I recently came across a blog by a mixed-race girl named StefiA, who is obviously fascinated with her racial background. You can still find some of her 2010 blog at: http://stefia.blogspot.com In one of her posts, she revealed that a blood-test showed her to be 67% European, etc. -- as detailed in the story below. She also mused a bit on the difficulties of "passing": "You'd have to move away. If you stayed in your own area, people would know, but if you moved away, nobody would. When I was at college, nobody knew my background, and I could have gone 2 years without anyone finding out, if I'd been clever enough. But the documents I've got today, however, have my race on them; my Texas birth certificate says I'm 1/2 AA and 1/2 Caucasian. (My dad put down AA for himself; back then probably not many people put "mixed" or "mulatto" -- so I'm down as 50/50 rather than 25/75.) If I ever needed to show this certificate for any reason, I'd be stuffed. Now, I've no idea if they ever had to show their papers for anything back in the early 20th century or not, or how easy it was to get fakes done." In her blog, Stefi refers to an actress as a "quadroon" and admires her ability to change her look completely. I looked up the actress in question, and she's quite correct that she can look VERY different, depending on her hair, her tan, the lighting, and whom she is standing next to. In particular, she looks much darker when she is standing next to one of her blonde, blue-eyed friends than she does when she's standing alone. http://www.allstarpics.net/pictures/0061213/jessica-szohr-picture-gallery-120.html It's actually hard to believe it's the same girl. Seeing the pictures and reading Stefi's posts, I put together a collage and imagined a story, which I submit here. Real racism is a terrible thing, and Lakewood and I both deplore it. But Stefi admits in a blog that she enjoys "role-playing" the slave part, and this story is presented in that spirit, as a sexual fantasy. We love you, Stefi, and we dedicate this story to you. We hope that you are happy and successful, that this story finds you, and that you enjoy it. -- J.D. A HALLOWEEN SPOOK STORY by Joe Doe I'm 24% African, but most people assume I'm white, with maybe a little Italian or perhaps Mexican blood. I certainly look white, except maybe when I'm standing next to Hannah (my best, whitest, and richest friend). Hannah and I have been friends for ages. I never really thought of her as racist, although I knew she was shocked when, at the ripe old age of 11, I very matter-of-factly told her about my heritage. I knew she was from the South and was very conservative, but race never interfered with our friendship. We had our differences. Hannah could be a bit of an ice queen, and, although she could be pretty wild at the bars, she was quite prissy with her regular boyfriends. on occasion her fed-up suitors would dump her and turn to me for comfort. Matters came to a head when she accused me of stealing all her boyfriends, to which I replied that maybe they didn't want to simply spend all night masturbating while admiring her picture. She got very angry and said my "hot black blood" made me a "Jezebel" and a thief. It was one of our few fights, and the only time she had ever used my background against me. We made up and resumed our close friendship. Her ugly comments receded in my mind. In fact, on several occasions when one of her snooty blonde friends would remark about my "tan" or question my lineage, she would always rush to my defense, frequently "explaining" that I was part Italian. She often would comment, "I wish I could tan as fast as Stefi does. She's GORGEOUS." I didn't really think of myself as a "white girl," but I knew that most people, Hannah included, viewed me that way, and, hanging out with Hannah's crowd a lot, I didn't think much of it. Then, one day, Hannah told me that some of her friends were going to spend much of October on at a "Plantation Retreat," where rich white folks pretend they own black people as slaves. When she asked me if I wanted to "tag along" I jumped at the chance. Real slaves, in the old South? What a turn-on! I definitely have a kinky side, as does Hannah. So, when she offered to pay my way, I jumped at the chance. It was no problem, since I was, like they say, between jobs at the time. We flew down to Miami first class for the first leg of the trip and then took a luxurious private jet to the island where the retreat was held. Many Confederates had relocated to the island after the Civil War, bringing along their "property." They bought the island from its owner, France (or maybe Spain), and re-instituted slavery. Today, it