Taurus_Mr. Persistent_The 12 Signs of Love

by Tiana Laveen

  “You named him that?” Carmen grinned.

  “My mother did, actually. She can be silly sometimes.” She pointed at another one. “That’s the runt of the group. His name is Tank. He’s a real sweetheart. And here’s my baby.”

  She carefully opened an enclosure door, stepped inside, and locked it behind her.

  Beside her stood a big beast, one that could easily knock her down and kill her in an instant. Instead, the animal pushed his head against her, beckoning for affection. With a firm yet slow hand, Carmen rubbed the bull’s head in between his huge, white horns. With wide, flared, wet nostrils, the animal’s large black eyes locked on her, and though he was a menacing creature in appearance, he treated Carmen with the greatest care.

  “As you can imagine, this is the big kahuna… This is Sampson, as I named him, and this is his pen. He’s very territorial.”

  Crossing his arms and letting them hang over the enclosure, Tristan had questions to which he was certain Carmen had answers.

  “How much would you say he eats a day?”

  “A heck of a lot of hay, top quality bull feed that my father makes and sells, as well as at least 16 lbs. of grain a day. He’s a whopping 2,100 lbs. in weight, last time I asked.”

  “Wow…”

  As he spoke, the bull slowly turned in his direction and grunted. Tristan smiled at him. Not much of an animal person, this was a rather surreal experience for him. Something about Sampson’s eyes, the way he treated Carmen, and just his obvious strength felt recognizable to him—as if he were looking into a mirror.

  “My parents keep the bulls in here when there’s threat of a thunderstorm or they’ve been acting aggressive. The cows know to go into the barn if it starts to rain and of course so would the bulls, but they’d try to follow the cows and that can cause fighting and things like that. He and the others can pretty much run as long as they like. He spends most of his time out there free to roam until it’s time to mate. All but two of them are castrated. Sampson is one of the two.”

  “So, how do they mate? Same cow each time or different ones?”

  “Well, firstly, my father doesn’t breed them often. He will sell some occasionally; that is usually his main purpose in doing so. He doesn’t need all of these bulls either. One or two would suffice but he and my mother have grown attached to them.”

  She smiled as if fond memories were filling her head.

  “Sampson here is the oldest. He has mated with many of the adult females and at least three times that I know of with Ginger. That’s the one you went up to and petted. Ginger is real sweet but can be a little feisty at times. Bulls don’t usually have a preference, but for whatever reason, me and Mama suspect that he fancies her more than the others. Now, though, my father uses artificial insemination more times than not. It’s easier that way. One plus of having the extra bulls around though is to help herd the cows.”

  She bent over and kissed the beast on the crown, then exited the pin. Sampson began to bellow, his voice low and rich, the kind that shook ribcages from the mere sound.

  “I’ll be back to say goodbye after dinner, baby.” She blew the beast another kiss.

  As she moved about in front of him, her ass cupped and hugged tight in a dark pair of jeans, paired with a red and black checkered shirt that was tied at the belly button, he smiled at the prize before him. As if feeling his gaze, she paused, turned in his direction, and pulled at the collar of her shirt.

  “What are you looking at? You want some milk?” she quipped in a coy tone. Before he knew it, her shirt was on the damn floor in the hay. Wrapping her hands across her breasts, she squeezed them tight, making him salivate in an instant.

  “Did you know that bulls are color blind? Red flags don’t induce them to anger. It’s the movement of the matador’s cape. You see, that’s a sign of disrespect. A man looking him in the eye and moving around like that.”

  He snatched at the zipper of his jeans and shoved his pants and boxers down until his cock hung out. Her eyes went straight to it. Banging and crashing soon ensued as he swiped a bunch of instruments and farming do-dads lying on a bench out of the way. Holstering her on top of it, he gripped her by the neck and roughly tugged at her jeans, forcing them down to her knees.

  “Uh!” He thrust deep within her, her back pressed hard against the barn door. The bulls began to prance around, stomping and snorting.

