Tease The Bull

The following story is my maiden voyage, my virgin attempt, if you will. This being the case, I strongly desire the input of those who like the offering and those who wish to offer constructive criticism. Here again, if you're going to critique my offering, I'm a virgin after a fashion. So be gentle. I love to write and I want to get better at it, so please help me do so...

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I've destroyed my life. I don't want to sound overly dramatic, but it's true. Oh, the damage hasn't yet set in. But it will, and when it does it will be devastating. And there will be lots of collateral damage. The sad thing is that the damage to me will be relatively light. Yes, my reputation will take a major hit. People will hate me and talk about me behind my back. I will be an object of scorn and derision, and the more moral of my acquaintances and family will shun me. These things I'm ready for. I realize realistically that I put myself in this position so it's only fit that I suffer for my actions. I started the ball rolling and now I have to be a big girl and face the consequences.

What's going to happen, but is so terribly unfair, is that people I love are going to be hurt as well. It hurts me that I will be responsible for that. It especially hurts that I could have kept this from happening in the first place. What disgusts me the most is not that I let this happen, but that, knowing all the above, I will most assuredly let it keep happening. At this point, I realize that I just can't, or truthfully don't want to, help myself. I enjoyed a full meal of the forbidden fruit and I already hunger for more. It's not rational. It's destructive behavior. You don't say you love people and then willingly hurt them with your selfishness. Maybe I'm somehow psychologically damaged, especially considering how much I've changed. Then again, maybe that's just another excuse to let me keep destroying my reputation and loved ones. At any rate, the truth will come out. As far as I know, only three people know the circumstances at this point. That's two too many. Wasn't it old Ben Franklin that said "Three can keep a secret if two are dead?" That I'm one of those three is no real comfort. There is always the strong likelihood that my own guilt will betray me. So at some point, I will be found out. It's as certain as the next sunrise. And it will probably happen sooner rather than later.

My name is Kyran Hillman Hamilton. The name of my town isn't important, as you've probably never heard of it anyway. Concealing that bit of information will also serve to help protect the innocent. I've lived in this town all my twenty plus years. I was the typical small town girl, nothing above average. Yes, I was always pretty and popular. My dad was a business man and we were not rich, but far from poor. I had the usual friends, the usual social life, and had the usual "crushes." I was athletic, playing softball and basketball, but I didn't let sports consume my life. Strangely enough, I didn't date many jocks. For the most part I found them to be arrogant asses, and I didn't want to be just another notch on a belt. I was a good student, but I wasn't exactly a Rhodes Scholar either.

I was considered a catch. I'm tall at 5' 11" and with a nicely curved figure. I show my Irish blood with long fiery red hair, green eyes, and creamy skin. Yes, I'm what the more irreverent in society today call a "Ginger." It's somewhat annoying if you're concerned about getting a tan, but that's never been on my list of important things. That's why they make sun block. My breasts are not overly large, a "B" cup just slightly over an "A", but I have those puffy, pink aureoles and sensitive nipples that guys like. My waist is slim and my hips are ample, but not overly so. I've got a nicely shaped tush as well, if I do say so myself. I've been told that I've got a dynamite set of legs, and I suppose they are long and well shaped. While I don't have the face of a fashion model, I've been told by both boys and a few girls that I'm beautiful. Some have told me that I vaguely resemble the actress Poppy Montgomery. I'm no virgin, if you're curious, but no slut either. Only two guys had so far made it to the Promised Land. The first of the two was a complete disaster, he didn't know what he was doing, it hurt, and he's history. The last of those two now is my husband.

I met Willis Hamilton at our local community college. I was intending to take a few courses in business that would make me more valuable around my dad's store. Willis was taking photography courses. He was already taking family portraits and shots of kids before he even graduated high school, along with the more artistic shots he took for his hobby. He had a small studio in town with an upstairs apartment and darkroom, the latter since he had learned "old school" film photography. He was accepting the inevitable advance of technology and was learning the digital method of today. Though we had attended the same high school, he had graduated two years ahead of me, so we didn't know each other well. I recognized him, but only acknowledged him with a wave when he said hello in passing.

Willis was slightly taller than me, with a slim but muscular build, brown hair, and a well trimmed beard. He had the cutest set of blue eyes as well. He was no Ashton Kutcher, but kids weren't going to run screaming from him either. Those who knew him said he had an easy, laid back personality and was quick with a joke. I thought he was cute, but he didn't seem to do anything other than notice me, and I've never been one to push myself on a near stranger. The thing that finally endeared him to me, and was the genesis of our relationship, was how cute he looked when he blushed and got embarrassed on the occasion of our initial conversation.

I guess that needs some explaining. I had heard through the grapevine that he was asking about me. He wanted to know whether or not I was dating, among other things. I assumed he was getting up the nerve to ask me out. But Willis had a surprise for me. You see Willis had a class project. It was one of those artsy type things, but the jist of it was that he needed to shoot a nude photo. Imagine my surprise when he approached me in the parking lot at my car to be the model. The poor guy was nearly incoherent at first as he tried to give me the proposition, blushing furiously and stammering.

"Kyran, I'm not talking about anything pornographic here," he rushed to explain, "I want you to understand that it won't require frontal nudity at all. It'll be taken from behind, with your face in profile. You'll hardly be recognizable. And I'm willing to pay you five hundred dollars for modeling this one session."

