Journal Entry Justin Taylor Sunday 1865, 17th day of September This is my first journal. It’s seems fitting that after the war has ended that I would want to keep a record of my life. The war ended five months ago. I was so elated and joyous at the time. Full of dreams, hopes and fantasies. I had made a lot of plans in the beginning. I wanted to leave the south. Take Daphne and go north. I would have liked to go to New York. Find a school where Daphne could attend. I’d find a college to attend to further my education. My uncle lived in New York. I had hoped that Daph and I could we stay with him until I could find us a place to stay. Of course those were just my dreams and fantasies. Like everything in my life my father put an end to my glorious plans. Unfulfilled hopes, broken dreams and shattered fantasies have been a part of my life thus far. My Uncle was the headmaster of St. James Academy in New York. I attended St. James Academy until December 1860. I returned home for the Christmas holiday on Wednesday, the 19th of December. The next morning my father called me into his study to inform me I would not be returning to New York that I would be completing my education in Georgia. I hated the George Washington Academy for Young men in Georgia. My interest in art and poetry was firmly discouraged. All of my classes were in the practical area of mathematics and business. Although I graduated at the head of my class I hated every moment of it. I endured the years at George Washington Academy for Young Men because I knew that as soon as I as able I would leave Georgia. It had always been my dream to return to New York with Daphne. In preparation I spent my spare time teaching Daphne to read, write and to speak properly. I taught her table etiquette and how to dress and act like a lady. Skills I knew she would need when we finally went to New York. While at St. James Academy I was able to indulge my passion of art and writing my poetry. I had aspirations of being an artist and poet but my father has always been against that. He considered art and poetry useless endeavors only fit for women and effeminate men. The latter as far as my father is concerned is a fate worst than being a Yankee. My father wanted me groomed for business so that I could take over the factory. Dad inherited the factory when he married mother. Grandfather made it a part of Mother’s dowry. Father only hired a few workers the rest of the factory workers were from slave labor. With Slavery abolished Father was increasingly upset that he now had to pay for factory labor thereby severely decreasing his profit margin. The factory suffered fire damage during the burning of Atlanta. A small building has been erected so that father can conduct a modicum of business. The main facility is still under construction. Father says it will probably be months before it is completed. Last week I told my father I was leaving Georgia and taking Daphne with me and there was nothing he could do to stop me. He gave me that sinister smile of his that never bodes well for me. Then he gave me the reasons I would never leave the South. Not as long as he lives. He was right. I shall never leave this place. So, I will remain here. I have given my word that I will stay, let him groom me to take over at the factory. Daphne was understandably upset when I told her we would not be leaving Georgia. Now. But if I am able I will send Daphne to New York even if I must stay here. Unfortunately some things about the south are ingrained in me. I still believe that a gentleman is honor bound to keep his word. Even if that word was making a pact with the devil himself; My Father. As long as father keeps his word and Daphne is safe I will endure this life as a Southern Gentleman and I will marry the woman that he chooses for me. What does it mater what woman he chooses. I will never love her. I will never desire her. Yet, I am duty and honor bound to uphold my agreement with my father. I will be the son that he always wanted. I will do anything to protect Daphne. Although my dreams have been dashed yet again I guess things could have been worst. I really have nothing to complaint about. We have a very grand home. Also, a part of mother’s dowry. It seemed the only thing Father brought to marriage with Mother is his pedigree and name. His family was very prominent people from New Orleans that had fallen on hard times. The Taylor name carried prestige. It is a marriage made in hell as far as I can see. My mother’s family had money but were considered commoner’s, my father had a pedigree and the name to go with it but no money. Therefore, a marriage contract was made and viola! Jennifer and Craig became husband and wife. My Mother and Father barely say two words to each other. They sleep in separate bedrooms, which I understand is quite common among married couples. The only time they are together is during breakfast and dinner and even then their speech is polite and guarded. Our home is a three story Georgian mansion. It’s in need of some repair but it is still a very grand home with a lot of surrounding acreage. Mother was always proud that we grew our own crops for the table. She took great pride in telling our