An Epihany

When I was twelve years of age or thereabouts, my folks and I traveled to Kentucky for spring break. We stayed at Shakertown and did some sightseeing in the beautiful areas around there. We stopped in Bardstown. In the center of that town is a traffic roundabout. On one side of that is a large limestone slab. Next to that slab is a plaque noting the significance of the slab that it was used as an auction block for slaves.

I posed atop the stone for a photo. As dad was taking the pic, an attractive young woman in her twenties happened by. She was wearing a plaid skirt and penny loafers as I recall. She asked my father how much would he take for me and some of the things I might be trained to do for her.

I just about swallowed my tongue. Then and there I wanted nothing more than to be her slave. I pictured myself ironing her clothes, being her house boy. If I displeased her, she'd punish me. If I was obedient I might be permitted to kiss her feet as a reward.

Of course, I was terribly ashamed of myself for having such feelings. It was less than manly after all.