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He felt his other hand rise. He was ready to slap her. He wanted to beat the sadness from her. She didn't deserve to be sad. The killers shouldn't cry...at the funerals. His hand raised, the muscle in his neck twitched, the tendons in his shoulders and forearms readied for the signal. And then his hand paused to rub at his cheek and his other hand fell away from her head.He looked down at her. His own waterfall threatening. He smiled a dismantled smile. His hand fell to her face as his thumb. I conceded with a smile as I think I understood him a little, maybe itwas the touch of his hand on my arm as we walked home, or the wink at myfront door. Now I thought that there was a hint of him really trying tomake his way with me.-The BullI watched the bull, its furious nature, its insanity, a living force,just muscle, balls and cock, full of a single intent, to fuck or fight.He the farmhand prodded it with a stick, to torment it, to drive itinsane with fury. He was showing me the bulls. More

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