Savannah Affair Part 07

Savannah Affair Part 07

Bo and Joshua Return to Howellwood

This story is fiction--as any student of the history of the Civil War will attest. I strongly suggest that you read the first chapters before this one. This story is all about character--a young man originally sure of himself and a budding prince in Southern society is shaken by defeat. But, he's a survivor with an instinct for self-preservation and a voracious appetite for male flesh. His sidekick is black, unbeknownst to him a step-brother, and another survivor--thanks to his beauty. Bo has seduced an older, less sophisticated Puritan, who is in denial, but has been hooked into the world of man on man sex. It has rocked his world. They have separated and Bo has found a way to return to his boyhood home. All characters in this story are over 18. © Copyright, 2025, Brunosden.

15

Bo's story continues...

The Heloise turned out to be a medium class merchant galleon, retrofitted with steam and two screws. She was flat bottomed and shallow beamed, designed to travel up the shallow Southern rivers--which meant that Atlantic crossings would be rough. Below deck were three low ceilinged spaces. There were no cabins as such, save for the Owner (Banks') and the Captain's quarters which were at the rear of the main deck. The crew shared a dorm type space with bunks on the next to lowest level. The lowest level was only partially filled with cargo, since the Heloise was seeking cargo for the return trip to England--and the animals and provisions were been stored there. Forward of the captain's quarters a large open space (typically for dry cargo) had been divided into three rooms, using barrels, boxes, and spare sails. Joshua had one (the smallest), I had one, and the four ladies had the last (the largest) with four real beds.

Loading of the livestock, provisions for the short voyage and the luggage had been accomplished in the early morn. The passengers arrived at ten--all clothed in homespun, demure outfits with bonnets and cotton traveling coats--all very proper. But, if one looked closely, and the captain did indeed look closely, the women were all coifed and made up--and were outstandingly alluring in their purported innocence. He began to suspect their concealed profession almost immediately. Promptly at eleven, we weighed anchor and set off up river. It was late summer. The evenings had turned cool, but most days were hot with afternoon storms. So we departed in the heated doldrums of midday, most of us staying on deck to catch the occasional breezes.

There was some consternation among the captain and the crew when they discovered that five of the six passengers were colored and not cargo/slaves. But Joshua had whispered that his charges were "ladies of the night"--and would be pleased to entertain the crew on the overnight part of the voyage after we anchored shore-side. That was the end of the discussion--and the consternation. He later told me that it was his "genius" that had the girls pack one "entertainment outfit" each in their trunks. And he had packed one trunk of precious cotton bed linens. He went below to explain to them how they would be paying for their passage. They were going to enjoy their first "at sea" clients.

Eight hours later we had made good progress, but it was not safe to navigate the narrow river in the dark--and we could not expect to reach Howellwood for another six to eight hours. So we anchored, shore side. The captain, realizing the uniqueness of the situation decided to declare a feast on deck and in the adjacent meadow--and he ordered cook to prepare for it.

An hour later we all gathered. Several crew members had rudimentary instruments and began to play. The deck became a dance floor. And the cook and his assistant had set up a reasonably wonderful table--fresh fruit, a joint, boiled potatoes, bread--and of course a "punch" liberally spiked with rum on shore. Minutes later the "ladies" appeared, bedecked in glittery silk, satin, sequins, feathers and faux jewels. Tight bodices pushed ripe, swollen breasts high, revealing a lot of cleavage and even a bit of nipple. Whistles and catcalls greeted their arrival. They were coaxed into dancing, singing, and within minutes into laps. The crew was absolutely ecstatic. Everyone feasted, and, after we had eaten and drunk some of the Captain's rum, and the music began again, two by two, the crew disappeared below deck with one of the ladies, only to return thirty minutes later with a broad smile, handing her off to the next in line.

It was indeed a successful evening. Even Banks had indulged. Joshua watched me all night, whispering occasionally, "Later. I need to supervise."

Finally, after all the crew had partaken of our ladies' attributes (and a few had had seconds), the Captain, who had just danced with one of the girls, announced that it was late and, that we would sail early. He wished everyone a good night--and walked to his cabin, holding his dance partner in a tight hold. We knew where she would spend the night.

Banks said a reluctant good night, stared in my direction in invitation, and, when I didn't bite, retired. And the ladies walked carefully on heels, having drunk a good deal of punch, to their remote quarters. Their purses were full and their smiles were wide.