  “Shit yes, baby… Fuck me in my pussy good!” He buried his face between her heaving breasts and thrust at rapid speed. “Give me that big, juicy dick!”

  Sucking a nipple hard, he massaged the other then switched until he’d had his fill. She grabbed a fistful of his hair, gnashing her teeth and grinding against his pumping hips. He rocked her hard against the bench, squelching her moans with kisses to silence her screams.

  “Tristan, I’m cummin’! Shit!”

  A rush of warmth coated his dick as her sugar walls tightened against his plunging cock. And then he climaxed, jerking and groaning as his seed spurt within her.

  His gaze locked with Sampson’s. All the bulls around them stomped and moved about in their enclosures until they, too, finally settled down. Breathing hard, he could barely catch his breath… Nostrils flared, he cradled the back of her head and drew her into a kiss. Slicking his tongue within her mouth, he continued to slowly enter her, milking himself dry. Suddenly, he heard the buzzing of a cellphone. They both looked towards their shed clothing.

  “That’s mine… Probably my mother.”

  Reluctantly tearing themselves away from one another, they each quickly put their clothes back on. He dusted off several pieces of hay from her hair, and she in turn returned the favor. She called her mother as they made their way out of the barn.

  “Mama, we’re coming right up.” She ended the call and they walked hand in hand up the path, past the cows and back towards the big old white house that sat atop that hill…

  …Three months later

  Darryl’s face was a mixture of relief and angst. He and Tristan sat at his dining room table, while their ladies hung out in the living room chatting. Ed Sheeran crooned, ‘The A Team,’ a background to their conversation.

  After more evidence had spilled forth like bursting water from a shattered dam, Officer Benson claimed he didn’t wish to expose his family to a lengthy court case. He pleaded guilty on three of the five charges, and received a mere five-year sentence, the majority of it to be spent on probation. Darryl’s attorney was appealing nevertheless. Regardless of the final verdict, it was bittersweet. The man was finally off the streets, but it was a slap on the wrist for all the harm, pain, chaos, sleepless nights, emotional and mental distress he’d inflicted on not just his victims, but their families and friends, too. The domino effect was tinged with blood, battered and bruised.

  “It’s cool, man.” The guy gulped down the whiskey and slammed the cup on the table. “It’s actually a better outcome than I expected.” Darryl smiled, but Tristan didn’t trust that smile. “Hey, at least he didn’t just walk. But if he hadn’t pled guilty, it kinda makes you wonder.” He shrugged.

  Tristan nodded in agreement. “That’s not the only thing that bothers me though. The other officers involved got to go on about their lives as if nothing had happened. Un-fucking-believable. He didn’t act alone.”

  “Insufficient evidence. We didn’t have them on tape doing shit and they denied having any involvement in the physical assault.”

  “I’m tired of this! How many more people do they have to harass and murder before anyone gives a shit and stops making excuses for this?! Yeah, I know firsthand that there are damn good cops out here, but they aren’t the ones making the news. Among the ones that are, they have a million and one reasons why it was okay for an officer to stomp a man to death, to punch him unconscious, to pin his arms so hard, bones get broken. When the hell does it stop?!”

  “When people stop seeing Black and White, Tristan… when we care about our fellow man and women regardless of their r
ace. When people are truly judged based on their character and not the color of their skin, immigration status, and DNA. Racism is now a part of our American culture. Without it, we lose a piece of who we are. How fucking sad is that? It’s gotta end though… it’s just got to. When will that be? I don’t know, man.”

  Tristan hung his head and shook it.

  “Racism is a business,” Darryl continued. “In America, it started with the Native Indians then the Africans for slavery. Now, the currency isn’t just money; it’s clout. If history is any indication, usually something pretty drastic has to happen in order for people to open their eyes. Only problem is, such turning points usually involves a lot of death. This shit runs deeper than the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans combined.” The man punched his finger into the table, his expression tight, brows bunched. “If it counts for anything at all though, people are watching the police a hell of a lot more closely now that they have gotten themselves embroiled in some lawsuits.”

  “Yeah, but this is making some guys think they can do what they want and still not serve prison time, Darryl. The more cops that get away or get a slap on the wrist, the worse it will get.”

