Visiting My Relatives Down South

When slavery still thrived in the South, a Michigan family visits relatives at a huge Georgia plantation. Morgan, 14, is encouraged to impregnate a slave girl.

Part One

As I write this memoir in the year 1896, it is now four full decades since my father, mother, little sister, and I took a memorable vacation in Georgia to visit my aunt, uncle and five cousins who lived there.

They were on my father’s side of the family. About 20 years earlier, his sister (my Aunt Emily) had fallen head over heels in love with a young, southern gentleman named Frederick Merriwether who was visiting his northern relatives in Michigan. It was a whirlwind romance. Emily and Frederick were married just two weeks after meeting each other. According to my father, Frederick’s parents were shocked to see him arrive home with a wife they had never met before, but Emily was such a charmer that she won over them very quickly. My father had seen his sister only twice after she relocated to Frederick’s family’s huge cotton and tobacco plantation where she and her husband occupied a small mansion—an oxymoron to be sure. It was situated next to Frederick’s parents’ enormous home which had to be seen to be fully appreciated. It was located near Savannah. Money was not in short supply in the Merriwether family.

I, Morgan Miller, was just 14 in early May of 1856. I had never been on a lengthy train journey before this one. It was not a simple journey as the railway system was a bit haphazard in the 1850s—especial south of the Mason-Dixon Line. At that time, you could not buy a railroad ticket that took you from Flint, Michigan directly to anywhere south of Kentucky. We had to buy four different tickets from four different railroad companies before we eventually arrived at the nearest station to Savannah. My father joked that it was a good thing his sister’s husband and in-laws were “loaded” and had arranged to pay for our transportation or else we “would surely end up in the poor house.” My father was greatly exaggerating. He was a successful lawyer who had a nose for wise investments. We were among the most affluent families in our rapidly growing city. Still, my aunt and uncle insisted on footing the bill for our transportation and having us as house guests for at least two weeks.

It was going to be a culture shock for us Yankees to be staying on a southern plantation that had numerous slaves. The rightness or wrongness of slavery was never a discussion in my household. As far as I could tell, both my parents were neutral on the subject. My mother was absolutely apolitical, as most women were in 1856. The only reference I ever heard my father make about the difference in lifestyles between the northern and southern states was that he feared that “agitators on both sides would stir up a hornets’ nest of trouble that would start a bloodbath.” (Within a few years he was proven right about that, of course.) However, during one of the legs of our long train journey to Savannah he cautioned all three of us—wife, son and daughter—to accept whatever we saw and experienced in Georgia as normal and be perfect guests during our stay. We all immediately agreed to that. To me, it was just simple politeness.

We were greeted with great fanfare at the train station by my aunt and uncle, and their five children aged 18 to 11. My father warmly and tearfully embraced his sister whom he had not seen in more than a decade. There were four horse-drawn carriages that were waiting specifically to transport us and our baggage to the plantation where we’d stay in the larger of the two mansions because it had superior guest rooms. The level of luxury in them was unbelievable to me. Each of us visitors had the equivalent of a footman or lady-in-waiting to take care of our every need. I couldn’t wait to tell my friends back home, via letters, how opulent my accommodations were.

We arrived in time to wash up from our journey and prepare for a welcoming feast. There was an abundance of roast beef, huge hams, and at least half a dozen different vegetables to enjoy. There were luxurious cakes and pastries for dessert, too. I was permitted to sample wine for the first time in my life. (Frankly, I preferred the fresh milk, but I thought it would be poor manners for me to say so.)

My male cousins were 18, 16 and 14 respectively. The females were 12 and 11. After dinner was over, just as I was about to get up from the table, I saw my uncle chat with his father. They were whispering. Then he chatted with my aunt. Shortly thereafter, the oldest boy, Charles, said I should accompany him for “a bit of fun” with Gregory and Percy. My sister was given the same offer by Alice and Emmaline. Of course, we accepted. It stood to reason that whatever was fun for them had to be fun for us, too.

Part Two

“Follow me,” Charles instructed. My sister and I were not heading in the same direction. She went with the Merriwether girls to someplace in the mansion. I strolled alongside Charles with his two younger brothers trailing by about two paces. We left the house. Apparently, our fun was located elsewhere.

We walked about 100 yards. As we neared our destination, Charles placed his right hand on my shoulder and said, “Morgan, my Yankee cousin, I’m going to show you something I’m certain you don’t have in Michigan.” I expected to be shown some sort of exotic animal or plant, instead we walked briskly to a large building. The door was locked but Charles produced a key. He opened the door and saw there were at least a dozen girls there, mostly mulattos, in various stages of dress. I was highly embarrassed to have walked in on them, but none of them were shy at all.

“These are all slave girls, Morgan,” Charles explained. "My father and his father grow cotton and tobacco. As a sideline, they also breed slaves. As soon as a slave girl is born on this plantation, she is taken from her mother and raised by special baby nurses who are also slaves. They are raised to be breeders. Do you understand, Morgan?”