"Shall I join you, Bo? Or are you too tired?"

"Never for you, boy."

Joshua followed me into my "room" as I turned and embraced him. Our lips met; our mouths opened; and our tongues began the ancient mating dance. Meanwhile, I could feel his hardness pressing into my gut. "Let's get more comfortable. It's warm below deck."

"As you command, Massa." He smiled, in an attempt at coquetry, indicating that the "Massa" was a joke. Seconds later, he was nude, standing tall before me in the classic pose that he had trademarked: arms under pecs, bulging his biceps, legs spread, prodigious dick arched over low hanging balls. If anything, his cock had continued to grow since I had last seen him on his nineteenth birthday. He was now no doubt a fully mature black male, still at the peak of his fertility. His cock was an enormous dark weapon of procreation with the potential to sire a nation (or recreation, depending on the occasion). His thinness emphasized the cut abs and the vee belt. But the high muscled bubble butt had survived. And his closely cropped hair emphasized the distinguished bone structure of his classic African male face. He literally took my breath away. There had been no deterioration in his youthful beauty. Joshua was a dusky god, fallen to earth!

I started to undress. "Let me do that, Massa. I'm your slave now. Anything you wish for is my command. Anything." With that he fluffed his dick so it pointed directly at me, and when my eyes looked up to his face, his big pink tongue emerged and licked his lips. Then he moved in and took charge.

I began to complain and protest, but by then he had my trousers open and was unlacing my linen shirt. He pulled it up and over. "Nice body, Sir. Very nice body." He reached over and began to caress my pecs, pinching the nipples until they were erect and hard. Then he bent in and licked and sucked them into his mouth. His actions sent shock waves through my body. His hands reached down and pushed the billowy pantaloons to the floor. I was commando, and my cock sprung up and bounced off my abs. There were a few scars on my legs, but otherwise I had fully recovered. His fingers traced the scars. "Do these hurt?"

"Rarely."

The he weighed my pole in his enormous palm. "Very nice dick, Massa. It's grown some since last we played. I'm sure it pleases many." He was laying on the slave routine pretty thickly--especially considering he was now free under the law. Or maybe it was his act as a paid prostitute.

I looked into his face and he pulled a broad smile. His Red Awning routine was working. He definitely had me.

He knelt before me and inhaled my hardness, using a tongue to wash beneath the hood before latching thick lips close to the base. The tongue went to the slit and then swirled the glans sending waves of pleasure up my spine. He pulled back, stroking with his lips as his hands rose to hold my balls low and steady. He did it again. The feelings were so intense that my legs buckled. Obviously, he had learned a good deal at the Red Awning. He was edging like one of the best. Then, he deep throated and moved his hands to my cleft, quickly penetrating with a spit-slicked index finger to the love nut. He drew back again and plunged again--as his finger, joined by another began to stroke the nut. I bucked again which morphed into a spasm. "Not so fast, Massa. I have a few other tricks." His fingers withdrew from my ass and played with my balls, bouncing them in his fingers like worry beads. The he gripped them, pulling them hard and low, almost painfully, and two fingers strangled my shaft. M first spasm was dry, and there wasn't a second.

"Shall we take this to your cot?"

Without answering, I stepped aside and motioned him to the thin mattress on the narrow cot. "Still an exclusive top, eh, Massa? There are dozens of white boys who visited the Red Awning as confirmed tops. They left very satisfied bottoms after they had lain with me. I'm guessing that I converted them for life. I'm good, Massa, very good. Taking me inside is an experience you would never forget. I've got the gold coins to prove it."

"For you, yes, Joshua, I will remain a top. For you, yes. That dark club hanging between your legs would destroy my chute for my true love."

"True love? Is there a true love who claims that chute? Or is it just fear of my size? Or my color? I'm a professional, Bo. I could prepare you and slip him in before you even felt any pain. And my color would matter no more. You'd be in another place."

"I'm afraid not, Joshua. No true love. Just wistful waiting. But, no, I'll not take you into my ass."

"I think not. There is someone, isn't there? You don't have to say. I can see it in your eyes. Shall I go? Or can I serve as your pleasure toy until he returns? More than one lovesick boy has deposited his cum in my ass as a consolation prize. And cum back for more of the same from me."

"Oh, Joshua. It is complicated. And probably impossible. But, looking at you, and feeling your soft skin against mine, I think we can have some fun. And provide some solace for each other. Until yours and mine arrive in the flesh. Of course, I want you. Now. And you are not my toy. Different, of course, but first in that difference. Now stretch out on that cot and draw those muscular legs high and out. I will worship your eyes--and your beauty--as I take you."

