The Billionaire Bull

by Romi Hart

  “I know what you mean. And I see how you play your game too.”

  “It’s not a game.”

  “Jesus Christ, woman. You are the most spoiled little princess I’ve ever met.”

  “Maybe that’s just your hatred of young, smart women talking, buddy.”

  “Naah!”

  He stands up, dick and ass naked in front of me. Not a care in the world. Very proud of his body as well he should be.

  I take turns staring hatefully into his eyes…and looking down to admire the beauty of his flaccid penis. I can’t even help but smile as I check out his manhood and tight abs.

  “Getting a good look, Lyndia?”

  “Oh yeah,” I say with a smirk. “And I stand by what I said. You hate women. You resent young people. You’re a cheap bastard and you are very controlling.”

  He laughs it off.

  “Well since we’re being totally honest with each other. Let me just say…although you’re really good in bed…like really really good…you’re still a sanctimonious hypocrite. That holier-than-thou bullshit attitude you hide behind isn’t fooling anybody. Deep down you’re insecure. And you criticize people constantly because you’re afraid.”

  “Afraid?” I say, not bothering to cover up my nipples and pussy…which he occasionally glances at, still very impressed at how he wore my equipment out tonight.

  Mmm…very sexy. The rush of orgasm still warms my body.

  “Afraid that your life is meaningless. This sort of really obvious secret that you have, that says if you’re not constantly criticizing people then you’re failing in life. The question is, what ARE you doing for people, Lyndia?”

  I lose my smile. Now it’s hitting too close to home.

  “Criticizing everyone you meet isn’t happiness. That’s for damned sure.”

  “And what do you do? Play fucking baseball all your life?”

  “A lot of people love baseball.”

  “A lot of people love professional wrestling too. Even though it’s just a bullshit game and a bullshit scam to make a lot of money. You think baseball is any different?”

  “Owch…” he says, as he gets dressed.

  “Yeah well…thanks for telling me my life is worthless.”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “YES it is! God…you’re such an asshole sometimes, Rey.”

  He stops and stares…letting that one soak in.

  Jesus…what kind of crazy relationship is this? We go from explosive sex to mean hurtful comments in just a few minutes?

  “Yeah well…I give to charity, you know. I mean…I know I come across as an asshole and maybe I am. But I do give. Nate got me into the habit of giving to charity last year. I don’t make a big thing out of it, but I do it.”

  “Great. Congratulations, Rey,” I say, still sore and pouting with my lips. “You won. You scored. Happy now?”

  “Uhh yeah, any happier and I’d be cumming twice.”

  “Just remember that not everyone has the great life that you have. Not everyone has a million dollars to give to a charity. Even though we want to make a difference, not everyone fucking can. Some of us are just stuck making minimum wage at a job we hate.”

  Rey listens blankly. Maybe he gets it…maybe not. But at least I shut him up.

  “Now please leave.”

  “Okay…going.”

  “Good.”

  “But…I want to see you again.”

  “What? No,” I say with a headshake.

  He smiles. “But I really like you.”

  “Too bad,” I say, fighting a smile. “You’re a jerk. This was…not a mistake, but was a one-time thing. I don’t want to see you anymore.”

  “Yeah but…I’m persistent. I’m going to charm you. Wine and dine you. Make you laugh because of my amazing wit. Seduce you with a striptease. Cook you dinner and wear down your defenses.”

  I finally smirk back at him.

  “Maybe we don’t like each other, Lyndia. But the truth is…maybe we’re good for each other.”

  I laugh at the thought and watch as Rey leaves my house, already tapping away at his phone and ordering an Uber ride.

  His statement keeps returning to me. Maybe we don’t’ like each other…but maybe we’re good for each other.

  It’s an odd statement…one I’ll have to mull over.

  Maybe love is just chaos. Maybe the more confusing and irrational the relationship is, the more intense it feels.

