Chapter 17

My Master was going out for the evening without me, which he did occasionally. He had his friends and social gatherings where a slave wouldn't be welcome or appropriate, and I understood that. I didn't resent it at all, but now I did have the small and not totally unreasonable fear that Mr. Reiser would be spending some of that time looking for a wife.

I'll admit I didn't completely appreciate the way having a proper family would elevate him socially and professionally, but I was just a dumb negra anyway. I understood his desire to have a child though, and it was difficult to argue with that, even with myself as I lay alone on the bed. I'd gone to the slave quarters above the garage, just because I wanted to be alone. Lilah was helping Mercy in the kitchen while Tom Henry worked outside, weeding between the bricks in the walkways around the house. Mr. Reiser had a gardening service, but those weeds grew faster than anything else it seemed.

I'd felt bad about Delilah and her being sterilized, only grudgingly accepting the fact that it wasn't up to her if she ever had a baby or not. It had been her Master's decision and he'd made it, and that was the world we lived in. It wasn't her body, no more than I owned mine, not while I was a slave anyway. I belonged to a white man and if he wanted to do something like that to me, have me sterilized or castrated or whatever, Mr. Reiser could do it and I'd accept it. There wasn't any choice in it, but it still made me feel bad for the girl, mostly because her Master hadn't told her. He should have done that much anyway and if he had it wouldn't have bothered me nearly so much, I thought.

That took a good hour out of the day, coming to that conclusion, and by then I'd grown restless. It was still early, just a little past four maybe, and Mr. Reiser had already left. I'd heard him drive out of the garage beneath me and I'd frowned at that, reminded that there were a whole lot of things I had no choice in. I wandered back downstairs finally, not wanting to do anything and wishing I could do something. Being a bedroom negra without a hard man to be with wasn't much fun at all.

The day was a bright one and still warm, almost hot as summer comes along quick after a short Tennessee spring. This year promised to be a hot one anyway, everybody said so and I believed it. I spied Tom Henry working back by the pool, pulling those weeds because the bricks were old and cracked, with large gaps in places. The house itself was old too, rebuilt just after the First Civil War, and once upon a time it had been part of a real plantation growing cotton mostly. After the war, the land got sold off in parcels to carpet baggers and Northern profiteers. The Federals took some and gave it to the niggers for reparation, handed it out in little plots so they could build their shacks and have their bastard children, and sharecrop for the white men they used to slave for.

Now it was my Master's house, sitting in an exclusive neighborhood and serving as a reminder of the glory days gone by. There wasn't any plantation anymore and I thought that was too bad. I wondered what it would have been like to be a house negra back a hundred and fifty years ago, a bedroom slave for a man who owned a hundred others. There'd be a crowd of blacks bent over in the sun, women and children singing while they picked cotton with burlap sacks hanging from their shoulders. The men would have been working the machinery and bailing raw cotton onto wagons for the short ride to the Mississippi River and the big old steamers running north and south. And I'd be sitting on the porch, close to my Master and whispering cool words in his ear under that warm sun to make him smile and stroke my hair.

That's how I wished it still was, truly, and it made me sad to see just the one boy, Tom Henry, pulling weeds all by himself. Mr. Reiser was right, I decided, we did need more slaves round the house. Maybe not so much for the work, but just for the sake of appearance. A Southern Gentleman should have some niggers around and I started thinking I'd have to mention that once in awhile to my Master. Put a little bird in his ear, because that was part of my job too, being his woman like I was. Of course, it didn't hurt none that Tom Henry was so respectful of me. I have to say that he'd impressed me with his manners and I liked the way he dropped his eyes when he spoke to me now. That boy knew it was my house, Lilah too, and Mercy was just mothering me, I understood that, minding me like an old hen because Mr. Reiser expected her to teach me proper.

"Hey Tom Henry," I said some short while later, after I'd gone upstairs and put on a bathing suit.

Being such a pleasant afternoon, I decided it was too nice to sit inside. Besides, I'd just gotten a new bikini and longed for an excuse to wear it.

"Afternoon, ma'am." He straightened himself up and looked at me, not in the face, but all up and down my body and that pleased me.