He seemed a little disappointed, or maybe chastened. "Yes, Massa, as you command." And he stretched out and drew up his legs, pulling them high and wide, rolling his pink trembling rim before me. I realized then and there, that I lusted for this boy. A long future was impossible. But the present was all we really wanted at that moment. I was about to mate with a god. Perhaps things would change. But probably not. I needed a spouse, a good Southern belle. Unless of course, Hank returned. Joshua could be my release, but not my forever.

I fell into him, opened him with lips and fingers and positioned. He smelled of musk, clean soap and manhood. It was intoxicating, more so even than the rum I had consumed earlier. I dropped in. My cockhead hesitated a moment at the entrance, but soon slipped right in. He was still remarkably tight and silken. It felt like hom. I belonged here. I stretched rigidly and folded him in two, shivering in the pleasure of controlling such beauty and power beneath me. Then I released his legs and his calves rested on my shoulders. I bent in, took his lips and sucked his tongue as my first big plunge of the night occurred. He responded immediately with waves of muscular contractions, stroking my cock with the walls of his chute. It was like magic. And he was the wizard of sexual pleasure.

I touched his love nut--and at that moment, his long index finger reached deep inside and poked mine. He kept it in place, added another, and continued to push hard. His cock was not going to take me, but his fingers were. Both of us were going to enjoy the intense pleasure of a stimulated prostate. Our orgasms would be multi-sourced and intense.

I strained to go deeper, released and plunged again. His legs dropped from my shoulders and surrounded my waist holding me tight. So I used my thighs to buck up and in, strafing the nut over and over. "I see you too have learned some tricks, Bo. That is very nice. Very nice, indeed." He pulled me tighter, and I felt his cock harden between our guts.

I was very near. So I stiffened and dropped my face down until our lips touched. He opened and our tongues met, just as the first spasm hit. He responded immediately by tightening the enclosure, adding pleasure by the restriction of movement of my seed up the shaft. He shuddered with the intensity of his muscular effort. Then, I released and squirted deep inside--as Joshua coated our chests with his aromatic spunk, enough to glue us together for the night. I shot again. And again. And finally I collapsed onto his strong body, only to be embraced by his arms holding me tight. We lay quietly bound together, my cock planted deep inside, my seeds burrowing into his being.

"My first fuck as a free man. It feels pretty good to be able to say yes or no. But next time, I'm planning to take you, Bo. Next time, you are going to get the full Red Awning treatment. I promise."

"We shall see, boy. We shall see."

We slept, and in the morning he relieved my morning wood with a tongue and mouth bath. We washed, as best we could with the small basin of water. But, when we emerged on deck, it was obvious to all that we had coupled during the night. All assumed I had been the pitcher. And many showed signs of envy. Joshua, even black, was a man among men. To have him was to worship at the altar of sexual perfection.

16

Later that day, just after the noon hour, we arrived at Howellwood. The wharf had been badly damaged, but it could still be used. There was blackness on the horizon and the lingering smell of burnt wood--the woods had been burned. But, the plantation house was standing. Some windows had been boarded, and it definitely needed paint. One side veranda had collapsed, but the grand columns still stood along the façade, framing the stately door and supporting the overhanging roof. The porch was empty. And there was an eerie silence. Was it totally deserted?

Off to the north, upriver, where the land had been low and easily flooded, there was evidence that a crop of rice had been recently harvested. The low earthen dikes and irrigation ditches were in good shape--they had been carefully dressed as the river water had been drained from the fields for the harvest. Someone had done this--and recently, although there was no sign of the sacks of rice that the paddies had produced. Presumably, they had been requisitioned by the Union Army. Hopefully, they had left enough to seed next year's crops. I breathed a sign of enormous relief--the paddies were intact! With luck we could have another harvest next year.

A group of us--Joshua, Banks, two burly crewmen and I--announced we were going to scout ahead and see what--and who--were left.

It took a few hours. The plantation house was deserted--and most of the furniture, all of the silver, and all of the drapes had been removed--and presumably used for dressings, stolen or sold. The wine cellar was empty--as was Daddy's stash of cigars. The larder contained only a few dried up husks--and no smoked meat.

