The Bull

Thanks to The Costermonger, Hale1 and Findegil for their editing.

*****

Q was out of town for two weeks. That's my wife. Her name really isn't "Q," it's Monique, but that's what I call her. It just developed, don't ask me how, but she loves it. I call everyone I care about little pet names.

I was enjoying my two weeks of freedom. I was eating. Meat, lots of red bloody meat, potatoes, gravy, real vegetables, such as corn on the cob and onion rings, that's what I was eating. When Q is home, we eat salmon, skinless chicken and salads. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy a good salad. There's a difference between the way she views a salad and the way I view a salad.

My salad contains iceberg lettuce, not that weird kind with all the stalks and stems on it. I view lettuce as a means to convey other, good things, to my mouth. Things like ham, bacon bits, eggs, cheese and ranch dressing are the essential ingredients of a good salad.

I'll admit that my waistline has benefitted from the way she feeds me, and my coronary arteries are probably much less clogged than they would be otherwise. I try to keep them open with lots of hot coffee and the occasional good bourbon.

When she goes out of town, the butcher likes to see me coming. That happens about every two months. She's a hotshot computer systems consultant. People who know about such things tell me that she's the best out there.

I'm retired. At 52, I had my time in, made a sweet deal and sold my company for all the money we'd ever need.

I play golf, fish, take care of things around the house, spend more time at the gym than I care to talk about and enjoy our kids. We have two, Macy and Michael. My girls are my heart and I spend tons of time with them. They enjoy the dietary changes that take place in the absence of their mother as much as I do.

The reason I spend all that time in the gym is that I need to. You see, I happen to be married to one of the world's ten most beautiful women. My bias is showing, but I really believe that's true. Q is one of those exotic dusky women. She has no idea of her ethnic heritage. She was dropped off on the steps of an orphanage on the Polynesian island of Tuvalu. She never knew her parents and has no idea who they were. One was obviously Polynesian, but the rest, maybe African or Hispanic, who knows. Like many women of mixed ethnicity, she grew up awkward but became a stunning adult. I met her there; she going to college when I was working on a project. I fell in love and pursued her relentlessly until, in a fit of madness, she agreed to marry me. I have made it my mission in life to make certain she never regrets that.

She's about five ten, has a huge mop of glistening curls, nice firm C cup tits and an ass that makes men weep. Her face is even better. High cheekbones, full lips, huge brown eyes that are tilted up at the outside corners and it's quite an impact the first time people see her. Conversation dies when she steps into a room. She knows, but she's mine. She's totally and irrevocably mine. She doesn't even think about anyone else; I'm convinced of it.

Since she was out of town, and our daughters were out on the town, I was grilling a ribeye on the back deck. I had a potato baking in the oven and dark beer in the freezer to put a little extra chill on it. I was getting ready to throw two ears of corn on the grill so they would be done at the same time as my steak, when the doorbell rang. I cursed and hurried to the front door.

It was my neighbors, Billie and Ted. I hurried them in and took them back to the deck. They said they'd already eaten, so I told them to go and get a beer and we'd talk while I ate.

We did some idle chit-chat for a while and then Billie really got going. "Davis, have you met the guy who bought Ben and Mary's place?"

"No, I haven't," I said. "Why?"

"Well, I'm sure you will," she said. "We're having a barbecue next Saturday and I'm sure he'll be there. I told him all about Monique and he wants to meet her."

Well, that was interesting. What was I, chopped liver? "Well, bully for him," I said. "Good luck with that barbecue. Q and I are going out on the boat. He'll just have to wait."

"I don't think he'll like that," she said.

I guess I was supposed to give a damn. "What's this guy's name?" I asked.

She tittered. "Well, his name is Mark, but he likes to be called 'Bull'."

I couldn't help it, I burst out laughing. "Bull? You've got to be kidding me."

"Oh, you shouldn't laugh," she said. "He's an alpha, and he wouldn't like you laughing at him."

I stared at her, incredulously. "He's a Greek letter?"

"No, silly," she laughed. "You know, like an alpha male."

"Oh, well, that explains it," I burst out laughing again. I turned to Ted. "So what are you, Ted? You an alpha, too?"

"Oh, no," he seemed a little subdued. "I'm a beta."

"You're a Japanese fighting fish?" I asked. "Well, damn, I never noticed the gills before." Yes, I know it's spelled "Betta," I was just pulling his chain.