neighbors everything that was on our table came fresh from her gardens. Mother may have owned the gardens but she certainly didn’t toil in the sun to bring forth the crops. Of course the Union army burned most of those crops. I have been so wrapped up in my own woes and sorrows I have missed what is going on around me. I almost missed the feel of tension floating in the air. Two weeks ago Colonel James Stockwell was found dead on the banks of the Peachtree Creek. Murdered! Of course the only thing that our neighbors are worried about is how this will affect the way the Union soldiers treat us. I cannot seem to be bothered to care. I am too mournful from the realization that it is my fate to remain in Georgia to concern myself with the death of a Union soldier. There are rumors that a most decorated Union Major will be investigating Stockwell’s death. We shall see where his investigation leads. --------- Journal Entry Major Brian A. Kinney United States Army Sunday 1865, 17th day of September I am assigned to investigate the death of a Union Colonel. This assignment will take up the last few weeks of my term in the Army. I did not want to take this assignment. When I was first approached about this I was quite reluctant to take it. But I was told it had been at former General McCellan’s urging that this death be investigated. As a personal favor for the former General I agreed. I served under General McCellan before he was dismissed. I may not have agreed with his military strategy but I respected him as a man that cared about the lives of his troupes.. I was told that he and Colonel Stockwell were close friends. They studied and trained together. I was a military college graduate myself. Before the war started I was young and ambitious. President Lincoln’s election proved to me that a man from humble beginnings could achieve much in this society. I had aspirations of becoming a General and perhaps pursing a career as a statesman. It was during the war that I had been promoted to Major. After four years of war, of leading men on the battlefield my aspirations are not as lofty. The four years of watching my men, some younger than myself, fall and die -- a little of me died also. The Monocacy battle on July 9, 1864 was my final turning point. On some level we all knew it was a suicide mission. We were out numbered. Our only goal was to hold the Confederate forces back to give reinforcements time to reach and fortify Washington. I knew that I would not survive this battle. I was prepared to die on the field fighting for what I believed in for a President whose ideals I believed in. The battle was long and bloody. All around me my men were dropping. Screams and explosions filled the air. Many body parts littered the ground and sailed through the air like missiles. I tried to avoid trampling a wounded soldier. I remember an explosion going off in front of me. Then I realized that I was hit. I could feel the warm wetness of my blood seeping through my clothing. My horse-- well trained for war-- reared up, lost its balance and teetered. I fell and all went black. I remember waking up in excruciating pain. The sounds of cannon and gunfire had ceased. I heard the painful moaning of the wounded and dying all around me. Then I became aware of the weight pushing me down into the soggy earth. There were dead bodies and body parts not only all around me but also on top of me pinning me to the ground. The blood of the bodies had completely saturated me and the ground around me. The stench of the dead, the blood, and waste of human and animals was nauseating. Just remembering that day brings back horrors that are best left on that battlefield. It was after that battle that I was promoted to Major. When my term of service ends I just want to put as much distance between myself and the memories of fighting in the this Civil War as far behind me as humanly possible. I want to go somewhere that has not been a part of a battlefield. That has not felt the effects of this war. I arrived in this Godforsaken place early afternoon. My first thoughts were how anyone could stand this oppressive heat. Before going to town I stopped at the base camp to speak with some of the soldiers. I spoke with a few soldiers at the camp near the creek. No one really knew why the Colonel would have stopped at Peachtree Creek. It was actually a little out of the way if he was heading back to town. He was last seen leaving camp heading back to his lodgings in town around 8:00 p.m.. He left alone which I’ve been told is not unusual. The theory was that Colonel Stockwell decided to detour to Peachtree Creek and take a swim and was set upon by Confederate thieves or vagrants. I disagree with this theory. If thieves or Confederate vagrants set upon Colonel Stockwell he would have been duly robbed. His horse was not stolen. The Colonel’s horse wandered back to camp during the early morning hours. That is what alerted his troupes something was wrong. When found the Colonel was fully clothed although buttons were torn from his uniform as if he’d been in a struggle. He also had scratches on his cheeks, face, neck and hands. He had a few coins in his pocket as well as his pocket watch. His boots