sandpapery
texture of the youth's scalp.  There was no sound and no
complaint.  With both hands he massaged the lips, pushing
his thumbs into the mouth, which the boy opened for
inspection.  Cupping both hands over the high chest muscles
he kneaded them, pinching the nipples hard, making the youth
wince--and Appleby did that because he could.

Sitting down, his own penis straining against his trousers
and breathing rapidly, Appleby said, "Turn around, bend
over."  The youth did so, exposing tight buttocks and a
wrinkled dark brown asshole.  Appleby looked at the firm ass
for a moment and then slapped it hard, making the boy gasp,
and he did it because he could.  Coating his finger with the
grease from the pot, Appleby plunged it into the hole, not
caring what he "examined" but merely wanting to show his
dominance over the youth, who grunted as he grabbed his
knees.  Appleby wiggled his finger around, pushing it in as
hard as he could, then withdrew it.  "Turn around," he said
again, and when the youth did so, Appleby caught up a piece
of wastepaper.  Looking at the enormous penis, he grasped it
and began to pump, slowly at first, then faster.  The night
black youth looked to one side and his high, rounded,
muscled chest began to rise and fall more rapidly.  Appleby
could see the youth's heartbeat pulsing the skin beneath his
high chest.  Involuntarily, the penis grew in Appleby's
hands, deep brown head creeping out of the oily, silky, jet
black hood.  Appleby tightened his grip and pumped it,
squeezing each time his hand moved towards the head.  The
boy's head lolled from side to side, he swallowed hard, his
pelvis began slowly pushing forward; he did not want to do
these things but the white man's attentions were more than
he could resist.

For the first time in his own voice, the youth hoarsely
spoke: "O! Master!" and powerfully cocked his pelvis forward
and up, his smooth belly muscles tightening.  A plume of
white semen erupted out of his penis and fell down over
Appleby's hand and along the pulsing shaft of the dick.
Twice more he shot out his seed, then quivered and stood
still.  Appleby caught the white liquid in the waste paper,
examined it closely, smelling it, then discarding it.  He
washed his hands, turned the youth around and slapped his
ass again, propelling him into the hallway naked, his only
cloth covering snatched up in haste as he ran.  The white
man was beginning to feel drunk with power.

Again McGillicuddy appeared, his fat hand around the neck of
a powerfully built man, milk chocolate, perhaps in his late
twenties or early thirties, six and a half feet tall.  A
powerful neck grew straight up into a bullet shaped head,
also covered with tiny little black wiggles of hair
indicating a recent shaving.  Small, bent ears grew above
columns of neck muscle.  His eyes were dark and lowered, his
nose surprisingly small for so large a man, mouth
surprisingly small by rounded like a purple brown heart.
Heavy lobes of milk chocolate chest muscle arched out over a
belly that, although muscled, showed a little flesh on it,
with a slightly protruding navel.  Heavy rolls of muscle
like hams and sausages rolled along his arms and pillar-like
legs.  Was this a "house slave" and not a field hand?
Appleby gave it very little thought.

"Come," he called again, and the slave approached, to have
his thin white garment ripped from his loins like the last
black.  A very thick but not very long penis over heavy but
tight, close-in testicles was revealed.  The foreskin ran
beyond the head, ending in a little pucker of skin.  A few
tight whorls of pubic hair grew above his thick cock.
"Turn," said Appleby, and the large man did so, revealing
heavy, prominent, rounded buttocks.  Appleby wordlessly
pushed the man on his upper back.  The slave knew what was
expected and bent over, gripping his knees.  He grunted hard
as Appleby rammed a finger in the middle of his large
bottom, then a second finger, as the man squirmed but dared
not protest.

Pulling his fingers out suddenly, he turned the man around
and quickly grasped his penis.  It thickened even more but
did not grow very much longer.  His fingers not reaching all
the way around it, Appleby applied his other hand, both his
white hands sliding up and down on the chocolate rod.  The
man's breathing picked up, the great curved lobes of his
chest muscles moving up and down.  His eyes, downcast all
the while, daringly focused on Appleby.  Appleby gazed
straight back into them, two strangers white and black,
master and slave, both breathing faster until the black man
grunted hard, pulled his hips back fast and slammed them
forward faster, and came.  His semen came all in one rush,
an amount less than the first slave.  Appleby did not bother
with the pretense of "examining" it but let it run over his
fists and fall to the stone floor.  As soon as the white
milk stopped flowing, Appleby handed the man his garment,
which he silently put back on and just as silently left.