  Rey

  I admit, of all the women I’ve known, Lyndia is the most mind-blowing. I know what most groupies want from me. Sex, excitement, the thrill of the unknown. But I can’t for the life of me figure out what Lyndia wants from me. What does she want me to be?

  What does she think will become of this friendship? It’s doomed, we both know that. And yet she continues to poke at me, always wanting a reaction.

  Whether she’s suspiciously “liking” my status on social media, or sending me a spiteful text…or just popping in to settle an argument I didn’t even know we had…

  She’s always in my life somehow.

  I have to wonder whether she’s really “playing me” or if she’s just fucking bonkers in general. Maybe she doesn’t even realize she’s playing me. Maybe she’s just a stalker. Maybe she has a delusional fantasy of changing me or making me a better man and then chaining me down to a life of marriage, children and boring adulthood.

  I don’t know…I really can’t say that for sure, because why then would she kick me out of her life?

  Every time she looks into my eyes I feel something strongly but am clueless about what it is. Even now, after two weeks of badgering her for another non-sex date (well technically the first non-sex date) I’m looking into her eyes and trying to figure out what she’s really thinking.

  “So you finally decided to give Italian a try. Good girl.” I look over Ricardo's menu, very eager to see what Lyndia thinks of my favorite restaurant.

  “I’ve decided to expand my mind…at least in some ways.” She smiles at me…such a beautiful sight to see a woman so strongly opinionated compromising a little bit.

  “It’s good to expand things.”

  She gives me a dirty look. I send her back that dirty thought and then some.

  “You are a very naughty boy.”

  “I know,” I say with a shrug. It’s the baseball thing. I never wanted to grow up. Like you were saying, you know. Baseball’s a sport. An exhibition. It’s not a real career.”

  She looks down at the menu solemnly.

  “Rey…I’m sorry for what I said.”

  “Really?” I can’t help but smirk at the idea of Lyndia apologizing. She’s always been such a hard ass. These rare moments of humility I find quite amazing…almost emotional.

  “Why bother? There’s truth in everything. Even if the truth is unflattering.”

  “But it is a sport and you’re right. People love it. Children, fathers, they bond over sports. It’s a part of American culture. It’s very important to a lot of people.”

  “But not to you?”

  “It’s important to me now, because it’s important to you.”

  “And what are we?” I say with an oily smile.

  “We’re friends. Nothing else.”

  “I’m delighted to be your platonic friend. Platonic friends who saw each other naked but still platonic.”

  “Yes, we can be platonic friends because we are polyamorous by nature.”

  “That word again. I don’t like that word.”

  “And I will remind you, Rey, we’re at a formal dinner. We’ll talk respectfully at the table. I’m sure you wouldn’t want me swearing and acting the fool at one of your baseball games.”

  I shrug at the thought.

  “Bad example, I know.”

  “That’s part of our culture. Swearing and acting the fool!”

  “I’ve been thinking about you, Rey, in the platonic sense.”

  “And what have you decided? That I’m a maj
or league asshole?”

  “A little bit. A brat. A troll. A womanizer and a bad boy.”

  “But you like it.”

  “I do,” she says with an honest look in her eyes. “You are a brat. But I’ve been thinking about it. And it’s not just the…you know, the passion between us that keeps me coming back to you.”

  “What is it then?”

  “It’s the idea that…I see through you.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes,” she says with a mischievous stare. “I think we build walls around ourselves. Facades. To protect our vulnerability. Maybe you hit a sore spot with what you said to me about my meaningless life.”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “The truth is, I want a better life. A better career. I don’t want to work in an office forever.”

  “You want to be president, right?”

  “I want to be something, yes,” she replies. “I want to do good for the world.”

  “Come on, Miss America stuff.”

  “Well, maybe that's the way you see it. And I know this attitude is not very prevalent among rich athletes and movie stars. But I really do want to grow up and become some kind of community developer. Or philanthropist. I want to help people. That's my drive."

  “Hmmm,” I say, fighting away the urge to lash out at such nonsense.

  “And I sense that like me, you want to grow up too.”

  “Do I? What makes you think I have that much depth?”