made of good quality leather had not been taken nor his weapons. What thieves or vagrants would leave this bountiful booty on their victim? I quickly dismissed robbery as the reason for the Colonel’s death. After my talk with the soldiers I continued into town. It was late evening when I finally arrived tired and sleepy. I was shown to a small room in the building that was being used as Army headquarters. The room was adequate for my needs and hopefully my short stay. Georgia is a hot and humid place. Not unlike most of the South. This is a place that I hope to soon cleanse from my mind and body. It has been months since the war ended yet the acrid smell of smoke still permeates the air. The city is little more than burnt ruins. A few shelters, homes out side the city and buildings were left standing. Others have been built or are in the process of being rebuilt but the city is a shadow of his former glory. After I settle in and familiarize myself with the area I will go out and look around the spot as well as the surrounding area where Colonel Stockwell’s body was found. Perhaps I can find some clues that may help lead me to the identity of his assailant or assailants. ----- Journal Entry Justin Taylor Wednesday 1865, 20th day of September We (Mother, Father, and I) have been summoned to speak with the Union Major. I knew it was coming. Mr. Johnson from the neighboring plantation stopped by yesterday to tell father he had just left the city from talking with the Major. He called the Major a pompous, odious ill-bred, Northern scum. He ranted that the Yankee Major talked down to him and dismissed him out of hand. Father, who by the way has never met this gentleman agreed with Mr. Johnson’s assessment of the Major and his character. I on the other hand shall withhold my judgment. I do not like Mr. Johnson. He was a tyrannical slave owner and is a pompous, self deluded asshole. If he dislikes this Major I shall strive to find some redeeming quality in the Major to like. Needless to say Father is livid and has refused to answer the summon and forbidden Mother and I from going. I explained to Father that I will answer this summon and so should he. Father doesn’t seem to understand if we do not go to meet with the Major, he can send soldiers to bring us in. My words were not persuasive enough. Father still would not relent. Following Father’s directives Mother has stated she will not answer the Major’s summons either. As much as I try to get him to see reason he will not. Father is having a difficult time accepting the South lost the war and that life as he knew it before the war started in 1861 is not the way life will be from this day forward. Father cannot seem to realize he is not the rich and powerful factory owner anymore. It did not take me long to realize that on the morrow I must go into Atlanta to meet with this Major. I will take Daphne with me. I do not like leaving her in the house alone. I don’t trust the new foreman father has hired to over see the repairs to the house. He is a lowly sort and his manners and speech are coarse and crude. His eyes follow Daphne most lustfully. I have warned him several times to stay away from her or suffer my ire but at last I can tell he considers me as nothing more than a child and pays me no mind. I have spoken to Father about this and he has promised to speak with him. -------------- BRIAN PAST (September 1865) I sat in my make shift office. On the desk I had a map of the States and the Western Territories. I have been studying the Homestead Act and I would probably relocate to one of these territories. Arizona, the Dakotas, Nevada, Montana and Oklahoma look promising to me. Although there were a lot of hostilities with Indian uprisings I’m not concerned. There were forts in most of the locations I have considered. As a military man I could take care of myself. When I told my father that I was thinking of moving to the Western Territories he laughed at me and called me a pampered city boy and a bit of a dandy. After this war I don’t think I could ever be called a pampered city boy or dandy again. Any softness I may have had was certainly gone now. I had a few books on raising livestock and farming. I’d also brought a few plans from architects on building cabins and homes. I had been studying them conscientiously. I had every intention of succeeding in the territories. Farming the land, building shelter and living on the land for five years were three of the perquisites to of the Homestead Act. I would be the first to admit that I had never grown anything or built anything in my life, but my will was strong and I have every intentions of being successful. I have a small heritance from my grandfather on my mother’s side. Once I settled down I’d buy some livestock, plant vegetables and earn a prosperous living from the land. I would miss Mikey, his mother Ms. Novotny and his Uncle Victor. Mikey had been there for me since we were both lads of fourteen. Whereas I excelled in Military School he barely passed and only with my help. He didn’t go on to graduate school as I did but took a job with his family’s restaurant business. Leaving Michael behind would be my only regret when I left New York. I would