Another slave and then another and another was presented in
this way.  Appleby was into a different world of power and
possession, his trousers spotted with his own leakings.  One
of the slaves, rail-thin and with a yellowish complexion,
dared to speak to Appleby as the white man was pumping his
surprisingly dark, long rod:  "Master," he panted, "if you
want to buy me... I have a wife, master," his breathing
became faster, "she's here, master," and it became even
faster, "please master...." and he did not finish the
thought as he clenched his hips and squeezed out his semen.
Afterward, Appleby was too ashamed to speak to him, and the
man hung his head in despair as he left.

The second to last offering for sale was pushed into the
room by McGillicuddy with his hands on both shoulders, a boy
no older than ten.  Eyes lowered but his body speaking a
message of proud defiance, he walked forward to stand right
in front of the white man and removed his own thin garment,
more of a g-string than any kind of cloth.  He was
the deep chocolate color of Troy and Priam, thin boyish
muscles on a slender frame, no hair at all on his body but
for a tight cap of half inch long kinks and knots on his
head.  Appleby sat for this examination and wordlessly
turned the boy to the side, in profile this time.  He
greased his thumb instead of finger and shoved it inside the
boy's rectum.  The boy flinched but made no sound, although
his breathing came more quickly.  Appleby kept his thumb
there to see what would happen.  The boy stared straight
ahead defiantly, a tough little man, but slowly his small,
dark penis, no more than two or three inches long and thin,
began to grow and stick straight out in front of him.  The
boy, embarrassed, covered himself with his hands.  "You like
it, don't you" said the white man; in response, the boy hung
his head, blushing a darker chocolate.  Appleby brushed the
boy's hands away quickly and grasped his small organ between
thumb and the first two fingers, then began sliding them up
and down the straight black rod.  It took longer for the boy
than for the older slaves, and it occurred to Appleby that
few customers would attempt to "examine" such a young boy
for "breeding potential," so this may have been a new
experience for him.  The boy's thin frame began to quiver
slightly, then shake.  Appleby pushed his thumb into the
boy's ass even farther.  A puzzled look came over the boy's
face and then his knees slumped, almost giving way, and his
whole frame shook in a quick, dry orgasm.  Panting, he
looked sideways at Appleby in frank wonder and amazement.
Appleby quickly picked up the g-string from the floor and
draped it over the stiff little penis that was sticking out
and up at a forty-five degree angle, then slapped him hard
on the butt which sent the boy scurrying out of the room.

"Perhaps one more, yas!" cried McGillicuddy, approaching the
door from the hallway.  Appleby was about to protest.  His
orgy of power and control, his riot of domination and
manipulation, was subsiding.  How could he have done this?
How could he have behaved so?  How could he have so rudely
dismissed the slave who feared parting from his wife?  He
raised his hand and had opened his mouth to decline the
offer when he saw the youth McGillicuddy pushed around the
corner and into the room.

"Just in last night, sir, a prime mulatto from the Caspar
Plantation just up the road, sold from an estate.  You, sir,
have the privilege of being the first to consider this fine
specimen as an addition to your own household staff and,
um," and here McGillicuddy's piggish eyes twinkled,
"breeding stock!"  He lumbered back into the hallway.

Appleby scarcely heard him, transfixed as he was with the
beautiful young man, boy actually, who stood before him.  It
was as if a marble statue by Michaelangelo had come to life
and turned brown.  Not a dark brown but a balanced cafe-au-
lait color on a flawless skin.  He beheld a youth of about
sixteen, five and a half feet tall.  His face was strikingly
beautiful, a wide forehead with deep-set hazel eyes beneath
thin black eyebrows, a nose somewhat longer and less wide,
less flared, than among pureblood Africans.  His cofee and
cream complexion set off a mop of jet black, twisting loose
curls lying flat in a tangle around his head, a nest of
black snakes that just covered his ears.  His face was
rounded but not at all fat or puffy.  If there was less
Africa in his nose, it took its residence in his mouth:
full but not wide lips on a thick base that curved out
between nose and strong chin, his reddened brown lips formed
a full, nearly heart-shaped mouth, a slight crease parting
the upper lip in the middle, from which it spread out like
wings.