I thought I did. Then Charles cockily said, “Can you guess who does the breeding?”

“You?” I asked incredulously.

“Yes, but I have some help,” Charles explained. “My father does his share of impregnating the girls as do my two younger brothers. If my grandfather is feeling particularly frisky, he sometimes drops in here for a romp, too.”

“Don’t their wives object?” I asked without thinking. The more I thought about it, the more I wished I had not inquired. I was greatly enjoying the hospitality here, so I did not want to question anything about the culture of the South in case I sounded negative.

Charles gave me an odd look and replied, “No, why would they? Southern wives of plantation owners expect their husbands to have sexual encounters with their female slaves in order to produce more slaves. It’s the norm here.”

I figured Charles had brought me here for a quick, titillating look at the girls—and nothing more. But then he said, “Do you fancy copulating with any of these girls. As our guest, my father said you ought to have the first pick. Gregory, Percy and I will choose other girls to screw.”

I was silent for a moment, before asking, “Are you serious, Charles?”

“Of course, I am!” was his quick reply.

“I’m only 14. This is all new to me,” I stated. Charles didn’t laugh at my indirect admission of virginity, but Gregory and Percy certainly did.

Charles reminded me that I was the same age as Percy and added that his youngest brother “had been impregnating slave girls since he was 12.” Percy nodded at me to confirm that was indeed the case.

I really did not know what to say to the offer. In my wildest dreams about visiting a southern plantation, I had not thought about this possibility even for a second. I could sense that Charles was becoming a little bit impatient with me.

“Obviously we can’t force you to ride one of these slave girls,” he stated, “but we thought it would be a real treat for you, something you’d enjoy and brag about to your friends back home in Flint, Michigan. They’d be an envious bunch.”

“Hey, I didn’t say no,” I insisted. “This just came as a huge surprise to me.” Then I paused, smiled and said to my three cousins, “I wouldn’t want to be rude and reject your wonderful display of southern hospitality.”

“Attaboy, Morgan!” Gregory said and playfully slapped me on the back. “There is no better way to conclude a good, hearty meal than with a good, hearty fuck!”

His two brothers laughed. Charles said, “Gregory has a way with words. We all suspect he’ll be a famous writer someday in the future. Anyway, he’s correct. Choose one of the girls here, take her to one of the beds—and give it to her. Make sure you come inside her, Morgan. That’s the whole idea. These girls are here to be bred; that’s their sole purpose. Don’t pull out! Ejaculate inside her to fill her with your seed!”

I looked across the room and selected a rather busty girl who looked to be about the same age I was. “I choose her,” I said, emphasizing my selection by pointing at her.

“That’s Fawn,” said Charles. “That’s a good choice you made, Morgan. She’s only had one baby so far in her life. She’s due to have another. She certainly has the equipment for it.”
I’d forgotten that fatherhood and motherhood often came early in life to southerners—both black and white—but it still startled me that my first sexual experience would be with a girl approximately my age who was already a mother.

I walked about 20 feet forward and took Fawn by the hand and began to lead her to the first bed I saw. She looked quizzically at Charles who said, “Be a good girl, Fawn. Morgan is a house guest. He’s traveled a very long way over the past few days to be here and make a baby with you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir. I understand, sir,” she obediently replied to Charles.

Charles did not say anything else. I saw him take a girl who looked to be about his age. His brothers both opted for girls who looked slightly older than they were. All three of the girls seemed experienced. They all quickly disrobed from their flimsy garments, lied on their beds, and spread their legs wide. Fawn did the same for me.

I had led a sheltered life. The only nude girl I had ever seen was my sister—and I hadn’t seen her without any clothes since she was a toddler. Having a pretty and comely mulatto girl waiting for me to mount her got me sexually aroused quite quickly. I had zero experience with this, but I had a general idea what to do. All males have some natural instinct about screwing. I undressed as quickly as possible—as did my horny cousins. I saw each of them tug on their penises a couple of times to make them as stiff as possible before climbing aboard their submissive bedmates for a round of intercourse.

I figured out where my penis ought to go in Fawn’s anatomy and slid it in there. The warm, cozy feeling of entering a girl’s vagina for the first time in my young life was absolutely thrilling. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Charles thrusting his rod in and nearly out of a girl named Esther. (I knew her name because Charles was chattering to her. “Do you like my hard dick, Esther?” he asked her without expecting nor receiving an answer. “I want you to carry my baby.”

I decided to emulate Charles, both in his fucking technique and conversation. Shoving my penis in and out of Fawn without it leaving her pussy entirely was a skill that took a while to master, but I eventually got the hang of it. The talking came naturally. “I traveled more than 900 miles to fuck you, Fawn!” I said to her. “I want it to be a good one. Let me plant my seed inside you.”