  “Because I know you.”

  “You don’t know me, kid.”

  “Stop calling me that. You’re just like what, seven years older than I am?”

  “Maybe that’s the thing though,” I say with a surge of confidence. “Maybe there is no depth. Maybe I literally am just a big kid in a big sport who likes big parties. Maybe I’ll never grow up. Maybe I’ll die like Babe Ruth, just a big fat old baseball fan.”

  “And is that all you want for yourself?”

  Just as I start to reply, we’re both interrupted by a loud booming voice.

  “Hey, that’s my boy!” I say, noticing Nate walking in the restaurant, surrounded by a swarm of reporters.

  “Oh goody,” Lyndia says, folding her arms.

  “Nate, over here!” I call out, though my voice is drowned out by the applause of the diners and the rapid questions of the reporters.

  Nate snubs me and continues joking with the reporters.

  “Ah, he’s busy. Let him have the limelight.”

  “Oooh such a snub,” Lyndia says, mocking me just a little. “Does that sting your pride? Knowing Nate has a bigger following than you do?”

  “Nah, it’s NFL vs. MLB. Apples and oranges, you know. Baseball players are the technicians. Those big quarterback guys are the celebrities, you know.”

  “I don’t feel bad for you,” Lyndia says with a simper. “I think you have more than enough groupies who admire you for your talents.”

  “Touche, Lyndia. I feel so guilty. You know, for being a good lover, a handsome man, and a home run hitter with the ladies.”

  Lyndia finally wipes the smile off her face and glares at me. “Be grateful for what you have. Being an arrogant prick your whole life gets old and boring. Or so they tell me.”

  I nod slowly…and then turn my attention to Nate.

  “Is there a special girl in your life, Nate?” a female reporter asks him.

  "Oh yeah about twenty special ladies. Oops, I think they just found out they're not so special!" Laughter. "I like milfs most of all. Especially foxy married ladies. Fucking them while their husbands are away. Whoops, can I say that on TV?" Laughter. "Spawning little Nates all over the world. And then skipping town before those bitches get my real phone number. Damn, that's what it's like to be Nate Jiggur!”

  Laughter.

  I smile but refrain from laughing.

  Sure enough, Lyndia is fuming mad.

  “Guess you’re just two of a kind, huh? You and your pussy chasing brother.”

  "Look…" I say, losing my smile. "It's just an act. He says shit like that because it keeps his name in the headlines. You don't know him like I know him."

  “Oh and tell me, Rey. Is it true? Do you and Nate Jiggur just go around fucking bitches and breaking hearts? Is that what you do best? Is that your contribution to the world?”

  “NO, it’s not,” I say, flinching and getting upset. But not at her. I can’t even bring myself to argue with her this time.

  “Whatever,” Lyndia says, folding her arms and shutting down. She’s shaking mad…too irate to even call Nate out on his bullshit.

  I’ve had enough. I stand up and to Lyndia’s surprise, I walk over to meet Nate head on.

  “Hey!” Nate says in fake surprise. “It’s Rey Ramirez. He’s my homeboy. Hey, I see you’re still chasing that young ass, boy. She’s a keeper for sure.” He winks. “Probably sucks like a vacuum, know what I’m saying?”

  I move closer to Nate, still frowning and whisper just loud enough for him to hear.

  “When you going to grow up, huh?”

  Nate stares at me.

  “There’s a reason that stuff is called locker room talk. It stays there in the filth and in junior high. You don’t talk that way about women in public. That’s what boys do. Not men.”

  I walk away from Nate, feeling a sense of righteousness. Of entitlement. Power, yeah sure. But most of all…I did it for Lyndia. I didn’t like the idea of her feeling helpless. Call me crazy. Call me an empath. But I know how she feels.

  Nate continues staring at me, while the press badgers him with questions. Some of those reporters definitely heard what I said to him. And of course, Nate is staying in character and laughing it off. Probably mocking my sport too, the bastard.