  “I agree, but I’m also hopeful that these situations will continue to erode belief in the current justice system. I wasn’t some damn thug.” His eyes narrowed. “They can’t put that label on me and I wasn’t resisting arrest. All the excuses these people use to support their bullshit excuses cannot be applied to me, and there are many others like me. Benson is one of hundreds, if not thousands. Most of the attack did come from Benson, but before I blacked out, I saw a couple of ’em get in on the action, too. They don’t lynch with trees and rope anymore; they do it with steel handcuffs and the reading of Miranda rights.”

  There was an uneasy pause as Darryl looked away, as if drowning in a daydream. “I still have nightmares, man.” They grew silent for quite some time. “Seeing a therapist now.”

  “Don’t give up. I won’t let you. Civil case?”

  “Of course. I’m not done with his ass, not by a long shot.”

  “I should only hope not. I’m sure you know this already, but, uh, I want you to be my best man.”

  The man looked at him from the other end of the table, a slight smile on his face.

  “You don’t even have to ask… you already know. I would have been insulted actually if you didn’t choose me.”

  Tristan smiled back, then looked away, collecting his thoughts.

  “Don’t say anything, but, uh…” He swallowed. “We found out that one of Carmen’s good friends, Patrice, has breast cancer… It’s pretty advanced.”

  “Damn. I’m sorry to hear that, man. How’s Carmen holding up? I would’ve never known. She’s been smiling and laughing tonight. I wouldn’t have guessed her to be troubled at all.”

  “Yeah… she’s had some time to process it but trust me, sometimes it really gets to her. I’ve had to literally pick her up off the floor a couple of times. She has been beside herself. She loves really hard. So anyway, Patrice has started chemotherapy treatments and we’re inclined to change the wedding date from next year to the next few months since she’s such an integral part of the celebration as a just in case. You know, hope for the best but prepare for the worst kinda deal. We’re working on that right now, actually.”

  “Of course, and whatever help you need from me, you know I’m there.”

  Tristan nodded.

  “I know. A lot has been going on, man. My sister leaving the firm, the new Ernestine contract… it’s been crazy.”

  “You and Bev are still on good terms though, right? Why’d she up and leave you like that? You never told me, just said we’d talk about it later.”

  Tristan studied the man he called his brother, his very best friend in the whole damn world, besides Carmen, of course. Flashes of the fight he’d had back in college for being called a nigger lover because of their friendship crossed his mind—the way he’d held that in so that Darryl would feel no pain had become like an emotional ulcer. But was he really sparing Darryl… or himself?

  Tristan took a long swallow of the whiskey, then placed the empty tumbler down beside him. Clasping his hands, he got ready to unleash the truth and nothing but the truth.

  “Bev and I were not on good terms when she left. We’re better now, but things still aren’t great. The reason why, Darryl, is… because she wanted me to stay out of this situation with you and Officer Benson. I refused.” The man he’d known for over fifteen years regarded him with the strangest look in his eyes. “She felt like I could get hurt, that I didn’t need to be involving myself in it, and that it would be bad for business. I absolutely did not want to drop it. She tried to ignore what was going on, so we stopped discussing it, but as more and more calls poured in and she herself was threatened, she threw in the towel.” He shrugged.

  “Man…” Darryl closed his eyes and fell back into his seat.

  “Leaving the firm was not going to make her not my sister anymore. It was an impulsive decision, something used to punish me in some way, I suppose. Anyway, the final straw she said was when she was in the grocery store one day. A woman walked up to her and asked her if she was Bev Bellmore. She said yes and the woman proceeded to spit on her and called her a bitch and told her to get me under control. It was another painful lesson for me, Darryl. My sister, albeit well-meaning, cares more about saving herself and treating me like I’m the bad guy than the crux of the problem – the rampant racism that led us to this situation. On one hand, I know that not everyone is built for how I responded to the situation. I can’t expect everyone to be like me, family or not… I can’t fault her for it.”

  Darryl crossed his arms and nodded in understanding.