miss his friendship. I had yet to tell Mikey my plans of moving to the Western Territories mostly because I dreaded his reactions. First he would try to talk me out of going. When he realized I couldn’t be persuaded to change my mind he would try to make me feel guilty for leaving him. And leave Mikey I must. My biggest mistake was fucking Mikey. Yet I was leaving for war. I didn’t expect to live through it. I knew Mikey was *IN* love with me. I wanted to give him something to hold on to and remember me by. He’d given me so much. My cock didn’t seem like much to give to a man that had been such a good friend to me. Fucking Mikey was my final goodbye to him. I loved Mikey. I’d told him that many times. He was my best friend. I just did not, would not, and could not love him the way a man loved a woman. Two men could never feel that way about each other. I would have to deal with Mikey before I left for the Western territories. So, once my assignment ended I would return to New York to pack the few possessions I would take with me and to talk with Mikey. I had to get him to understand that the week we spent fucking before I left for the War was great but that was all it was--one week of great fucking between friends. Nothing more. I didn’t want to make a life with Mikey. I didn’t want to make a life with any man. I enjoyed fucking men and after the fucking was over I wanted the man to leave. I didn’t believe in love. I believed in fucking. Getting the maximum amount of pleasure with the least amount of stress. I would also have to say good-bye to my family. It shouldn’t take long. We were never a very close and loving family. I would barely spare a thought to my parents once I left New York. My mother was a cold unemotional woman that paid little attention to my sister or me. My father was little better. He was a career military man that never made it to the status he aspired. He took his frustration out on me with a swift backhand and a right hook. The beatings stopped when I was about fourteen. By then I was as tall as my father and had lost my fear of him. It was also about the time he realized I was physically superior and would fight back. There was a five-year age difference between my sister and I. She was the eldest. We were never really close. She was shipped off to school when I was ten years old. I went to Military School and my sister went to a Ladies Finishing College. She was married while I was out fighting in the war. At her age and with her bland looks she was lucky to find a husband. Her inheritance from my grandparents probably helped her convince some poor man to marry. I shook off the thoughts of my past. Now was not the time to think of my family. Soon they would be a distant memory and I would be carving out another life hundreds of miles away. I checked my pocket watch to see how long it would be before my appointment with the Taylor’s. The Taylor’s were my last interview of the day. In the last few days I had interviewed several families that lived near Peachtree Creek. I knew no more now than I did when I came to Atlanta. The families had been far from helpful. They had answered my questions but had not offered any additional information. It was apparent that there were still hostilities over the war. These hostilities would probably last for years to come. I was not concerned. I would be far away from the North and South in a few months. I stretched my hands over my head and stood up. I had taken off my jacket due to the heat. I checked my appearance. It was good to finally be able to clean myself properly each day. One of the things I hated most about the war besides the death and destruction was the days on end that I went without a bath, washing my hair, changing my clothes or cleansing my teeth. Living with not only my own body stench but that of my fellow comrades. Having open sores festering on my body. I shuddered thinking about those times. I resolved to never be that filthy again in my life. As hot as it was I slipped back on my uniform jacket and buttoned it to the top. My next appointment was due now. I read the notes again. The Taylors: Craig Beauregard Taylor born March 4, 1813 in New Orleans. He came from a very powerful and prestigious family. He had been one of the wealthiest, most powerful men in Atlanta. He lived in a large Georgian Mansion on the outskirts of Atlanta. He’d owned 30-40 slaves before the war. His wife was Jennifer Abigail Taylor born in Georgia September 25, 1823. She had volunteered in the Confederate hospital during the war. Their son Justin Taylor was born January 12, 1848. He never joined the Confederate army. He volunteered with his Mother in the hospital. The Taylor’s had a daughter Molly Elizabeth. She died June 16, 1856 from fever. The majority of their slaves had left. From last count about seven had stayed with them as paid domestic and factory help. The notes did mention that young Justin was always in the company of his slave girl, Daphne. That was interesting. Of course she was a freewoman now. It stated that she was light enough to pass for White. I wondered if she was the boy’s lover. Not uncommon in the South. I’d make a note to speak with her later. I sneered at