We then moved to the foreman's house at the edge of the slave quarters. The house was large with six rooms, including four bedrooms, a separate outhouse and a cook house. As we approached, we saw dozens of slaves, mostly, but not exclusively, women--there were some children and a few of the older men. They were milling about the slave shacks which seemed to be as they had been--untouched by the invaders. A few fires were burning, and I saw a small animal being roasted over one. Most of the slaves seemed to be gone, probably seeking work after their liberation. Those left could not easily have traveled. There were a few chickens and a pen, presumably with pigs. No cows. This was a place of survival, not active life.

The foreman's house was clearly inhabited. Windows were open to admit the cooling breeze from the river. Smoke rose from the nearby cookhouse. We entered without knocking. This was, after all, my home. From the darkness of a back room with a partially open door, we heard a croaky voice, "I have a shotgun aimed at you right now. Leave or you won't be able to." The voice was old, but familiar. It was Beau, my Daddy.

"Daddy, it's Bo. I've brought some friends, some livestock and a man who would like to speak with you."

"Bo? Don't be messin' with me, boy. Bo died in the siege of Savannah. That's what we were told. All our boys were rounded up and held in the worst conditions. We knew your leg wounds required special care--and that you weren't going to get it. So many died. Come into the light so I can see you. If it's you, I'm happy to see you--and that you survived. Is it really you?"

Daddy was a shell of his former self. He had aged 30 years in three; lost maybe 50 pounds and all his hair. He was limping and his voice was weak.

"Where's Momma?"

"I'm sorry, Bo. She died a few months ago. It was the fever. And we couldn't get any drugs."

"And as you see most of the slaves have gone. Even Lionel whom I treated as a son. Those who have stayed really can't leave--and they aren't good for much work. The last rice crop was harvested by the army--and they took just about all of it for their efforts. We've got a little more food. Then, I'm guessing we'll all just die."

"As I said, we've brought food, Daddy. And some livestock. And I've got the treasure from the Savannah house--it's not much, but it is gold. We are going to survive."

"Mr. Banks here is a shipping agent. He's lookin' for indigo. Do we have any hidden?"

"Maybe. I'll have to see." He winked, telling me that we did have indigo--but he wasn't going to disclose this in front of strangers.

"I see you brought a negra boy. Is he yours?"

"No one's 'ours' any more Daddy. All the blacks have been freed. Joshua came with me of his own accord. He needed to get himself and a few others out of Savannah. I've known him for years."

"Can we talk in private for a minute, son?"

"Sure. Would you guys mind waiting outside?"

"So what does this Banks want? I think maybe I've heard of him. He's pretty sharp. A Brit, I think. They were our friends during the war. But, tough negotiators."

"He wants to buy indigo, and I told him we might have some--depends on whether the Union Army found it or burned it."

"I think we might have some. Remember the cellar under the old rice barn? The barn is still standing. I convinced the Lieutenant in charge that we needed the barn to store the crop and dry it for use--so he saved it. Last year, I put over a hundred barrels in the cellar. It's way back, so if they opened the door, they'd see nothing. I doubt it's been found. But, how can we be sure they'll pay for it? I only have this one shotgun, and no slaves to help me if they decide to just take it."

"Banks has a ship at the wharf. He's brought us provisions, some chickens, two cows and a few pigs--as a token of his good faith. And what have we got to lose? If we don't get some help--and some cash--right now, that indigo could rot before things improve enough to sell it."

"I think we need to take a chance. What do you think is fair, Daddy?"

"I don't think fair has anything to do with it. He wants it and we have it. No one else does. But, he may be the only buyer. And we can promise more next year. Ordinarily, I'd get about ten dollars per barrel. Think we can hold out for more?"

"Do you want me to see what he'll pay--if we have any? I don't think we should try to gouge him. You're gonna need him next year."

"Yeah. Go ahead. It's gonna be your place by next year anyway. If I survive these next few weeks, I'm moving to Savannah. I've had enough plantation. I think my brother has survived, and he has often asked me to move there Nothing for me here now."

"And it seems to me that I recognize that boy that's with you. Has he ever been here?"

"He has, Daddy. You sold him years ago. And he remembers that you regularly fucked him while he was here. He's says he was your favorite."

"It's a lie. I never took a black boy more than once--and that was only to teach'em who's boss. I never had a favorite, save one young slave woman. It's too dangerous. They get too uppity. And I prefer the young girls anyway." Beau smiled to himself, obviously remembering vividly his nights of pleasure with the slaves.