  “But what I realized is that even my own sister, my own flesh and blood that I love, was unable to see how badly discrimination is destroying our country and that being spit on in the face is a far cry from being beaten and possibly murdered due to no fault of your own.”

  “She’s never been in my shoes. She can’t understand.” Darryl’s eyes grew darker. “Do you want to know the truth? My own wife’s understanding only goes so far, for example. She loves me with everything within her, but she can only comprehend it up to a point because she’s not me.” He pointed at himself. “She doesn’t know what it’s like to be a Black person in this country, day in and day out. I happened to fall in love with a White woman, Tristan. I don’t love her because she is White. I love her because she is a wonderful person. So many people stay in their own small circles. They never get out and travel or engage with people who aren’t like them. That’s part of the problem.”

  “I completely agree, and that is one of Bev’s problems. At least your wife tries. Bev couldn’t even try to understand on your behalf. You’re probably one of the few Black people she actually knows, but even then, she couldn’t put her own needs aside and look at the bigger picture. I was asking her to be a sitting duck – I was asking for her to give a damn. She knows the woman I am about to marry, has seen and spoken to Carmen a couple of times, but none of that changed anything either, despite her actually liking Carmen and in her words, thinking she is wonderful.”

  “There’s a lot of Bevs in the world, man. Usually they call themselves Progressives or Liberals.” Darryl laughed dismally. “Then when you need ’em to walk the walk, they look at you like you’re crazy.”

  “She is deeply enmeshed in this fucked up matrix, this protective bubble… the one I got burst out of once we were pulled over that fateful night, man. My sister is a reflection of who I used to be… and she will serve as a reminder of what I don’t want to return to. I will never understand what you, Carmen, and many Black people go through, but I will be damned if I just sit by and idly watch just because I’ve never been in your shoes. Your footwear wasn’t made for me, but the journey we walk? We do it side by side and the path to Hell is paved in gold, too. If the ugly behemoths of this world showed their true appearance right away, they’d nev
er entice us to their side. Racism is a fiend ran machine – and you need an army to go up against it. You need family, but family isn’t just blood related. Being a brother isn’t skin-related and just kin-related. It’s men-related. Period.”

  Darryl sat speechless, but his eyes gleamed with emotion, saying everything he needed to say.

  Seconds turned into minutes and the silence was only interrupted when Darryl’s cellphone rang. He drummed his fingers on the table as the man took the call, but their gazes never parted from one another. A special understanding was born between them in that moment. An even closer bond was formed… if that were possible.

  They say blood is thicker than water, but water washes one’s sins away. Sometimes it comes in the form of tears…

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Bulls, Brides, Bouquets and Boutonnières

  The massive warehouse was located in the North Loop, the historic district in downtown Minneapolis, Minnesota. It served as the perfect wedding venue: The Aria. Once a speakeasy, the place boasted of sky-high ceilings, original brick walls and crystal chandeliers. It was the perfect blend of chic and sophisticated appeal – the merging of Tristan and Carmen’s individual tastes. The wedding coordinator put a special Boho-Chic touch on the décor, making it a dream come true for his bride-to-be. Tristan sat with his soon-to-be father in law in an empty reception area at a table covered in thick wine-colored cloths and ivory lace. The centerpieces weren’t yet lit, but there were Eagle feathers beneath clear bowls filled with sage and candles.

  He’d arrived early, the place filled with nothing more than some grounds caretakers, the caterers and venue staff. He hadn’t expected any company and found it odd that Mr. Kinley was moseying about… looking at the artwork in the place, taking slow steps here and there as he perused the place. The old man saw him and removed his hat, gave a friendly nod in his direction. It was up to Tristan to break the ice. From outward appearances, they’d simply ran into one another – or perhaps, the man had planned it all along. Tristan had announced at the rehearsal dinner that he’d be stopping in early after all. Running his hand along the table he and Daniel sat at, he smoothed out a wrinkle in the fabric then looked into the man’s deep-set eyes. The whites had a slightly yellow ting, and yet, they were alluring all the same.