‘Hi Robbie, you’re late tonight.’ ‘Sorry, heavy traffic on the freeway,’ I lied. ‘I’ve been waiting for you so we can watch ‘our movie...��.’ I wondered when it had become ‘our movie’. ‘Let me get changed and showered. I won’t take long.’ ‘Okay,’ she said without looking up and continued to paint her toenails. I found myself glancing at her legs. The robe had fallen off one leg, exposing much of her thigh. I could see silky flesh almost all the way to her ass. I f***ed myself to turn away. A few. It was 'just' a dream, remember, but I'd often felt guilty that my relatives had actually owned other human beings! Sure, the Civil War had left the largely unrepentant South devastated for generations (and in some places it had never fully recovered), but defeated, or not, many Southerners didn't feel sorry for their history of slave ownership. I did, however.Back to the dream---In it, I'd received a letter in the mail informing me that as a Southern white male, and who's ancestors had been. The following week, Gen drove to the house of her therapist. Gen drove about three miles away from the city to a more secluded and rural area. Upon arrival, Gen noticed that the house had two stories and was quite a large house. The brunette would knock on the door and have a black woman answer. At first, Gen was shocked but then relived that it was a woman."Are you the therapist?" asked Gen."No, I am just his sister. Come in, he'll be out in a few," said the woman.A look of shock and horror. “I will make you coffee and breakfast then finish packing.” I followed her down the hall to the kitchen, noticing how her ass swayed naturally as she walked barefooted, the shirt barely covering her ass. I asked her the name of the road we were on then went to the phone and with great relief heard the dial tone. I got my Road Service card, dialed and told them where I was. When I hung up, our eyes met “They said it would be over an hour before they got to me with gas.” I watched Sasha moving.