The youth's neck was thin but strong, atop a boxy chest with
square, thick pads of muscle and dark red-brown pointed
nipples.  From his chest, muscles rippled lightly over his
ribs as his torso narrowed dramatically to a thin waist; the
muscles of his abdomen were not overdeveloped but in perfect
proportion, a tube of taut strength.  His slightly recessed
navel was a lighter color, nearly the color of Appleby's own
skin.  If this was a houseboy, he had certainly not gone to
fat in performing his duties.  Below his short white cloth
covering were beautifully shaped legs, light brown skin
covering flowing muscles.

If he had only arrived in the slave market the night before,
as McGillicuddy said, the youth had not had time to be
broken down by his sad surroundings and by the humiliations
of the experience.  He kept his head respectfully bowed, but
his eyes peered under long, curling lashes at Appleby.  The
white man rose and asked a question he had asked of none of
the other slaves that afternoon.

"What is your name?"

"My name is Cassius, sir."

"Cassius... I am Mark Appleby."

Surprised at a white man who would tell his name to a slave
in these circumstances, the youth nodded thoughtfully, then
seemed to gather up some courage, for he said in a rush,
"Master, if you buy me, sir.... please, sir, my sister is
here also."  A note of urgency, even desperation crept into
his voice.  "I can't leave her here, sir... I... oh, please
sir, take us both together."  Forgetting to avoid eye
contact, he looked with urgency into Appleby's eyes.

"Your sister...." Appleby began.  "Where are your parents?"

"Our mother died of a fever two years ago, master.  Our
father...." and here something liquid glinted in the corner
of the boy's eye, "our master died a week ago.  His wife was
embarrassed by us and didn't want to keep us.  She sold us
to Master McGillicuddy. Please sir," he said, returning to
point, "take both of us."

Appleby didn't know what to do.  A powerful desire came over
him, not to own and control the boy but to discover him, to
have him of the boy's own free will, to share himself with
him.  A sister?  What was he to do?  He thought of
"examining" the boy but decided he did not want to do that
in the filthy offices of the vile McGillicuddy, the floor
already slick with semen.  And he thought of the poor man
with the wife, and how he might make amends in some way to
the universe now for his earlier lack of caring.

"Wait here," he told the youth, and went into the hallway.
McGillicuddy was rocking in a straight back chair in the
door of his office down the hallway, placed so he could
monitor who emerged from the room.  He jumped up, sensing a
sale.  Just looking, indeed!

"Yas, yas, have you made a decision?"

"The boy in there, uh, Cassius.  He says he has a sister,"
began Appleby.

"Ah yes, very natural you should be interested, sir, very
natural--if you'll excuse me," he said, popping into a
nearby room.  Appleby had no time to voice a protest.
McGillicuddy was gone but a minute, then stepped back into
the hallway and gestured for Appleby to enter the room.
Stepping into it, he was taken aback.  There was a young
woman, perhaps a year older than Cassius, about seventeen,
and stark naked.  Utterly unused to such scrutiny, she held
her arm over her breasts and one hand over her pubic
triangle, looking down and to one side, her coffee and cream
skin a match for her brother except for the red flush that a
blush had laid over it.  Nevetheless, Appleby was struck by
her beauty, an attraction he had not thought he would feel
again after his experiences of the last few days.  "What is
your name?" he asked distractedly.

"Portia, sir," said McGillicuddy, answering for her,
"likewise a mulatto, brought in last night, but seventeen
years old sir, and" poking Appleby in his vest with a filthy
finger, "very ripe sir, yas, very ripe indeed."

Appleby turned on his heel and went into the hallway, then
the few steps into McGillicuddy's office.  The slave trader
waddled as fast as he could to follow.  Wheeling about,
Appleby asked, "How much for the two?"  A few moments of
arguing followed, ending in the naming of a final price.  "I
shall go bankrupt, sir, I shall!" said McGillicuddy, who
nevertheless seemed pleased with the quick sale.