may be the only place left where chattel slavery openly exists. Sugar, pearls, and tropical fish are the main exports. The natural scenery was amazing. And, besides that, the island was filled with beautiful antebellum mansions, had a gorgeous Greek Revival courthouse, and boasted a town square that reminded me of the French Quarter and the Garden District in New Orleans. The marble and gilt resort hotel where Hannah and I stayed would have put the Four Seasons to shame. Everything and everyone dripped money, and I knew staying there must be costing Hannah's plutocrat father a fortune. The service was incredible, and, although I was a little uncomfortable being waited on hand and foot by "darkies," I did get turned on watching the black bucks and wenches being auctioned naked on the block in the courthouse square. Hannah whispered in my ear, "I wonder what you'd bring?" I just laughed and replied, "More than you would." Hannah laughed, too, and it was a funny moment, but I also felt a deliciously naughty tingle inside. I loved watching the auctioneer put the slaves through their paces on the block. Hannah and I never missed an auction. The island was an odd mix of the historical and modern. The roads were unpaved, there were very few cars, and most of the people rode on horses or (like Hannah and I) in lovely gilded carriages. We wore modern clothes, but most of the residents dressed in their best "GONE WITH THE WIND" garb. Yet no one seemed to mind the fact that a Southern belle from 1840 was constantly checking her iPhone. It was very odd, but quaint and delightful all the same. The first night we donned formal, antebellum dresses and had dinner with the Judge, an old Southern aristocrat with white skin, white hair, and a huge white mustache that was a constant crumb-magnet during dinner. I had noticed him earlier that day at the auction, where he made a point of inspecting and handling the attractive, naked wenches very thoroughly. "Breedin' is key," he explained. "Which is why I like to check 'em head-to-hoof and make sure all their openin's are moist and tight and disease free. I like 'em docile, which is why I stock my house only with wenches, and whup 'em good with the strap or the paddle when they give me lip. Take two or three of the pretty ones to bed with you, an' it saves on heatin' bills, too." He laughed heartily, but Hannah feigned embarrassment, so we changed topics. The Judge and I got along wonderfully, and, despite his age and his backward views, he was really quite delightful and oddly charming. When the evening was over, he said, "I wish I had a daughter like you," and he kissed my hand. Hannah, for once, did not seem at all jealous and talked me up, probably because the Judge was portly and in his seventies, and she knew I'd never go for him, no matter how rich he was, although I did enjoy flirting. The Judge lived in a townhouse across the courthouse square, only a few yards from our hotel, which gave him easy access both to his work and to the slave auctions, which were his true joy. His house servants were all young and attractive female black women, and Hannah told me later that the Judge prided himself on his ability to "feel the goods" in the slave markets and trade women like horses. "His slaves pleasure each other, and the Judge, and then each other again, with him watching. From what I hear the old billy goat can go all night!" That night, I had an odd dream. It was Halloween, and I had been carried backward in time by the ghosts of the past. I was standing naked on the block, with Hannah watching from the crowd. And the Judge, smiling broadly, was coming towards me for my "inspection." It was horrifying, yes, but it was also one of the most erotic dreams I had ever had. The first day was both fun and amazing, but, by the second day, I noticed Hannah's tone had changed, and she was decidedly more bossy and assertive. I chalked it up to my over-reacting to my embarrassment at having my rich friend pay my expenses with the local Confederate currency, which I, unfortunately, did not have. I thought it was peculiar that she introduced me to everyone as her "basketball star girlfriend," an odd reference to a championship high school team I had played on. At our formal dinner that night, she also pointed out what "a fabulous runner Stefi is." It was another peculiar reference, since she was a more avid runner than I. Nonetheless I did appreciate Hannah's quickness to compliment me to everyone on what she called my "natural athleticism." At Hannah's insistence, we spent hours by the pool, flirting with the guys. Hannah slathered on the sunscreen, as did I, but, because of my natural