  Lyndia meanwhile is staring at me in awe. Her eyes are wide and her face lit up like a cute little Jack O’ Lantern.

  “Nate looks like he’s seen a ghost. What did you say to him?”

  “No big deal.”

  “No, no. You said something. You have to tell me!”

  “I just said…I dunno, it’s no big deal.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I just said I don’t appreciate him making comments like that out in public.”

  I feel nervous and a little warm. For the first time in my life, I’m actually sounding like an adult. Shit, how lame is that?

  “I just mean…you know…when we’re in bed, it’s no holds barred. We can say all kinds of filthy shit to each other, because it’s our private time. But I don’t think guys should say stuff like that out in public. Like Nate….it’s just not classy. It’s juvenile. And it makes us all look bad.”

  “Really?” she says, folding her arms in suspicion. “And you’ve never broken any hearts?”

  “NEVER,” I say proudly. “I’m sure plenty of women left disappointed that I didn’t fall in love with them. But I never lied my way into bed. Never pretended to be in love. Never broke any hearts. And I sure as hell never planted my seed in a place it didn’t belong. I got major father issues. Nate should never say that shit about leaving single mothers behind.”

  “Wow…you’re surprisingly vulnerable right now. It’s very cute.”

  “Whatever,” I say with a weak smile.

  “I mean it. It was…very sweet what you did. You did it for me, I know. I know you probably just tolerate Nate when you’re alone with him.”

  “Nah, it’s not like that. You only see the Nate that’s on television. He trash talks during those interviews. But you don’t know Nate like I know him.”

  “Who is the real Nate?”

  “The guy who’s been talking to me. Telling me to grow up.”

  “Really?” she laughs. “Him telling you?”

  “Yeah. How I ought to be more grateful for what I have. How I should give something back. More like Reagan, you know. She’s such a giver.”

  “Yes, she is. To tell you the truth, I look up to her too. She has family money but she's always so giving with it.
I want to be more like her.”

  “There’s something odd about Nate too, lately. He seems less like his usual self. More preoccupied.”

  “Oh?”

  “If I wasn’t mistaken…I think it’s a girl. Oh excuse me…a WOMAN.”

  Lyndia laughs. “For real?”

  “That’s my suspicion.”

  I watch through the corner of my eye…I wait for the crowd of reporters to disperse. Sure enough, just as all the action dies down…I see Nate sit down at the table politely. He’s waiting for somebody. And it’s not a reporter, I can tell by the way he’s standing up straight and grooming himself.

  In walks a stunning blond, beautiful…dressed in jeans, a bit casual. I overhear Nate talking…and he refers to her as “Amanda.”

  I point out Nate to Lyndia and wink.

  Our meal was excellent. The pasta primavera was magnificent and her “authentic Italian” roasted vegetables antipasto dish looked damned good—especially for being nothing but yucky vegetables!

  Our second non-sex date is going fabulously. And while I hate to break the momentum, I do have to take an important business call. It would, of course, be rude of me to take the call at the dinner table. As I’m sure my activist friend Lyndia might tell me.

  “Excuse me, I have to go to the little boy’s room.”

  “Hmmm,” she says. “Number one or number two?”

  “What?!” I reply. “TMI! Gross. I’m actually just making a phone call, weirdo.”

  She nods happily. I shake my head and walk back to the restroom.

  I sigh and take my phone from my coat pocket. Peters better answer the phone…

  I wait as I listen to the dial tone…

  I nod at Lyndia as she walks inside and looks at me.

  And do a double take! What-What-Why is she in here?!

  “Hey…”

  Just as Peters answers the phone, Lyndia gently pushes me into the restroom stall, with a fiery look in her eyes.

  “Hello? Hello? This is Peters. Rey is that you? I see your name on the Caller ID.”

  I sigh to myself…as I feel Lyndia pressing her lips against my body…my chest…down to my stomach…down to the sensitive patch of skin right below my abdominal muscles. I quiver as I feel her lips sink lower, while her hands lustfully invade my zipper.