"Betas are men who submit to the alphas," Billie explained helpfully. "Alphas are naturally dominant and betas know their place."

I couldn't believe my ears. Surely, no one was stupid enough to buy into this shit! I looked from one to the other. They weren't laughing. "Alrighty, then," I stood up. "Well, I can hardly wait to meet 'The Bull'. Now, I have some errands to run, so you kiddies are going to need to run along. Ted, good luck with the fish thing."

I ushered them out and put my dishes in the dishwasher. Those were the errands I needed to run. Actually, I just wanted those two idiots to leave. I chuckled to myself all evening when I thought about it. "Alphas and Betas!" It was hilarious. I couldn't wait to tell Q.

She calls me every night when she's away, and at eight, my phone rang. It was she, and I told her about my visitors. She got a kick out of it. "So what letter do you think you are?" She giggled.

"I'm pretty sure I'm a Pi," I told her. "Coconut cream, I think. No, wait, apple with vanilla ice cream!"

"Yum," she said. "Well, I have a very special pie for you as soon as I get home. I hope you're hungry."

"Well, as long it's not a cream pie, I'm ravenous," I said. "I eat no cream pies for which I have not personally selected and contributed the ingredients, you know."

She giggled again. She knows I love that sexy little giggle. "Well, I'm thinking pie of the non-cream variety, just to whet your appetite, then maybe we'll whip up a cream pie together, just to top things off," she said.

"I'm going to get fat, eating all these pies," I told her. "I can hardly wait."

The rest of the week dragged. Every hour that she was gone became centuries, my only relief came when on Friday, I met "The Bull."

It was quite the experience. His bullishness was readily apparent. He was a big guy, probably an inch taller than my own six four. He looked like he outweighed me by thirty pounds, as well. His skin was a rich chocolate brown, and though I usually do not admire dreadlocks, they looked natural on him. I can't imagine washing my hair only every three days, but some people enjoy being dirty.

I'd gone down to our neighbor, Don's, place to get my angle grinder back that he'd borrowed. He's one of those guys who never has the right tools, so he borrows them and never gives them back. I go and get them. The Bull was in Don's garage when I arrived. He introduced me to Mark, aka The Bull.

"Hey, Davis, have you met our neighbor, Mark?" he asked. "We all call him Bull."

"Mark, it's a pleasure to meet you," I said, pleasantly. I offered him my hand.

"Bull," he said. It came out a little high and squeaky, so he cleared his throat and made his voice deep and gravelly. "You can call me Bull," he said.

He took my hand and tried to squeeze it off. I matched him, but I didn't try very hard. When you power lift, you develop quite the grip, if you don't use straps.

"No, I kind of like Mark," I said.

"I like to be called Bull," he growled.

"Well, I sort of like being called Davis, The Destroyer," I said. He scowled fiercely at me. I ignored him after that.

Don was watching, his mouth hanging open about a foot. "Something wrong, Don?" I asked. "Say, scrounge around there and find my angle grinder. I need to replace a tile before Q gets home."

He closed his mouth and took me back to his workbench. "Don't make him mad, Davis," he whispered. "He's an alpha."

"How do you know?" I asked.

He looked around nervously. "He told us," he whispered. "Keep your voice down."

"Okay," I whispered. "Hey, Don, I talked about it with Q. I'm a Pi."

He looked at me strangely, but I had no time for chit-chat. I took my grinder and went home. "Maybe see you around, Mark," I said, as I left the garage. This earned me another fierce scowl. My daughters have given me many a fierce scowl down through the years, so his was just water off a duck's back. I feared the girls' scowls. They were dangerous creatures! My wallet had been lightened by one of those scowls too many times, over the years. The baby-doll smiles were even worse. I wondered if Bull could manage a baby-doll smile.

I had the tile all replaced, the house was spic and span and I had consumed all incriminating evidence of beef and pork chops in the refrigerator. Everything was ready for the return of the queen. I was sitting in my recliner watching ESPN when she swept in like a hurricane. She squealed when she saw me and I barely had time to get to my feet before she was on me like a pride of lionesses. My attempt at expressing my pleasure at her return was cut off by those puffy lips crushing mine.

By the time she let me go, I was breathless and weak in the knees. "Hey, Tiger, are the girls home?" she asked.

I regained the ability to speak. "Um... no, they went to a movie."

