The Bull

I am not part of a 'lifestyle.' I am only one of the B's in BBC. I'm allergic to the word hubby. The one tenet I subscribe to is that the only thing better than having you is taking you from someone else.

Jeff—Or maybe Geoff, he looked like the type—sat across from me at a brightly lit coffee shop. The unlucky bastard as the center of this. Clears in a month what I make in a year. Not unpleasant to look at, probably ran track or played tennis. Excellent hygiene. His clothes were expensive but he had a way of making them look mundane, like a store mannequin. Even his hair was a sandy sort of nothing. He was wallpaper.

And he was sitting next to the woman I wanted.

They made a conspicuous pair. Jeff in his $600 polo and the Apple Watch he probably used to track his cardio during sex, and Lily...

To say that she was stunning is a profound understatement. Her brown hair fell in millions of wide, lazy curls just below her neck. She was pale to Jeff's beige hue. Her lips were dark red and parted in a beautiful, plump pout.

We both had blue eyes.

Where Jeff came dressed to discuss NVDIA share price, Lily's big hoop earrings reminded me of the neighborhood girls where I grew up. Her big natural tits were graciously stuffed into a cropped black cami top, the hint of one pierced nipple faint against the fabric. She showed off her flat stomach and impossibly small waist, set against a long black skirt that reached her ankle and hugged her hips. Even while sitting, she couldn't hide the big round ass she carried around. The ass she posted online for the digital abyss to ogle at, the one that I promised myself I'd claim.

She had a smattering of small tattoos, some stick and poked, all the result of some misadventure or flight of fancy. Where Jeff was ready for an afternoon in the Hamptons, Lily looked ready for a stroll around a cemetery followed by a late night bender around someone's 5th floor walk up kitchen table.

They were here to find a Bull.

Jeff asks me where I'm from. I'm from here, I think, but I don't answer him.

"Jesus Christ," I blurted out, "You look immaculate. How do you just...exist?"

"Wait, you can see me?" Lily joked.

We smiled and held eye contact for a long moment. Wallpaper stayed silent like a good dog.

"You guys seem..."

"New to this?" Jeff chimes in.

"Incongruous," I say.

Yin and Yang didn't fit. They seemed like puzzle pieces from two different puzzles. Lily's artist sensibility and grounded temperament, Jeff's meal prep and aggressively managed crypto portfolio.

Lily leaned forward slightly and scratches an imaginary itch on her neck, flashed a wry smile. "We were college sweethearts."

"Still are," said Jeff.

"Jeff got a job offer and I was snorting all the cocaine in Boston and always had dreams of being a writer in the big city and we took a big leap. Been together for 7 years now."

I did the math. Their profile said they were both 27. I mourned for all the lovers Lily turned down in the past 7 years, all the experiences she didn't get to have.

"Are you really 38? You don't look it." Jeff asked.

I fixed my gaze on him, for the only time this afternoon, an olive branch and my way of rewarding the good dog for his flattery.

"Thank you, generally I avoid alcohol, the sun, and responsibility." Lily smiled. Jeff merely nodded.

They spoke candidly of not wanting to feel like they were missing out. Of Lily wanting to experience a seduction more...out of step with Jeff's temperament. Jeff sheepishly grinned when Lily spoke about exploring...cuckoldry...a word she lowered her voice several octaves to say.