complexion, after a few days I started to turn a dark toffee color. This made me increasingly uncomfortable, given the nature of the retreat, but Hannah (who by this time was quite bossy and in charge) insisted that I ditch "my granny clothes" and "have fun and show a little skin" even though she always wore a white dress and big floppy hat to protect her from the sun. She even bought me a sheer scarlet thong bikini and insisted that I throw away my modest black one-piece. I was shocked when I got back from the pool later that day to discover that my purse, as well as all my bras, shoes, pants, shorts, panties, and long dresses were gone, leaving me with nothing but halters, belly shirts, mini-skirts, and my new bikini. Hannah immediately called the hotel clerk to report the robbery, and although a search of the miserable slaves' quarters behind the hotel revealed nothing, the Judge ordered that the dozen or so slaves who had access to my room be thrown into the jail until he could decide their punishment. The next morning I awoke to find that my sandals and my blue contact lenses had been stolen, as well as all the hair care products I used to straighten my hair. This proved the slaves who had been arrested were innocent, since they could not have stolen these things while they were in jail. Hannah told me that she had heard that the slaves were going to be paddled in the courthouse square at lunchtime and suggested we go over to see the Judge right away. It felt odd to walk barefoot across the cold marble floor of the courthouse, and the fact that I was walking through such a stately building dressed in noting more than a mini-skirt and a belly shirt, drew quite a bit of attention. Without my contacts I couldn't read any of the directional signs, and I nearly fell down the stairs. Thank goodness that Hannah, laughing, was there to catch me. What a wonderful friend. Hannah was a savior that day, I was a mess, but she looked quite smart in her long flowered dress. If she hadn't been there to help me, I doubt the guards would have let me in to see the Judge at all. The Judge's chambers, at least, had an oriental rug, which was easier on my bare feet than the cold marble floor. But the room was chilly, the temperature set so it was comfortable for the Judge in his white linen suit, not for a barefoot, scantily-clad young woman. In the past I had had the pleasure of sitting across from the Judge at his elegant dining table, dressed in a lovely antebellum gown. But today I had to stand barefoot in front of the Judge's massive oak desk and state my case while he allowed his amused and appraising eyes to roam freely over my bare arms, my bare legs, my bare flat belly. I protested to the Judge that it was unlikely that ALL of the slaves were guilty, and it was quite possible that none of them were, given the second theft had occurred while they were in jail. He was unimpressed, replying coldly that "all darkies are thieves, and those that didn't actually steal this time will benefit from the lesson, just the same." Hannah sprang in to join my defense. "I know seeing Stefi come in here, dressed this way, looking so tan, you must be wondering if she doesn't have some sort of...unnatural sympathies. But I agree with her, and I think an example can be made without beating them too severely." His tone softened somewhat, and he agreed to commute the sentences to 10 paddle strokes each. As we were leaving the Judge's chambers, Hannah whispered in my ear, "For goodness sakes, Stefi, cover your headlights when you're talking to the Judge. I thought your nipples were going to pop right through your shirt." I could feel the blood rush to my face as I realized my pokies were standing out proudly. No wonder the Judge was smiling at me; what a sight I must have been. We went outside and watched as the servants who had literally slaved over us were stripped naked and strung up for a bare-bottom butt-whipping. Their guilt or innocence meant little to the crowd, who jeered at the poor wretches and laughed and applauded every stroke. I couldn't see well, but found myself wincing at every pop. Sensing my discomfort, Hannah tried to comfort me. "Remember, Stefi, whether they're guilty or not, it's a good lesson for the other darkies not to be uppity." "You think so?" I asked, unsure. "I KNOW so," she replied. "After all, look at the effect it's having on you." The words struck me oddly, as if they had a ominous double meaning, but it wasn't until Hannah refused to buy me any replacement clothes, or shoes, or new contact lenses that I began to suspect her motives. I realized that I was in a strange country with no passport, cell