I was 17 years old. My father was away fighting in the war and I was in charge of running the plantation. I had just dismissed one of the foremen for ...tealing and I was at a bit of a loss as to what to do. I was sitting with the little colored children teaching them to read from the Bible when one of the field hands came running to the house yelling that there were Yankee soldiers heading toward the house. I told the children to run back to their quarters and stood waiting for them to arrive. I. The food arrived, and I forced myself to eat slowly and enjoy the cider, biscuits and ham while her essence continued to stimulate my blood, my pulse, my cock."You in mourning, ma'am?" I asked, counting the black buttons that marched down the valley of her chest and wondering if stays encased those high ribs and narrow waist and pushed up those large mounds."Yes," she said quietly, looking down at her toes. She had rather large feet. I noticed, clad in short, soft boots. "My husband died," she. More

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