"As you say, Daddy. But, I've been fuckin' him for the last few days. He's pretty damn good. He's got a nice tight, soft asshole and he knows how to use it when a dick is implanted deep. I don't think I've ever had better. He's a nice guy. And I think he's got a real sense of responsibility."

"Well, he's yours then. Not that you need my permission."

There really wasn't a negotiation with Banks. I told him Daddy thought that he had about a hundred barrels of first class indigo. It was hidden, and the whereabouts wouldn't be disclosed until we agreed on a price--and the price was paid. "I'm not going to try to gouge you, Banks. Before the war, the price was ten bucks a barrel. No doubt it's worth much more today because of the war and scarcity. I don't think you'll find anything on the other side of the river. Sherman saw to that. We'll sell you 50 barrels for $600, cash, in gold. Or 100 barrels for $1150. The agent I had dinner with two nights ago will be here in a day or so if you can't handle the quantity--or if you don't have the money. He knows the quality of our product."

"That's a very fair deal. I'll take it all. And the same amount next year if you can grow it by then. I like working with a man who is realistic. And honest."

"Okay. The deal is done. Why don't you have your guys unload the provisions and livestock, and by tomorrow morning, bring the money and I'll show you where the barrels are. I can't offer hospitality here tonight. You can easily see why. So it's probably best of you stay on board Heloise tonight. Joshua will be happy to keep his girls on board for the night if you want."

Banks took my hand. "I think we will have a celebration on board tonight. Bring your Daddy. Just before sundown."

"I'm not being difficult. But, I have some inspecting and assessing to do. I can't afford to party. I appreciate the invitation. Maybe next year."

"That really is disappointing. I'd sure like to celebrate our deal with a little horizontal thanksgiving. I've been tantalized by your young body for days, Bo. I'd sure like to see it without clothes."

"I'm afraid not, Mr. Banks. I try not to mix pleasure with business. Both suffer the consequences."

I waited until everyone returned to the ship before I went to the barn to verify what we had. We were okay.

Then, I went down to assess the situation in the slave quarters. It wasn't quite so bad as Daddy had remarked. Some of the men (not the young bucks) had returned and many of the women were capable of planting and harvesting, provided we could feed them. In the coming weeks, we would have to work out the transition from slave to share-cropper. Somehow, I thought with hard work and a little luck, we might have a small rice crop in the coming year, and some indigo as well. We just needed to be left alone to work out our new relationships. Fortunately, Lincoln had stated emphatically that the farmers of the South were not going to lose their land in "reparations" for the cost of the war. Otherwise, things would be hopeless.

The next day--and the next year--were almost predictable. When Daddy heard about the deal, he was happy. "Bo, I'm going with them back to Savannah. I can't stay here anymore. This place is yours. Do with it what you can. I'm gonna take half of the indigo payment and all of the Savannah treasure. It's mine by rights. You can have the rest to try to make it through next year."

So the indigo was sold and loaded. And Daddy was given passage back to Savannah, carrying only two small valises of his most cherished possessions. I never saw him again.

In the next few weeks, I worked out an arrangement with the remaining slaves--and attracted a few more when news that we were starting again spread. We offered to sell seed, allocate paddies, and buy the product after harvest. They could stay in the quarters rent free for at least a year. We'd lend enough for them to survive until the harvest. And for this, we'd keep two-thirds of the product. It sounded like a tough deal--but later we heard that others held out for 90% of the product in similar situations.

I took over as foreman, advisor, seed purveyor and general supervisor--a working supervisor who toiled in the fields every day.

Joshua stayed, and we moved him and his girls into the foreman's house. As rent, they would cook, clean, make beds and maintain the plantation house--and he would become the part-time foreman.

At first, Joshua made some inquiries about finding a place in Augusta (for a house of pleasure), but nothing came of them. Sherman had virtually leveled the place. Potential paying customers had fled. It would be years before he'd be able to make a living there. The "girls" were semi-retired--at least for a time--from the world's oldest profession. No one had anything extra to pay for pleasure.

I moved into Daddy's bed, now my bed, one of the few old pieces left--probably because it was too heavy to transport. From time to time, but by no means every night, I called him to my bed. And despite his promise, (or was it a threat?), Joshua continued to bottom for me.