"Good," she growled. "Carry my suitcase to the bedroom. I've got something for you."

Presents! I like presents. Her suitcase weighted a ton. It was a good thing it had those wheels on it. I had no idea how she lifted it. I got it into the bedroom and up on the little table in there. When I turned, she had her jacket off and was working on the buttons of her white blouse. As they opened, the creamy brown skin underneath made a delicious contrast with the white silk.

It became obvious that she wasn't wearing a bra as the blouse hung open and loose. She was working on her skirt clasp and zipper. She looked up at me as the skirt slid to the floor, revealing red lacy panties, riding low on richly curved hips.

"What are you doing?" she asked. "Don't just stand there; I'm as horny as a goat. Get those clothes off, buster!"

I didn't need to be told twice. By the time I was undressed she was on her knees in front of me. She made purring sounds as my painfully erect cock slipped deeply into her mouth. Those sounds made vibrating sensations that had me on the brink in about three minutes.

"Baby, I'm..." was all I could get out.

Those huge brown eyes flashed up at me and she exerted a suction that would put industrial vacuums to shame, plunging her nose down to my belly and swallowing me into her throat. The first spurt fired there, and then she pulled back, savoring the taste of my cum in her hot mouth. My knees were so weak I could hardly stand when she stood up, licked her lips seductively and jumped on the bed like a big cat.

"My turn," she said.

I was happy to return the favor, and by the time she came for the second time, I was ready again. I groaned as I sank into that velvet tunnel and we were off to the races. By the time the girls got home, she had given up on getting me up for a third time. God, it was good to have her home.

I had dinner ready and it just needed to be put together. We sat around the table, basking in the afterglow and enjoying the girls. They went off to do homework and Q and I snuggled on the couch. She caught me up on everything she had been doing and I showed her the tiles I replaced.

"Nice, Davis," she said. "I knew there was a reason I married you. You're handy with tools."

"Yes, I am," I said. "All kinds of tools."

"You're a very nasty man," she said. There was that giggle again.

I was changing my lawnmower blade the next morning, and Q was working in her flowers. She was just around the corner where I couldn't see her, but I heard her talking to someone.

I listened and recognized the artificially deep tones of the Bull. He was introducing himself. "Now there's a picture," he said. "You're as beautiful as your flowers. I'm Mark, but everyone calls me Bull."

There was a brief hesitation and I peeked around the corner. Q saw me and winked.

"How very nice for you," she said. "Angus or Brown Swiss?"

I nearly choked. "Huh?" The Bull wasn't that quick on the uptake. He seemed confused.

"Is there something I can do for you?" she asked.

"There are lots of things you could do for me," he growled.

"Well, I'm sort of busy right now," she said. "I'll try to keep doing things for you in mind. I'll probably think of it next time I go to the butcher shop. Off you go, now."

The Bull was dumbfounded. Clearly, he was not used to being so summarily dismissed, but he couldn't think of anything to say. Q wasn't paying any attention to him anyway, having turned back to spreading mulch. I saw him skulk away.

As soon as he made it to the driveway, she came running into the garage, laughing her fool head off. "Did you see him?" she gasped. "God what a loser! The freaking Bull! I haven't had so much fun in weeks."

I was a little dismayed to hear this, and she saw the look on my face. "Oh, baby, of course yesterday afternoon! What say we hit the shower and I'll show you some fun."

The shower was fun, but her occasionally breaking into fits of giggling distracted me somewhat for a bit. Being buried in that hot little pussy took my mind off it.

We missed the barbeque. We did have a blast on the boat, me watching my three gorgeous girls doing their water skiing tricks. If the Bull was disappointed, we were perfectly content.

When I got back from golfing Sunday evening, Billie was there. She was in the kitchen with Q, drinking coffee at the bar.

"You've got to be kidding me," I heard Q say.

"No, he really is," Billie said.

"How do you know?" Q asked.

"He told us."

I couldn't help myself. Huge snorts of laughter burst from me and that set Q off. Billie looked highly offended, and stormed off. Q and I laughed ourselves silly and spent some time talking. We decided we had weird and gullible neighbors.

The ones next door to the south, Ray and Norma, are semi-normal. Other than the stupid dog that barks all night, they don't bother us. I had the solution for the dog. I have a pellet rifle and I just slid the window up and gave him a nice surprise when he was barking under our bedroom window one night. He learned, quickly. All I had to do now is move the curtain at the head of our bed and he scoots for the other side of their house, maintaining a discreet silence for the rest of the night.