"Look here, sir, I hope to be able to take them, but I must
make arrangements and, uh, consult my associates first,"
said Appleby.  "Let me put a deposit on them and I shall
return tomorrow either to take them away or reclaim the
deposit."  This was agreeable to McGillicuddy, and papers
were drawn up and signed immediately.  Plucking at Appleby's
elbow, he showed his customer to the door.  Just before he
stepped down to the street, however, Appleby turned back to
McGillicuddy.

"I want nobody examining them any longer until I return," he
said.  "I want them clothed and fed," and he cast a fierce
look at the slave trader.  Taken aback and a bit cowed, the
portly man readily agreed.  The bargain was concluded, and
Appleby hastened into the street, a bit late for his
rendezvous with Troy and Priam.  Again, he thought he saw
someone who looked a bit like Priam slip out of sight into
an alley two blocks away, but there were so many Africans in
Charleston that he gave it no more thought.

Troy greeted his master warmly at the boat.  Priam was
cordial but a bit distant.  The boat was heavy with all the
goods stowed upon it, and the men had all they could do to
manage it in the brisk wind that picked up off the sea.
Troy was in his usual good spirits, but he could sense that
both his father and master were lost in thought, so it was a
quiet trip back.

Once the boat had docked at the pier on the island, Appleby
ran ahead to gather more help and the donkey cart, while
Troy and Priam remained to unload the boat and carry the
stores up the stone steps.  It took over an hour for all the
males of the island to transport the goods and store them in
the barns and sheds of the plantation, but Appleby was glad
to be able to help more in the work of the plantation.  And
after his sometimes harrowing experience in town, he felt he
had come home again.

The goods stored and the donkey put to pasture, Appleby
gathered up the packet of papers given to him by Smith and
approached Priam.  He asked him to gather all the people of
the plantation who could come to the library of the main
house.  A dark cloud passed over Priam's face, but he curtly
agreed and set about his task.  A few minutes later, Appleby
sat in the library as his slaves filed in singly and in
groups.  Hector came first and gave his master a quick,
dignified hug.  He seemed not perturbed at all when the
twins came bouncing into the room and gave the same
treatment.  Troy came in with Athena, looking much recovered
from her delivery and with a quiet newborn wrapped in a
blanket.  Finally, Priam, Cass, Helen, and Juno entered.
Appleby rose to speak.

"People of Seaward, I have here some papers of special
interest to you.  You know that I have had no experience of
slaves or slavery, nor of running a plantation in my life,
and so I formed in my mind a decision even before I set out
on my journey here.  My experiences with you all have but
confirmed that decision."  He gathered breath to go on, but
Priam stood up quickly.  A powerful emotion worked on his
strong, dark face.  Without a note of hope in his voice, he
nevertheless spoke out.

"Don't sell us, master.  Please, sir.  I know you went to
the lawyer and then the slave sellers today, master.
Seaward is all any of us know.  It is our home.  Please
sir....." and his voice trailed off, his head hanging.

The room sat in stunned silence.  Hector, standing nearest
Appleby, reached out and touched his sleeve.  "Master?!" he
asked in a voice of incredulity.  Pan and Bacchus sat
stunned, their high spirits dashed, Pan shaking his head
vigorously and Bacchus mouthing "no, no, no."  Troy had a
shocked, blank look on his face.  Cass and Juno looked away,
Juno covering her face.  Only Helen, standing near Athena,
waited with a watchful, observant look in her eye, and
Athena.... Athena looked directly at her master, a radiant
smile on her face, her understanding having pierced to the
core of his intentions.

Appleby himself stood speechless for a moment, looking
around the room in shock.  "Sell you?  Sell you!?"

He sat down hard on a chair and pulled out a handkerchief to
mop the sweat that suddenly stood out on his brow.  Memories
of the sorry houses of the slave traders flooded back to
him, as well as his own disgraceful behavior in that place.
How Pan and Bacchus and Hector and Troy and Helen and the
others might be treated in such a place....  He found voice
again and stood back up.