Craig and Justin’s lack of military service. Men younger and older than both had served in the war. Had died in the war. Although in the draft for the North Lincoln only asked for men between the age of 20 – 45 I’d walked the fields after battle and I had seen Confederate soldiers that looked no more than children and some men looked like grandfather’s. Craig’s money and power probably kept both away from the war. Or maybe Justin didn’t go to war because he did not want to leave his lover. For some unknown reason I was forming a dislike for this obvious spoiled pampered man and his little rich boy son. Craig Taylor and his son probably thought they were entitled to their lavish rich lifestyle and was probably angry that it had been taken away from them. I walked to the window and looked out at the dreary landscape. The knock on the door pulled me away from my thoughts. “Enter,” I said. I did not bother to turn around. I clasped my hands behind my back. “Your next appointment is here sir,” the officer said. “Send him in.” I heard one set of light footsteps on the wooden floor. The steps were so light I figured it was a woman. I had been told that Mrs. Taylor was a blonde, blue eyed, very petite and beautiful woman. My impression of the Taylor men shrunk more. Instead of facing this summon like men they had sent a woman not knowing what would happen to her. I let out a sigh and turned around. I was awestruck at the vision before me. Not Mrs. Taylor, but if I was guessing correctly, young Justin Taylor. He was dressed in a fine white cotton tailored shirt with blue strips. A little faded but the blue matched his eyes. His trousers were made of good quality cotton and were also a little wear worn but clean and pressed. He had on a pair of good quality brown boots. The boy was absolutely beautiful. Although I knew he was older he could easily pass for a boy of thirteen. I’ve seen paintings of angels that could not hold a candle to the young man standing before me. He was slightly built. Like his mother he too was blonde and blue eyed. His blonde hair was long falling against his collar while the bangs fell softly across his forehead emphasizing his bright blue eyes. Those eyes were staring straight at me. They were open and honest and was as clear as a crisp cold blue lake. His skin reminded me of fine porcelain and I idly wondered how he managed to keep his skin so beautiful during these harsh hot Georgia summers. It was his luscious pink lips that had captivated me the most. The lower lip was full and pouty and I wanted to suck it in my mouth. I shook these fanciful thoughts from my head. I was beginning to sound like those sickening romance novels Ms. Novotny read constantly. I was rarely attracted to blonde men. In New York there were certain clubs and bars near the docks that catered to men of a certain appetite. Men like myself. When I gave these places my patronage I was usually attracted to men whose physical appearance was similar to mine. Tall, slim, strapping men with ruddy skin, dark hair and eyes. Sturdy men that could take a lusty bout of fucking. Young Mr. Taylor was far from what I was normally attracted to. For one he wasn’t very tall and he was quite slight, pale and looked fragile. I could not see him taking my long thick cock up his ass. He didn’t look sturdy enough to last in a mild bout of fucking with me. Of course I would love to slip my cock pass his luscious lips. To feel the wet heat of his mouth wrapped around my cock. I cleared my throat. I attempted to dismiss any lustful ideas I had of him. Unfortunately my cock had a mind of it’s own. It seemed to find young Mr. Taylor very appealing. On it’s own accord my cock twitched in my blue trousers. I moved away from the window to place something between this vision that stood before me and myself. He turned toward me his eyes never leaving mine. Well, Well young Mr. Taylor’s pupils were a little dilated, his breathing had changed, his nose flared and he unconsciously licked his lips. I knew that hungry look. I had seen it many times. Most men would not know it or understand it. I understood perfectly. Maybe it was just a mechanism that men of a certain desire used to recognized each other. At the moment it did not matter. I wondered if he even knew what he was. Most likely not. He probably had yet to put a name to the desire or attraction he felt for other young boys and men. It was doubtful that he had ever known the touch of another man. I would love to educate him. I wanted to be that man to touch him. To show him what he desired. I shook those thoughts from my mind. I was not here to slake my lust on an unsuspecting youth no matter if he found me attractive. In another place and another time I would have availed myself of this boys unspoken invitation of his considerable charms, but alas this was not the time or place. I sat down and adjusted my tightening material around my cock and took a deep breath. “I am Major Brian Kinney. And you are?” He stepped forward and extended his hand across the table, “ I am Justin Taylor, sir. It is a pleasure to meet you.” His voice was soft and melodious with a slight Southern drawl. It went straight to my cock. I grasped his hand in