"You ain't gotta ma'am me, Tom Henry," I said, even though I didn't want him to stop. "I ain't nothing but a negra."

"Ma'am," he cleared his throat, and I shook my head.

"You stop pulling those weeds for bit. I have some work for you now," I told him, setting my straw beach bag down and spreading my towel on a lounge chair.

"Alright." He nodded slowly and he was a good looking young man, damp with sweat now and wearing dungaree pants and rough cotton shirt loosely buttoned in the front.

I smiled at his approach, lying down on my stomach with that lounger horizontal. I folded my arms under my cheek and looked at him. I wore a red bikini, the top very small, with tight thin cups to hold my breasts, tied with strings around my neck and back. The bottom of it was full, but only so it would hide my penis and testicles properly. I'd have much preferred a thong, but that wouldn't hardly be practical in public. This bikini hid my boyish charms just fine though and still offered a real nice view of my firm round ass.

"Reach into that bag there and find my lotion," I said lazily. "I want you to put some on me."

"Uh ... Yes ma'am." He licked his lips and took off his work gloves, tucking them into his back pocket.

"How do you like it here, Tom Henry?"

"Just fine, ma'am."

"Hmph." I smiled. "I suppose you'd say that anyway, huh?"

"Well, I ain't been whipped yet," he said, finding my baby oil and looking at it. "This here?"

"Yeah, that stuff. Put it on my back for me."

"How do you like it here?" His question surprised me and I sighed as I felt his hand, now cupping some oil, pressing to my skin.

"Me?" I giggled softly. "I like it just fine."

"I heard you was freeborn," the boy said. "That true?"

"Yeah." I nodded slightly. His hands were strong and calloused, but gentle as they moved over my back and shoulders.

"I ain't never met a freeborn negra before."

"Really?" I smiled at that. "Do you like being a slave?"

"Do I like it?" Tom Henry laughed. "What do you mean by that?"

His hands were moving along my spine and I gave a little shimmy of pleasure, the way his fingers would ride up my dark oily skin nice and slow.

"Untie that string there," I sighed, "It's getting in the way."

"Yes ma'am," he said softly. I felt him tugging at my bikini and then it fell loose at the sides of swollen breasts as I lay upon them.

"I mean, how do you like being a slave, that's all," I answered his question.

"Ain't no like or dislike," he told me, and now his hands were going all the way up and down unhindered. "It just is."

"I like it," I'd long since decided. "Get my shoulders too, Tom Henry."

"You ain't no slave anyway," he told me. "Not if you can ask a question like that."

"Is that right," I said, giving a little groan as his hands worked my shoulders nicely.

"A negra like you? Shoot ... I heard of it."

"Heard of what?"

"Heard about freeborn negras and ya'all living in big houses and driving fancy cars and all that."

"Is that so?" I giggled.

"You got a daddy, right?" he asked me, and I nodded. "He got a big house too, I bet."

"Not real big."

"But he got one." Tom Henry moved his hands under my armpits and then lower, brushing the sides of my tits. "Got himself a real wife too, huh? Rings and all that?"

"Yeah," I agreed. "My daddy's got all that."

"And now here you is, sitting by a swimming pool, getting yourself all rubbed up and down by your own personal house nigger." He chuckled. "And you gonna ask me if I like being a slave?"

He lifted his hands and sat back on his heels.

"Don't stop," I moaned. "You aren't done yet."

"I need to get back to my work," the boy said. "Fuckin' the Master's pet negra ain't gonna get me nothing but whipped."

"What?" I felt my blood rising with some humiliation then.

Tom Henry was standing up, wiping his hands on his pants and reaching into his pocket for his gloves.

"You can't talk to me like that!" I lifted my head, staring at him. I felt hot all over with my heart thumping. "I'll whip you myself!"

"You sure don't talk like a slave neither." He smiled at me and I sat up, my tits falling free under my loose bikini, hanging now by the string around my neck. "But you is fine, ma'am. Yes you is, one fine bedroom negra."

"Get back here!" I yelled, but the boy only walked away from me. "Tom Henry, get your ass back here now!"

I felt my throat burn and that just made me all the more mad. Screaming like I was would give me laryngitis for three days if I wasn't careful. I ripped at my top in annoyance, struggling briefly to untie it so I could throw it away from me, and I half ran topless to the house and into the kitchen.