phone, identification, or money, and I was wholly dependent on her good will. One-by-one, all of my other supports had been been slowly, systematically stripped away. This realization should have made me angry, but it didn't. For, although I felt certain that Hannah was setting me up, I was also aware that she knew of my secret fantasies. Was it vengeance for stealing her boyfriend, or a fantasy fulfillment favor? Or both? I decided to play along and see. "Maybe you could just get me some chains, and for Halloween I could be your slave," I suggested wryly. "Hmmmm...Halloween. Interesting. Be careful what you wish for, my little jigaboo," she giggled. "I might well decide to make you my Halloween spook." Fortunately, Hannah did purchase me one new formal gown to wear to dinner with the Judge. Unfortunately, it was pure white, which made me look all the darker. It was also quite daring. I was very aware of the Judge staring at my bare brown shoulders and brown breasts as we dined. Hannah quickly worked the subject around to "passing" and asked the Judge if he had ever held a hearing to determine a girl's racial heritage. He admitted that he had, but, sensing my discomfort, quickly demurred, claiming it was a "complex subject, not suited to dinner with two ladies as lovely as you and Miss Stefi." Hannah pressed on. "I bring it up only because Stefi is getting quite tan, and I've heard some unpleasant gossip about her complexion at our hotel. I was afraid this might happen, so I brought along a copy of her birth certificate. I wanted you to have it, but keep it sealed in this envelope. Don't open it unless you have to." I felt a rush of shock, excitement, embarrassment, pleasure, and anger, as I watched her pass the envelope to the Judge. Once again, Hannah, in the guise of helping me, was sawing the floor out from under my feet. "Why on earth would the Judge have to review my birth certificate?" I said, challenging her. "Well, if there is a hearing...or something," Hannah said. "Not that there will be a hearing. But you know how women gossip. I'm afraid there's a lot of talk at the hotel, dear, and. if you get much browner, a formal hearing might be the best approach." That night at the hotel Hannah and I got into a major fight. On my Texas birth certificate my father had listed himself as "black," which meant that, if the Judge checked it, I'd be TOTALLY screwed. Hannah was shocked. She claimed that she had never read the certificate, merely taken it out of the mailing envelope and sealed it another envelope for "safe-keeping." She promised to discreetly check with the Judge about whether the oversight on my birth certificate could be corrected. I told her to keep her mouth shut and forget about the birth certificate, thank you very much. "Don't worry, Stefi...if anything happens I'll stand right by your side at the hearing," she said. "I'll try to remember not to wear something too bright, since I don't want you to look any browner." The latter remark was certainly true, since I knew how dark I looked standing next to my ultra-fair friend. Normally I appeared quite white...or perhaps Italian or Latina. But I might as well been the Queen of Sheba standing next to Hannah, the Nordic princess. The next day I realized that, whatever her motives, Hannah's warning about the gossip was true. When I came in from the pool, I heard her talking with several of the women during tea, and I clearly heard references to "Stefi's nose" and "her lips." Naturally, the conversation stopped dead as I approached, towel in hand, drying my increasingly kinky hair. "My, Stefi, you look GORGEOUS" Hannah said. "Your tan is AWESOME!" "Yes," one of the women sniped. "Maybe we should start calling her 'Sambo' instead of 'Stefi.'" All the women laughed, even Hannah, although she did apologize to me later, when she realized how much it had hurt my feelings. However, the damage had been done, and my new nickname was now "Sambo." ****************************** The next night at dinner, Hannah told the Judge what had happened and said we simply HAD to have a hearing, to clear my name, as everyone in the hotel was now calling me "Sambo" and gossiping about my kinky hair, broad nose, and pouty lips. Reluctantly, he agreed to schedule a hearing for the next morning, but Hannah insisted that we push it back until Halloween, "so Stefi and I have a chance to prepare her defense." "What defense?" the Judge said. "This girl has been dining at my table for weeks. Clearly she is white." "Exactly my point, your honor," Hannah said. "But we still need a defense. If she were declared black, she'd have to be sold as a runaway. Isn't that right, your honor?" "Perhaps," he hedged. "Although we could simply ask her to leave the island." "And risk having your ruling overturned and you accused of favoritism? No, if she were found guilty, you'd have to march her outside and sell her right in the courthouse square. 