a firm grip and shook it before releasing it quickly. I had felt a jolt when my hand had touched his. Although I felt calluses on his much smaller hand it did not distract from its softness or warmth. He seemed to feel it too--the jolt. His little pink tongue snaked out of his mouth wetting his lips as his eyes completely devoured me. He was making it very hard for me to remember that he was not here for me to fuck. I had to remember why I was here. Maybe that was why my next words were said so brusquely. “We shall see if you consider it a pleasure to meet me after we have talked. Where are your parents Mr. Taylor?” Young Mr. Taylor clasped his hands in front of him and blinked twice before answering. “I must apologize for my parents absence, Major Kinney. They are indisposed at this moment and for that reason I alone have answered your summons.” Before I could speak he quickly added. “But I assure you I can answer any questions that you might have sir.” “Very well.” I stated and began my questions. “Mr. Taylor can you tell me where you were around eight or nine o’clock Sunday evening on September 3? “I was most likely in my room sir.“ “So, you were asleep?” I ask. “Oh, no sir,” he stated earnestly, “I was most likely sketching or writing.” This bit of news got my attention. “And what would you sketch or write?” He flushed, “I….I like poetry sir. I write it some times. Or I spend time in the evening sketching whatever catches my attention.” ”Do you know where your parents were that particular Sunday evening?” “They had retired to bed sir. My parents never stay up late.” “Can you think of anything out of the ordinary occurring on Sunday, September 3? Did you notice any strangers in the area that day or evening? “No, sir. It was just a normal Sunday.” I looked at my notes again. “Who is Daphne?” I could see my question startled him. For a moment he was flustered. “Ex-exactly why d-do you need to know about Daphne? Why is she of any interest to you?” “Mr. Taylor I asked you a simple question. I need a simple and forthright answer. So again I ask who is Daphne? And what is she to you?” My voice was cold and hard. It was the tone I used for disciplining my troops. I knew it would get the desired response from young Mr. Taylor. “Daph-Daphne,” he stuttered. Then sticking his chest out and taking a deep breath he answered my question. “I be-believe Daphne to be my sister, sir.” Although my face did not register it his answer totally shocked me. I was not prepared for that revelation. “Why do you believe this?” He let out a weary sigh, “It is the south Major Kinney. Surely you’ve heard of such things. Her mother Sissy was a house slave and although she was married to our houseman Hamilton I have been told by other’s and my father has confirmed that he *knew* Sissy in the biblical sense around the time of Daphne’s birth. There is a fair chance that Daphne is my father’s child. Although as far as my father is concerned she has never been anything other than his property. I cannot so easily dismiss the blood ties I may have to her. It matters not to me that my father or this society does not recognize her as my sister for I do. As her older brother it is my duty to provide for her, educate her and protect her.” “I commend you. That is very liberal thinking.” He shrugged, “I lived with my Uncle for a time. He was an abolitionist.” I looked at this slight young man with who I was beginning to see had very strong beliefs. I realized my first impressions of him were far from correct. Then I smirked when I realized he couldn’t even call *fucking* by it’s true name. A young man like that was certainly not prepared for what I wanted to do to him. The way I wanted to know this young man had nothing to do with the *bibilical* sense. I tried to reign in my lustful thoughts about Young Mr. Taylor. I switched my line of questioning. “Why didn’t you fight in the war?” His eyes burned with a fierce intensity as he spoke, “I could not shed blood, fight or die for a cause or a way of life that I did not believe in.” “What did your Father think of this?” “He called me a traitor, a coward and a disgrace to the Taylor name.” “And what did you say to this?” “I told him that I would rather be a traitor, a coward and a disgrace to the Taylor name than to go out and kill for something I did not believe in and become a coward, a disgrace and traitor to my convictions.” I realized that behind the image of a slight beautiful boy lurked a very opinionated and strong willed young man. I found this conversation had taken a strange turn of events. I let out a sigh. I stopped pretending to be taking notes, laid down my pen and looked at the beautiful man/boy staring so intently at me. My thoughts were far from pure as I looked in his eyes. I could not really concentrate on questioning him because my cock would not remain still in my blue trousers. I decided the best course of action was to end this interview. “That will be all Mr. Taylor. If you can think of anything that might be helpful about that day don’t hesitate to stop in the office. Please inform your parents that I still may need to speak with them. I will contact them again within the next few days. Until then you may