He had crept out of the main house like so many times before, to watch the families gathered together.
They shared food, they sang, some even danced while the fire light illuminated familiar faces.
His family own many slaves and as was the law, the children they had became property too. After both his grandparents and his continued to farm, their fields grew, their wealth expanded and the number of slaves in the families that worked the fields grew.
Samuel knew Chase, Ms. Marshall, Edie, Sarah, Washington, Carlson and others by sight and name. Ms. Marshall had raised him and continued to work in the main house though he was too old to have a nursemaid now.
There had been years in military school and now he was home again acting as if he had never left.
Among the families who's houses dotted his families land were some families who weren't slaves too. They were treated differently then the slaves but worked beside them.
"They owe your father alot of money" was the way his mother described them. But he only saw them differently in that they were white like he was.
And there were kids to play with white or black on the plantation. Summers found him barefoot wearing old clothes running across the hills with them despite his mother's nagging. His father would remind her "boys are boys" and laughed.
But he was often ordered back into the mainhouse, to be bathed, dressed and presented to other plantation owners and their siblings.
His return home wasn't different. He wanted to find Hudson, one of his boyhood firends, and strip naked so they could skinny dip in the creek again and lay on the grass in the sun until their bodies erect begged for hands and orgasms.
He wanted to play baseball with Hudson, Kenny, Washington's two boys and other slaves.
But there was something different. The plantation was quieter. His mother didn't have parties and his father seemed stress. The rumors heard at the military school he attended had been true, he learned.
There was something going on that might change all their lives. He heard the slaves talking about it as he stayed in the darkness watching them. There was singing but not he way it used to be. There was no dancing. And slaves talked about this one or that one who had "gone north" as they put it.
He couldn't find Hudson. His house was still there. His father still sat on the porch drinking whatever swill he had. His mother still hung out washing she did for her family and others.
Sam moved around the houses and groups. If seen he would nod and greet them as always. Some recognized him and were polite but the friendliness he remembered of years ago were gone.
"Gracious, boy, you have grown up nice" Ms. Marshall had appraised the results of his four years away from the home. He had visited now and then but more often his Mother or both his parents traveled to meet him.
And even this time his visit would be short. The trip to West Point was a long one and he soon would have to leave his home once again.
The voice was unmistakable. He heard it passing Old Sam's house. There were always jokes about him being named for the slave known by that name. And Sam wasn't really old, just older.
He heard the voice Samuel knew was Hudsons. He was cursing and grunting. He had learned to curse form Hudson.
The boy was his age, but unlimited as to where he could go and what he could do. They played together as children and explored the unforbidden as they grew, be it cursing, whiskey, masturbation or watching naked women bathe through the cracks in the walls of the slaves houses.
He peeked through such a crack now. He saw Old Sam, his still large figure standing and his face curled in an expression of his efforts. His broad hands held the white buttocks in front of him.
It wasn't the first time he saw slaves having sex. That was how he and Hudson learned about sex with women.
He saw that figure in his head when masturbating. And someday he imagined he too would be doing it with women his parents paraded past him during his school years.
But the grunts and groand weren't that of the female black slaves. Hudson's voice was unmistakable. His face, like Old Sams, expressed the strain and pleasure they were sharing.
He was naked, his white skin brilliantly reflecting the shire in the room. It bounced off the beads of sweat on Old Sam as well as he pulled himself in and out of Hudson's buttocks.
Samuel saw his boyhood friend's hand moving fast reaching under his own body. He knew what the boy now young man was doing. They had shared many times both stroking themselves in a rush for pleasure.
"Shit boy you is still tight, everytime" Old Sam said.
Samule knew that Hudson had been here before, maybe many times.
"So how did it feel?" He asked as they lay naked on the grass the next afternoon.
"What?" Hudson asked his oversized white shirt and torn trousers used as pillows for them both,
"You know you and Old Sam" Samuel said casually.
"Oh that" Hudson said
"Yea, you been doing that for a long time?" Samuel
"You didn't know? Hell He's been fucking me since I was a kid" Hudson said as he continued to storke his erection.
"How does it feel?" Samuel asked rubbing his own erection.
"Want me to show you?" Hudson asked
The rest of the summer was better then his first days. Hudson and he explored giving and getting the type of pleasure that Old Sam had given.
Samuel knocked on Old Sam's house one night himself and felt what Hudson felt himself.
Washington soon added his cock to Samuel's experiences then disappeared "up north" according to the others.
"I'm goin" Hudon said as he pulled out during one of their frequent sessions. "War is comin and I want to fight"
Summer ended and Samuel never traveled to West Point but instead wore a different uniform.
His marriage and resulting family occupied the new house as it was called built on part of the land his family had owned.
The war was over and everyone struggled to survive.
When Hudson appeared asking for work, Samuel wept.
So many things had changed.
And yet the more things changed the important things never did. Old Sam was gone. Washington too. Most slave houses were burned down. A few of the white families remained but worked their own gardens.
He and Hudson would return to what used to be Old Sam's house and strip down to have their true selves relfect the light of the fire.