'Barefoot on the block,' as they say. I swallowed hard. My feet would not be the only part of me that would be bare. "And, naturally, you'd have to look her over first...give her a good feel. Maybe even put in a bid. You'd have to show the people of the island that justice was truly color blind. Can you imagine how humiliating that would be for poor Sambo, having to squat, and prance, and jump, while strange hands explored her body? Humiliating...but necessary." I squirmed in my chair as his ran over my black skin. "Yes," he said, clearly imagining the moment. "A full inspection would be best." "And, of course, she'd need to be punished, too, for 'Passing.' That way people would know it wasn't you entertaining a Nigra wench at your table, but a cheat. They'd know it wasn't your fault; you were the victim of a crime." "What did you have in mind?" he said. "'Before the sellin',' the saying goes, 'there needs to be a paddlin','" Hannah said. "So you see, we need the time to prepare a proper defense, since the stakes are so grave." "What specifically are you concerned about?" the Judge asked. "I'm worried that if any documents were found suggesting Sambo's...I mean Stefi's...heritage, it might form a prima facia case against her," Hannah explained. "We'd need something to refute it. That's why I'd like to get some blood drawn and have a formal DNA test. If we schedule the hearing for Halloween, we should get the results back in time for the trial." A DNA test? And now my "hearing" had become a "trial." "Is that really necessary?" the Judge asked. "Anyone can see the young lady is white." "Of course. But if there were some mistake on the birth certificate...." "Ah, yes, the birth certificate. It's in my safe. I'd forgotten about that." Damn Hannah! Why did she have to keep bring up that fucking birth certificate? "I was also concerned that the "one-drop rule" might set an impossibly high standard for Samb..Stefi to meet." "Indeed it might," the Judge agreed. "Although I'm not sure we have the one-drop rule in the statutes on the island." "You don't. I checked," Hannah said. "But it might be invoked as common law." "True, it MIGHT. Very well. We'll have the hearing on Halloween, in the afternoon." "It might be better to have it first thing in the morning," Hannah countered. "That way you won't have to hurry back from lunch, and you can take your time inspecting the goods at the Sheriff's auction, which is going to be at noon. Plus, if there are any punishments you need to administer that morning, you can get them out of the way early, before the auction," she added. My bottom cheeks tightened at the thought. Unfortunately, the Judge agreed with Hannah, and my hearing was scheduled for 10 am Halloween morning. From my point of view, the timing couldn't have been worse. There would be no time to reconsider the matter and no time for an appeal. If I were convicted that morning I would be remanded to the Sheriff, who would oversee my humiliating public spanking, then make a tidy commission selling me in the courthouse square at noon. The Judge was an honest man, within the limits of the corrupt system over which he presided. I knew he would try to give me a fair trial and rule based on the evidence. But, if my birth certificate was opened and accepted as prima facia evidence, and the "one-drop" rule was in force, the hearing would not be a long one. The Judge liked me, but I could tell from the look in his eyes that he was already imagining running his thick hands over my body and seeing me squat naked on the auction block. The Judge, sensing my trepidation, tried to put me at ease. As we left, he took my hand and told me not to worry, "for, I confess, a girl as lovely and fair as you are has nothing to worry about in my court." He kissed my hand, and I knew everything would be all right. Afterward, I challenged Hannah over the DNA test. "Don't you see, silly? I'll get the test, then alter the results. That way even if the birth certificate says you're black, we'll have proof that you're white." ****************************** We spent the days before my trial at the home of Veronica Bluth, a blond, blue-eyed bitch that I despised to the bone. Actually, Hannah spent it there, studying in the law library and getting fitted for the lily-white dress that Veronica's Negro seamstress was making for the big day in court. As for me, Veronica and Hannah thought I should work on my "fantastic tan." I was shocked the first time they led me into the fields. "Okay, Sambo, take off all your clothes," Veronica said brightly. 