I was getting more and more attracted to his cock. It was special, very special. When soft, it filled my hand, a giant squirming worm that emitted heat and musk, soft against and pleasuring my hand. And then, when it was hard, I'd slide the soft skin over the burning pole within, pushing the veins and cum tube around on the surface. He leaked, a lot, spicy clear fluid that made up a whole new food group. Joshua would moan as I stroked, squeezed, softly caressed the shaft before moving on to the enormous balls. Holding a dick in your hand is the ultimate power trip. And fondling the balls! Own the cock and you own the man. Own the balls and you own his future!

Once or twice after a particularly sensuous massage or a mug or two of rum, he tried to seduce me into letting him fuck me. While he had pressed hard into my shoulder on the massage table, I had pulled his manhood into my mouth. And when he sat between my legs, I allowed him to slide his member along my ass crack, teasing. He was naked around me always. And his cock was the most beautiful in the world. I loved to hold it, to caress it, to lick and suck it. But, I held off. When the hard knob of his cockhead was poised at my hole, I jolted and stopped. I flipped, and he would with resignation, take my rigid cock between his supple lips. I had changed in so many ways, but allowing myself to be taken by a former slave was just not something I could bring myself to. I was tempted, sorely tempted. And, by next year, I'm guessing that I'll give in. He is just so perfect and so good.

I moved off the table and pointed him to it. He knew exactly what I needed. So he stretched out, pushed a rolled towel under his gut and spread. I climbed on, and, without much preparation, I slammed inside. He loved it, lofted his ass into me and groaned in contentment. I think I even heard him whisper, "Deeper, Massa. Please go deeper." I did and as I continued to hold his cock tightly in my fist, I pounded him, over and over, once again establishing my dominance.

Captain Morris was really the only man who had taken me with my consent. I had planted a seed. In only three days he had bewitched me, and I was deeply in love with a dream. The seed had grown into a mighty oak, and I dreamed of him often. He had become larger than life. His cock enlarged in my mind's eye. His physique was chiseled in marble. His domination of my psyche was total. A distant goal to be reached. It was almost a religious feeling. Being a top somehow didn't violate my feelings for him. A man's got to get release doesn't he? But bottoming for another? A black man? Not yet. I was saving that honor for Hank.

Life wasn't great, but it was good. We had setbacks--weather, bad seed, an occasional Northern politician who extracted bribes to leave us alone. But we were surviving.

I was bulking up and tanning deeply--almost as dark as Joshua's mocha. My blonde fuzz was growing into a flowing mane, bleached by the sun, tied with leather laces into a tail--to keep it out of my face as I worked. The plantation was back in business--and we'd have rice and indigo crops next year.

There were a few younger female slaves--all quite presentable. Of course they were no longer slaves, but I'm sure they would provide me with comfort. I wasn't their owner, but I was their employer, landlord and meal-ticket. And so they presented themselves to me when I visited the shacks where they lived. Within a year, I'd have a few bastard kids crawling around the plantation. I was pretty sure of that.

And I had a talented bed partner when I needed one. Joshua never refused me. The slave quarters had changed little since the war, although they were now inhabited by free men and women. Many remembered Joshua's time and called for him repeatedly. So he too had a busy sexual life.

Then after we had been recovering for several months, just before planting, in late February, a dozen young men arrived. They wanted work. And we needed workers. A deal was struck. And they moved into the former bachelor slave quarters, rent free. We were full again.

Within a few weeks however, I realized things had changed in a very subtle way. Joshua's "girls" were busy again, servicing the young bucks--on credit, until they would be paid with part of the crop. And Joshua had been propositioned and had poked a few of the men. So Joshua, who was always available when I called, was enjoying himself with some of the women and men. He was building some savings--mostly on credit. But, I could see that someday, he'd leave the plantation and me. He wanted a business of his own, probably in Augusta. He was moving on. Was I ready for that? The thought of a partnership with him at Howellwood was simply beyond my imagination.

Thoughts of Captain Morris began to fade. No longer did his image appear in my dreams. Perhaps in another year or so, I would allow Joshua to fuck me. I knew, however, that when I did so, I was closing off Hank forever. And if I didn't do it soon, he might be gone.

After the harvest, I received word of an "old-fashioned" dance in Savannah. Some even went to so far as to call it a debutante ball. With all the Confederate men who had been killed in the war, the South had a surplus of belles, and almost no bulls to fertilize them. Their Daddies, desperate to find husbands for their daughters, looked around and assembled a guest list of eligible young men, and arranged for a ball and a week of smaller house parties surrounding the event. I was invited. And I decided to go.

TBC

BD