"As of one o'clock this afternoon, you were all free.  Here
are the papers from the attorney, one for each of you--yes,
one for the baby, name to be filled in later."  Athena,
radiant, nodded in satisfaction, her intuition verified.
The people of Seaward looked around the room at each other
in disbelief.  Slowly, disbelief turned to comprehension and
sorrow turned to smiles.  Frozen bodies began to move
slowly.... with three exceptions.  With a great, shared
whoop, Pan and Bacchus rushed the white man, knocking him
back into the chair and nearly smothering him with hugs.
Hector completed the job--with tears running down his dark
brown cheeks he piled onto Appleby.  The whole room broke
out into a commotion, everyone talking, wondering, clapping.
Struggling out of the knot of boys, Appleby untied the
packet and with great ceremony handed to each person, from
Priam down to the squirming infant, a notarized official
document proclaiming their freedom.  The copies, also
notarized, he put into a safe in the library where they
could be kept out of harm's way in case they should ever be
needed.  Priam looked at his paper, read it carefully, then
standing very erect and with great dignity walked over to
Appleby and shook his hand, moisture glinting in the corner
of his eye.

As soon as he could regain the floor, Appleby called for
silence, then resumed his speech.

"We must all think about what to do about this, however.
You have several options, as I see it.  First, I must tell
you that I will give all of you one year's wages.  It is not
adequate recompense for the years you have worked unpaid,
but it is what I can afford.  Second, if any of you want to
be returned to Africa, I have been in communication with a
charitable group in the North that returns former slaves to
Africa, to the colony of Liberia."  Blank looks went all
around the room; he might as well have proposed returning
them to Mars.  He continued.  "If any of you simply wish to
leave Seaward, you may do so with my blessing although," and
here he looked all around with a smile, "I should miss you
terribly.  Finally, if you wish to stay here, I will pay
each of you a fair wage.  Now, I do not want to bias your
decision, but here is how I see it:  Life is very hard for
black people ashore.  Legal freedom does not go very far,
and can easily be lost.  I am afraid that the question of
slaves and slavery in the States is heading for a very dark
and unhappy period.  I think," he said, "that you would be
better off to stay on Seaward.  But I leave it to you.  I am
going to walk outside now for a period and let you talk
among yourselves to set your own courses of action."  And
with that he left the group, which looked around at each
other thoughtfully.

Sitting on the verandah in the approaching twilight, Appleby
could hear animated voices in the library discussing what
was a momentous, even life or death decision.  After some
time he heard the door to the verandah open and Helen
stepped out, smiling at him.  "Come," she said, taking his
hand in her small, dark brown one.  He followed her in to
the library.

Priam had been elected to speak for all.  "Master Mark," he
began, and when Appleby started to protest the salutation,
Priam continued, "Master Mark, thank you.  How can we say
that enough?  You have done what is right, and perhaps that
is reward enough."  Here the white man nodded vigorously.
"As for your generous suggestions:  First, we are all in
agreement as to what to do.  Second, we all wish to stay
here," and at that moment a thunderous roar of applause,
whoops, shouts, and laughter erupted in the room, Appleby's
not the least among them.  "Third, about money.... we will
take your offer for a year's wages, and fair wages in the
future, but.... what would we do with it?  We cannot go into
Charleston and easily buy things.  We have decided to ask
you if you would invest it for us.  I think perhaps you are
skilled in doing that?"  Appleby agreed eagerly to that
financial plan.  "And finally, about staying here.  We do
some reading, you know.  I have read that the term 'master'
is used in many ways; for instance, it has been used to mean
'leader,' or as a term of respect.  That is how we wish to
use it toward you.... Master Mark."  Appleby could not
speak, but only nodded, his eyes welling up.  Priam became
more serious then.  "There is another reason for you to
appear to be our master, and for us to appear to be your
slaves, sir.  If people ashore discovered we were all
free... if they discovered how we live here...." and he
looked at the boys, then at Appleby, then at Athena and her
child and at Troy and Hector; it was clear there were few
secrets here, and that everyone understood his implications.
"If people thought we were other than an ordinary
plantation, with slaves and a master, I think our way of
life would end here quickly.  We are happy living the way we
have been, Master Mark," he said, with an emphasis on
"Master."  He continued, "let us all continue to live in
that same way.  To the world you are still are master, and
we are still your slaves."  Heads nodded and voices murmured
agreement all around the room.