I must have done alright. I was not the first of us to come. Gregory and Percy pretty much tied in the speed of their respective ejaculations. I came next. Of course, I had been secretly masturbating since the age of 12, so I knew the unmistakable feeling of an impending cum blast. I shoved my penis one last time inside Fawn as far as I possibly could—and then let loose. The feeling was fabulous. I sensed it had been a pleasurable experience for Fawn, too. She smiled at me and said softly, “Good screw, Mr. Morgan, sir.” That may have been the first time in my life that anyone had called me “mister.”

My three colleagues dismounted their girls rather quickly. I did not. I wanted to lengthen my time in bed with Fawn. She had very appealing and prominent breasts for a 14-year-old. They were round and firm attractions. I resumed my vaginal thrusting while fondling them. I was having a jolly time—something that was noticed by Percy.

“See, Morgan! We were right—and so was my father. We all knew you’d like this!”

It was just then that it occurred to me what Charles and his father were whispering about as dinner concluded.

“Yes, I liked it very much, thank you!” I declared. “Riding Fawn is great fun! I hope I gave her enough sperm to make a baby.”

“We’ll know in about a week,” Charles informed me. “At the closest plantation, they have a son named Michael who is studying to be a doctor. His specialty is motherhood. He comes here every Saturday to determine if any slave girls are expecting babies. He can tell if a female is pregnant with a very quick examination. He’s never been known to be wrong. If Fawn is pregnant, he’ll let us know.”

“Gee, I’ll still be here a week from now!” I said aloud. “I guess I’ll know, too.”

“If you like,” Charles informed me, “we’ll make Fawn your girl for as long as you are staying here. That’s two weeks, I believe. You can come here as often as you like to screw her to make certain she’s pregnant.”

I knew where I’d be spending every spare minute on the Merriwether plantation! I finally pulled out of Fawn slowly. A dollop of jism dripped out of her pussy along with my penis.

“Oops! That was a bit wasteful, Morgan,” Gregory told me. “Make sure every last drop of your semen stays inside Fawn. That will increase your chances of fertilizing her.” All three Merriwether boys laughed when I picked up the goo with my right index finger and shoved it back inside Fawn’s vagina.

My colleagues all began to get dressed, but I asked permission to linger. “You fellows seem in a hurry to leave this place. I like it. May I stay in bed with Fawn for a bit longer? I want to suck on her breasts. They are quite lovely.”

Charles laughed and said, “As the oldest of your cousins, I suppose I’m your host. I’ll stay with you. Gregory and Percy can go back to the mansion. Morgan, you can stay here with me and suck on Fawn’s tits as long as you like. In fact, you can suck on all the slave girls’ tits as long as you please. Enjoy yourself!”

I did! I must have stayed for nearly an hour as there were 15 girls living in this sexual dormitory—and 15 pairs of breasts for me to enjoy in any way I chose. Some of the girls were quite busty. However, others had virtually nothing in the way of womanly assets. It didn’t matter much to me. I was the proverbial kid in a candy shop. By about the eleventh girl, my penis was stiff again and fully loaded for another fuck. Charles discouraged it, however.

“Save it for tomorrow, Morgan” he suggested. “We’ll come back here after dinner again, the same as today.” I wasn’t about to do something contrary to my host’s wishes, so I acquiesced to him.

I finished fondling all 15 slave girls. A few of them actively sought my affections. After finishing my business with #15, I returned to Fawn for one last suck on her goodies. To me, she was the best of the bunch. As I got dressed, I curiously asked Charles, “How often do you come here for a fuck?”

Charles answered, “I average about five visits per week. Any more visits than that would exhaust me and make my ejaculations weak. Fewer times than five screws per week leaves me yearning for more sexual intercourse. Gregory and Percy are here almost every day, however. If my parents are looking for them, this is the first place they search. Of course, my mother would never set foot in here under any circumstances. We all appreciate that.”

I understood that sentiment completely. Then I asked a rather brazen question. “How many children do you reckoned you’ve fathered, Charles?”

Charles paused to do the arithmetic. “Well, let’s see about that,” he started. “I’ve been screwing slave girls since I was 12 years old. I’m about 18½ now. I must have impregnated slave girls at least 200 times, perhaps 300. That total includes romps at other plantations that I’ve visited. There’s a five-year-old slave girl at the Kennedy plantation about ten miles from here who has quite a few of my facial features. She’s obviously mine—and she was one of the first. I fucked her mother at a very young age right in the middle of a cotton field on a sultry afternoon. My friend, Herschel Kennedy, watched me do that with his blessing, and thought it was absolutely hilarious. Not long afterward he started doing the same thing on a regular basis, too! Anyway, in about six years it will be possible for me to impregnate my own slave-girl daughters. Isn’t that something?”

Yes, that was indeed something! I’d be including that anecdote in the letters to a half dozen friends back in Flint I intended to write to the moment I got back to my room.

I was thrilled to have 11 more days of southern hospitality of the horizontal variety before my family’s long train trip back to Michigan, which now seemed to be a very boring place to live.