'Nigra naked'!" I looked over at the white overseer, who was watching from his horse. "Are you nuts? Take off my clothes? Outside? In public?" "Yes, silly," Hannah replied. "It will help you get a great overall tan. I mean, I'm sure we'll win your case, but, if something goes wrong, we don't want you standing on the auction block with tan lines, do we?" Suddenly, the reason for the week long delay in my trial became apparent. My ever-thorough friend wanted me golden brown all over. "I can't run around naked in public." Veronica chimed in. "All the other darkies are naked too, most of them, anyway. I keep the whiter ones naked, so they tan up a nice, chocolate color all over, just like you will." "But Hannah...." "You won't have to work or anything, just stand around and don't get into trouble." "But...th-the overseers...they'll see me n-naked." "You look just like the other dark girls, Stefi," Hannah said. "Come on, don't embarrass me in front of Veronica." "Maybe we should get the paddle," Veronica suggested. From the look on her face I didn't doubt she'd do it. Angry and embarrassed, but resigned, I quickly stripped off, watching as the giggling Hannah and Veronica tossed me a bottle of sun tan lotion for my breasts and backside and took my clothes back into the mansion. As I turned around, stark naked, I caught the overseer leering at me. "Like what you see, asshole?" I challenged him. "You are uppity," he said, looking me up and down. "Lucky for you Miss Veronica says you're off-limits...at least for now. Says there's gonna be a big crowd for the Halloween auction. I'm gonna be there, too." I swallowed hard. He knew just what to say to take the wind out of my sails. I got so bored standing there that, by the time Hannah and Veronica got back, I had joined the darkies in the field and was helping clear away the debris from the last sugar cane crop. Hannah laughed and complimented me for being a "natural." "We'd better not let word of this get out," she chuckled. "Might not look good at your hearing." Word did get out, of course. The Judge mentioned it several days later when I met him briefly in the lobby of the hotel. He didn't recognize me at first, since my hair had gotten quite kinky and, particularly in the lobby light, I looked very dark. "I didn't realize.... I thought you were...." The Judge stopped short, and I felt my heart sink. Putting on his glasses, he scrutinized my face carefully. "Did you do something with your lips? They look plumper. And your nose looks bigger...and flatter. You look like a different girl." The scowl on his face made it clear that it wasn't a compliment. I felt very awkward. "Hannah has me working on an all-over tan," I murmured. I squirmed as the Judge stared at me. "But...but I'm not THAT different looking. I'm still the girl you had dinner with." The Judge said nothing, but walked over to the lobby desk, where a dish of Hershey's chocolate kisses sat. He unwrapped one and dropped it in my hand. I stared at the piece of candy rolling around in the palm of my hand. The color was an exact match. I realized in an instant that I had been kidding myself, thinking that I could somehow enjoy the fantasy of playing slave girl with no real consequences, since my friend the Judge would get me off. But this was no game. I looked into his eyes, and then around the lobby, at everyone who cared to make eye contact with me. No doubt about it: I was chocolate. "I think I may have been getting too much sun," I confessed. "Maybe we should postpone the hearing for a few days." The Judge nodded, but then I heard Hannah's voice. "Postpone the hearing? That's nonsense!" "Hello, Miss Hannah," the Judge said, greeting her with a kiss on the cheek that I did not receive. "So nice to see you. Sambo...Stefi and I were just discussing the possibility of postponing her hearing. After all, what's the rush?" "Justice delayed is justice denied," Hannah countered. "Poor Stefi has been besmirched too long. Did you know that management has asked me to forbid her from using the pool? No, we have to get this matter settled as soon as possible." "But she's so...dark!" the Judge said, in a voice that caused me to scrunch my toes against the marble floor. "Oh, I've sent away for some makeup to fix that. There's just a little delay because of us being on an island and all. The day of the hearing, she'll be as white as me." Heather held her pasty white arm next to mine. I swallowed hard as I realized how very dark I looked. Naturally, I thought the hearing should