leave.” “Thank you, sir.” As he turned to leave I got a view of his backside. His ass was round, firm and delicious. He had the perfect ass. When I realized what I truly was and my true desires I devoured any and everything I could find on the subject. Amazingly it seemed that some of our great Greek and Roman male warriors craved the flesh of other men. I found an out of the way bookstore in New York near the docks that catered to certain deviant desires. I bought a book on male erotica with illustrations that detailed many sexual acts between men. The most interesting act was not the technique on sucking cock but of performing oral stimulation of the anus. I’ve never been inclined or even tempted to want to perform that act before. That was before I got a view of the perfect round apple ass that was heading out of this cramped hot room. Not only would I like to sink my dick in that delicious rounded ass I wanted to sink my tongue in it as well. I didn’t know what compelled me but before I could rationalize my motives I spoke. “Mr. Taylor you are very familiar with this area aren’t you?” He turned around. He seemed puzzled by my new line of questioning but he answered, “Yes, sir. I have lived here most of my life barring the years I lived in New York.” That was an interesting bit of news. I was just thinking about New York. I decided to follow it through for a moment, “When were you in New York?” “When I was nine I became ill with fever and when I recovered the doctor thought a cooler climate would be beneficial to my healing. I went to stay with my Mother’s brother in New York. He was a schoolmaster and I attended school while there. My Uncle Rodney encouraged my pursuits in art and poetry. He greatly influenced my thoughts on slavery and freedom. I learned many things while in his care.” I nodded, “When did your return?” I watched a veil come over his eyes. “December of 1860. I came home for Christmas and was not allowed to go back to New York.” I let out a sigh. I had gotten a little off track in my questioning. This boy was certainly not what I was expecting. “Mr. Taylor I need a guide to show me around the Peachtree Creek area this evening. If you could spare the time I would be indebted to you for your assistance.” “Of course! I would be honored sir,” he said ecstatically. “Very Well Mr. Taylor. When will be a most convenient time for you?” “First please call me Justin. I prefer that.” He looked at me so expectantly I had to agree. I nodded in agreement. “Very well, Justin.” I let his name roll off my tongue like a caress It had the desired effect. A slight flush infused his cheeks. He seemed to take a big breath and gather his courage, “I was just wondering sir, I mean if you have the time and you are not terribly busy and since we will be out together” he was truly flustered. “I was wondering if you would allow me to sketch you?” I gave it some thought. The last thing on my mind should have been sitting still why the boy sketched me but the idea of being alone with him for an extended length of time was too tempting to turn down. If I was discreet and careful I couldn’t see any reason why I shouldn’t avail myself on what the young man was unconsciously offering. “I don’t see any harm in that. After you have shown me around the Peachtree Creek area I will pose for your sketching?” The boy blasted me with a smile that rivaled the Georgia sunshine. I was blinded and left speechless. My cock nearly jumped from my pants. More than ever I wanted this young man. “We sit down to supper at 5:00 p.m. Unfortunately we can’t meet at my home. I don’t think Father would approve.” His father certainly wouldn’t approve if he knew the thoughts that were floating through my head about his young son. I gave it some thought, “Very well Justin. I have to a few more places in town to visit and then I will sit down and eat with the officers. Can you meet me at quarter past six near the edge of town by the old livery?” His smile beamed, “I’ll be there Major Kinney. You can be assured of that,” he stated excitedly. “I’m glad to hear that,” I smirked. Justin stepped forward and reached his hand across the desk. I took his hand in mine and held it a moment or two longer than necessary. I just wanted to judge his response. To make sure I was reading the signs correctly. He looked down at our joined hands. Unconsciously his thumb stroked over my hand. He seemed reluctant to disengage our hands. I firmly slipped my hand from his and met his eyes. The blue eyes were lust filled. His checks were flushed. My stay in Georgia was not going to be as miserable as I first thought. “I shall see you later, Justin.” ----------- JUSTIN September 1865 I spotted Daphne sitting on the bench where I had left her outside the door of the Army office. I took her hand in mine as we made our way back towards Father’s factory. “Did it go badly?” she asked. Around me Daphne’s diction was perfect. Around others she perpetrated an ignorant uneducated diction. I stopped in the middle of the dry caked Georgia road and looked back at the building I had just left. I turned to Daphne and said in total awe, “Daphne I just saw a man with the face of a Greek god and his name is Major Brian Kinney.”