Appleby rose.  "We are agreed, and we are as one."  A mighty
shout went up from all.  "Now, he said, "who will help me to
bring up wine from the cellar?  Who will bring out the best
fruits, cook meats, prepare bread?  Who will make music?  I
think this calls for a celebration."  Everyone rose up at
once and began bustling here and there, making ready for a
feast.  Smiles broke out all around, and everyone addressed
Appleby as "Master Mark" even more pointedly than before,
and surely more joyously.  Indeed, it felt very little
different at all.  Passing in the hallway, Troy stopped him
with a quick, bone crunching hug and brushed his neck and
ear with his lips.  The twins grabbed him around the middle
several times, achieving a quick hump before he shooed them
off, laughing.  Hector and Helen quietly embraced him as he
came by them, expressing their feelings in lingering hugs.

Soon a feast was set out on the dining room table, which
everyone partook of on the rocking chairs and steps of the
verandah.  Priam produced a strange instrument of African
origin that Appleby believed he had seen described as a
"banjo," and played tunes on it while the company danced on
the lawn.  Nobody made any comment when Appleby danced with
Troy, Hector, or the twins, and they thought it gracious of
him to give young Helen a few twirls and a peck on the lips,
little knowing of their intimacy the day before.

As the party began to die down, Appleby called together
Priam, Cass, Juno, and Troy for a conference.  He explained
the dire plight of the slaves Cassius and Portia, still at
the slave trader's in Charleston.

"We might have reasons to bring them here beyond my own
guilt," he said, not listing his lust for the boy Cassius as
one of them.  "There are but two families here, besides
myself.  We have three boys who may one day want a mate, and
there are few options on the island.  Although," he said,
looking worried, "what Cassius, the sixteen year old boy,
would do here I don't know.  There is also the question of
how many more people Seaward can support."

The group thought about the questions, talking softly among
themselves.  It was Troy who went right to the heart of the
most ticklish issue:  "Master, we don't have to match up all
even, men and women.  We can share.  It's what we do on
Seaward.  Anyway," and here he looked to one side and a
darker blush seemed to crawl over the dark skin of his
handsome face, "some don't want to pair up like that."

There was a general nodding and agreement on that point,
which surprised Appleby; the openness of Seaward was more
widely shared than he had thought.  What a place of natural
freedom!  What other freedoms, he wondered, have they
enjoyed here, what other licenses with one another in the
cabins and woods?  Priam spoke up:  "Master Mark, Seaward
can support more people, especially if we can buy supplies
and store them.  You bought a lot today, master!" he
chuckled.  And in the end, it was Mama Juno who spoke the
deciding opinion:  "If your heart was moved to bring those
two youngsters here, you should do it, Master Mark.  We'll
find room for them.  Go with your heart."

There was general agreement all around, and agreement that
it was time to clean up and go to bed.  Many hands made
light work.  Priam, Troy, and Appleby decided that they
would return to Charleston in the boat the very next
morning, to bring back the mulatto slaves Cassius and
Portia.  All but one of the people returned to the cabins,
and the house lights were turned down low.  As they did the
night before, before so many changes, Troy and Appleby sat
rocking on the porch, enjoying small snifters of the
Napoleon brandy.  This time it was Troy's turn to rise and
extend his hand to his master.

"Bed, Master Mark?" he asked.

"You know, Troy.... I'm not legally your master.  You're not
legally my slave.  You are not compelled to do this."
Appleby felt he had to say it, but he also felt sure of the
response.

"Master Mark, sir.... I wasn't really forced to do it
before.  None of us were.  Nobody did anything with you
because you owned us... master."  His dark face flashed a
brilliant white grin in the night.  "You were just the
prettiest naked white man any of us had ever seen."  Both
men guffawed at that, and Appleby rose to embrace the black
man tightly.  "And anyway," he said, tightening his grip on
the white man's hand and tugging toward the door, "you are
my master, and I am your slave, if not legally then deep in
my heart."