I would like to use the pellet rifle on our neighbors to the north, Brad and Glenda. My wife's efforts have restrained me, so far. I also have bigger guns. They don't bark in the night, but they manage to annoy me just as mightily. Brad is an obnoxious asshole. You know the type: he was a big football star in high school. I think he was probably pretty good. He got a scholarship to a big football university, but he washed out. Too slow, too weak, you know the drill. He claims he hurt his knee; that's all that kept him out of the NFL. He relives his glory days and he's a legend in his own mind. Just another adolescent who never grew up.

Glenda was probably the captain of the cheer squad. She remembers what a hero he was and lets everyone know. She's attractive, in a slutty kind of way, big tits, blonde hair, salon blonde, and her face is nice. She's gotten a little broad in the beam, but she's okay.

I was cleaning the pool and Glenda was talking to Q across the back fence. I was curious to see what they thought about the Bull. Brad was the macho blustery type and I could just imagine he fancied himself some sort of Greek letter. I was thinking Omega. A confrontation between Brad and the Bull should prove entertaining. I wondered how it could be provoked. I had ideas.

I sauntered over to the fence. "Hey Glenda," I said. "Is Brad home?"

"He's coming home tomorrow," she said. "They called in a double shift to try to get that refinery job finished." Brad is a pipe fitter.

"Have you guys had a chance to meet Bull yet?" I asked innocently.

She glanced nervously around, then laughed. "Yes, I have. What an ass!"

"You mean you admire his ass, or he is an ass?" I asked. Her syntax was a little unclear.

She looked at me uncomprehendingly for a second. "Your syntax was a little unclear," I explained.

"Sin tax?" Her mouth hung open a bit. "You mean like taxes on booze?"

She wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer. Q was making these snorting noises and it was hard to concentrate. "Do you like the way his ass looks, or you think he's an asshole?" I said it slowly.

She laughed. "Oh, well, he's like a total asshole."

My estimation of her intelligence went up about 30 IQ points. "Don't mention him around Brad." She giggled. That giggle did interesting things to her well exposed cleavage. "I thought they were going to get in a fight!"

"How would you like to take him down a peg?" I asked.

Her eyes sparkled. "Whacha got in mind?"

I pulled Q in and we conspired. I had to go over everything several times, for Glenda, not Q, but both girls seemed quite delighted once Glenda got the details down. She could hardly wait to tell Brad.

He called the next night when he got home. "What the hell are you up to, Davis?" he asked. "I can't make heads or tails out of what Glenda is saying. Something about sticking it to that moron, Mark."

"I think he prefers to be called Bull," I mentioned.

"He'll be called boxed beef if he comes sniffing around Glenda again," he blustered.

This was perfect! I told Brad the details of my plan and he seemed to enjoy the idea. It wouldn't be that difficult to set up.

Billie dropped over a couple of days later, and the ball got rolling. Q invited Billie over to swim Friday. They put their heads together and decided to invite Glenda. That worked great, but Glenda wanted to change the venue to her place. Brad was purportedly going to be out of town that Friday.

Billie happened to mention how good the Bull looked in a speedo, and the die was cast. "Do you really think he can handle three hot mamas?" I heard Q giggle.

"Oh, yeah," Billie smirked. "He's huge, girl, and he can go for hours!"

I wondered if she knew this from personal experience or she had gotten it straight from the Bull's mouth, so to speak. I shook my head, the mixing of metaphors confusing my thought process, temporarily. I shook it off, chuckling to myself.

Shortly after Billie left, Q wandered into my office. She pulled up the other chair, slipped her feet out of her flip-flops and put them up on my lap. Those muscular brown legs were irresistible and I couldn't help sliding my hands up and down on all the silken skin on display.

"Whacha doing?" she asked.

"Ah, nothing," I said. "Just looking for some hot porn."

"Oh, yeah, can I watch?" she asked.

"No,' I replied. "I wouldn't want to sully your innocence." She giggled.

"Tell me something," she said. "Do you think there are really people out there who buy into this dog pack stuff about 'alphas' and 'betas,' or who take this 'Bull' shit seriously?" She laughed at her own pun.

"I think it's mostly just harmless fantasy," I said. "It's when people start taking it seriously that you run into trouble. Some people are too dumb to know the difference."