be postponed, but soon Hannah and the Judge were talking like I wasn't there. Hannah quickly switched the topic to some "amusing" stories she had been telling him about me, apparently behind my back, like how I only got into college through affirmative action (a lie, since I had listed my race as white on the forms) and the time I got locked out of my apartment naked, or the time I peed in my pants waiting in line for the ladies room. "Monkey shines," the Judge called them, laughing. "I know Miss Hannah's trying to humanize you, before your hearing," the Judge said. "You're lucky to have such a fine advocate. But, seeing you standing there barefoot and hearing those stories, I can really see what a hot little monkey you really are," he chuckled, playfully tweaking my nose. I have become popular at the hotel and something of a mascot. Men whisper about me as I walk barefoot through the marble lobby and stare at me as I sun myself at the pool. Without my glasses I find it difficult to read, so word has spread that I'm illiterate. And of course my far-sightedness has also led to clumsiness, which is further used as evidence of my African nature. Hannah told everyone what a wonderful dancer I am. On Saturday night, she had me dance in front of the hotel. As the men came by, they'd laugh and toss coins at my feet. Each day I grow more tan, and, as my skin tone changes, my white identity is slowly eroding away. I know when the men are looking at me, they are imagining what I'll look like naked on the block. I have wondered, too. Several times I have stood in front of the full-length mirror in my hotel room, stark naked, admiring my all-over tan, my firm breasts, and my tight bottom. I'll bring an excellent price, I'm sure, but the auctioneer will want to make sure everyone gets a good look. I squatted. I jumped up and down. I bent and spread. Once, Hannah came into the room and caught me posing. She smiled, apologized for interrupting my "practice," and then left. For some reason, I sort of wished she'd stayed and watched me a while. I imagined the auctioneer tapping my bottom with the crop as he discussed my "charms" in the most humiliating and degrading terms. As I pose some more, my fingers began teasing my pussy, tentatively at first, then more and more vigorously. I was nearing a climax, when the door opened and Veronica entered, with Hannah right behind her. I yelped and pulled my hand away...though not too fast. "Sambo!" Hannah gasped. "Shame on you!" "Oh, the poor thing can't help herself," Veronica said. "You know how hot-blooded THEY are...and without normal restraints. Go on, girl, no need to be shy." She patted my cheek. "Th-thank you, Miss Ver-onica...." Now, why had I thanked her? Why had I called her that? It didn't matter; she would be "Miss Veronica" from that moment on. And soon "Miss Hannah" would claim a similar courtesy. In any case, despite my self-consciousness, they insisted I go ahead and finish diddling myself. ****************************** A few days later my DNA test came back. My hands trembled as Miss Hannah handed me the results. 67% European [EU] 24% Sub-Saharan African [AF] 7% Indigenous American [IA] 2% East Asian [EA] 24% Sub-Saharan African! I was truly screwed! But that wasn't the part that worried Miss Hannah. "Unfortunately, they sent a duplicate copy to the courthouse, and it's been added to your file," she told me. "The Judge probably won't open it until your trial, though. Don't worry, Sam-...Stefi...I'll think of something. Besides, those tests can be really inaccurate. Well, at least sometimes."" And how, I wondered, did they know to send a second copy of the damning test to the courthouse. Not to worry...Miss Hannah thinks of everything. ****************************** The makeup has not arrived. Hannah claims she's re-ordered it, and I shouldn't worry, for it is is "magical" and will "work wonders, like the Emperor's New Clothes." When I pressed her to let me see the order on the Internet, she got snippy, and told me to "mind my own business." Then she added, "With a girl like you, makeup often doesn't look good anyway. Sometimes bare is best." Bare is best. As we watched the naked slave girls being fondled, poked, and probed in the courthouse square, the words sent chills down my spine. ****************************** Halloween is only a few days away, and, with each passing day in the fields, I grow darker...and my hair gets kinkier...and I slide closer to the abyss. Halloween is a time of ghosts, and the dead, and past lives. This Halloween promises to be the scariest -- and sexiest -- Halloween ever. Thank you, Miss Hannah. Happy Halloween. Edited by C. Lakewood