"What's wrong with you?" Mercy looked at me and Lilah shrank a little in her chair. She was cutting up some tomatoes at the table.

"I want that nigger whipped!" I said, staring at the old woman and shaking with anger. "I want him whipped now. Right now!"

"Whipped? What that boy done?" Mercy had been cutting up some meat and now she washed her hands, looking at me over her shoulder.

"He ... Insulted me," I said, fighting to keep my voice down. "He was talking bad about me and refusing to do what I told him to and..."

"Shoot!" She grinned. "I thought he done raped you, girl!"

"What? He insulted me! He was talking back like I'm some kinda..."

"Some kinda negra?" Mercy reminded me. "That's what you is."

"It's not funny!" I hissed. "I want that boy whipped. I'll do it myself."

"You gone have to talk to suh bout that, girl," she said. "Ain't no whippin' round here but he say so."

"You whip me all the time!" I said too loudly, and I swallowed hard.

"That ain't no whippin!" She shook her head. "See? You done even know what you's askin' for, huh!"

"You ain't gonna do it?" I stared at her.

"No. I ain't gonna whip that boy," Mercy said. "And you ain't gonna neither. Goan get yourself outside now, we's workin' negras in here."

"Fuck!" I jerked my head hard and caught Lilah staring at me. "What're you looking at?"

"N-Nothing, ma'am." She looked down quickly and Mercy gave me a shake of her head. I left them, going upstairs so I could lie down and be mad.

That stupid nigger. So what if I wanted to play with him, maybe even fuck him? Our Master wasn't going to be mad about that. If he was, Mr. Reiser would have told me. He'd seen me playing with Tom Henry at the kitchen table earlier and hadn't minded at all. Stupid Tom Henry. He didn't have any reason for talking to me like that. I was trying to be friendly and be nice, to be his friend even, and he starts talking about my daddy? That boy didn't know anything about me. He was just a dumb slaveborn nigger and I was gonna see him whipped for embarrassing me like that.

"Ma'am ... Dani?" Delilah's soft voice woke me up and I hadn't even realized I'd fallen asleep. "Mercy says you gotta come down and eat."

"She's says I gotta?" I blinked and stretched and made it sound like I wasn't gonna do any such thing.

"Well..." Lilah looked around nervously. "Would you, please?"

"I'm not hungry." I frowned at her and almost started getting mad because she was in our Master's bedroom. My bedroom and she wasn't supposed to be there. Nobody was, except me and Mr. Reiser.

"I cooked up some sweet potatoes an ... and some pork cutlets," Lilah told me. "I thought you'd like that maybe."

"Mercy let you cook?" I asked, and the girl nodded.

"She watched me mostly."

"So you know how?" I didn't know why I didn't think she could. I suppose because I just thought she was a bedroom negra.

"Course I do." She smiled at me. "Please, ma'am?"

"Yeah, okay," I sighed. "Is that Tom Henry down there?"

"Yeah ... Yes ma'am." Lilah sucked her lips. "We're waiting on you."

"I'll be down in a minute. After I get dressed," I decided and Lilah smiled at that and left me finally.

Mercy was getting pretty smart, I thought, sending the girl up here to fetch me instead of coming herself. If Mercy told me to come eat, I'd have slammed the bedroom door in her face, maybe. Or at least rolled over and ignored her. She'd take that razor strop to me just because it was a new moon, but she wouldn't whip that Tom Henry when he deserved it? I was still mad about that and if Mercy hadn't been about sixty years old, I'd have had her whipped too.

I didn't dress up for dinner of course, since it was just us slaves eating in the kitchen tonight, but I thought about it. I thought real hard about putting on one of my thousand dollar dresses and some pearls and diamonds, and making my face up beautiful. That would have put Mercy in a real spin if I'd done that. I contented myself with dressing normally, which meant nice enough anyway, since my Master didn't waste money on buying ugly clothes. I didn't own but one pair of pants and those were some old jeans I'd brought with me from home. They didn't fit my hips anymore, now that I finally had some.

"You didn't have to wait for me," I said, coming into the kitchen about fifteen minutes after Lilah had woken me up.