I was quite frankly flattered and having so much fun with his obvious discomfort that I couldn't resist picking on him a bit, so with all I had I fought back any indication of amusement. I theatrically stomped my foot and balled my hands into fists. With a humorously faked outrage, I verbally sailed into him.

"Willis Hamilton! What kind of a slut do you think I am? You've never said three words to me before today. And now you think you can walk up to me, offer me five hundred bucks, and I'm just going to shed my clothes for you?"

"Oh God, Kyran!" he pleaded, wringing his hands, and blushing yet more profusely, "I meant no disrespect to you. And I certainly wasn't making any moral judgments or implications as to your character. As I said, this is really an art project. I wasn't expecting to see anymore of you than absolutely necessary for the photo. And I assure you, it would have been very tastefully done. I know my request seemed presumptuous and in poor taste to you now. It's just that..."

"Well out with it!" I continued with the feigned assault, although now with a bit more curiosity, "It's just that...what?"

"The photo's going to be a black and white. With the lighting I have planned, you've got the perfect skin tone. For that reason alone, you're the perfect choice for the model. Well, that reason and one other..."

As he hesitated, he looked down and started shifting gravel around with his shoe. The poor guy looked like he would have rather been standing on the surface of the Sun than going through this conversation.

"And just what would that one other reason be?" I asked him with a hint of a smile.

He hesitated a few seconds before answering. Finally, from somewhere deep inside him he forced out the answer in a near whisper. "Because I think you're the most beautiful woman I've ever known."

Okay, hate me if you will for being corny, but my heart just melted. From any other guy, it would have been just that, a corny pick up line. But it was obvious that he meant it. The poor guy had just opened up his chest cavity and handed me his heart. I moved up close to him and placed the palm of my hand on his still red cheek. It was actually warm to the touch.

"I'll do it, but I have two conditions." I said with a smile.

"What would they be?" he asked with a small smile of his own, finally daring to look into my eyes.

"The money would be nice, but I'd feel like a whore, or a porn actress. I'll settle for pizza and a movie instead."

"And the second," he asked with a Cheshire cat grin.

"Kiss me, right now."

He did. And he did it well.

My lone venture into modeling happened that Friday night, and was a smashing success in more ways than one. As per our agreement, we had some delicious cheeseburger pizza, my favorite. So shoot me, I'm not Italian. We snuggled through a nice romantic comedy, and he bought me a box of Junior Mints and a Diet Coke. I was having a great time being with him and he seemed to be equally happy with me. When the end credits rolled, he actually got up the nerve to give me a couple sweet kisses. My heart was beginning to slip into his grasp already as we left to head to the studio.

Despite still being somewhat nervous, he had slipped into artist mode. He knew how he wanted this thing to go. He had it laid out in his mind, just as he had told me. His only other concern was to keep me from being in any way embarrassed. With this in mind, he had me disrobe in his upstairs apartment, and he left a thick white terrycloth robe for me to wear up until and after the shoot.

I must say, I'm no artist, but even I could tell that it was a great photo. As he said, it was taken from behind me, in low light, with an additional light source coming down at an angle from above and to my right. I was in a seated position, on a crushed velvet rug, leaning on my left hand. Both my legs were tucked in beside me, with the soles of both feet pointed back toward the camera. My right arm was pointed upward, my hand reaching out, palm up to the light source. Willis adjusted my face so that I was looking into the light. It looked like a sunrise was washing over me, and the contrast of light and shadow was amazing. It was true, as he had predicted that my skin tone was a factor. Through whatever magic of his profession he had used, my skin had an almost luminescent quality about it. His other prediction was also true. Because of the angle of my face, the position of my right arm, and the way that my hair was arranged, it was not quite readily apparent who I was. As good as the photo looked, that almost saddened me. It was artistic, yet at the same time, erotic. This man had seen this beautiful scene in his mind, with me as the focus of it, long before it had happened. The sheer romance of it all was undeniable.

As you might guess from my earlier allusion, Willis got to see that robe come off. I've got to tell you that this was far from my usual behavior. As, I said, there had been a guy before Will, but I had made him wait a long time before I let myself be talked into trying sex. But with Will, it just seemed right. He had made me feel so sexy and beautiful, like some kind of goddess. Thank God he had that apartment attached to his studio, or I would have probably jumped his bones right there on the floor. He was an incredibly sensitive and gentle lover, and let me say it was a great improvement over my first time. God bless him, he managed to give me two orgasms, one with his tongue and fingers, and one as he rode on top of me. After it was over, he held me so sweetly and thanked me over and over for giving myself to him, telling me how wonderful it was. He kept reassuring me that he didn't think less of me and that he didn't want a one night stand. He wanted a relationship with me. He dropped me off at my home late that night a happy girl.

After that night we were inseparable. We agreed to marry after we had saved up some money so getting started out wouldn't be such a financial burden. The respective in-laws were not a problem. My parents loved Willis immediately. His parents were the salt of the Earth type that loved everybody, so I was an instant hit. Willis was doing a brisk business at his studio, and I was working as much as I could for my dad. We had a place to live right away. The apartment over the studio was actually quite nice and would be plenty big enough until we started a family. A little over a year later we were married, and after a romantic honeymoon spent in a secluded mountain cabin on a wooded lake we settled into married life.

It was a little under two years into our marriage that the cancer began to grow. It wasn't money. We weren't millionaires by any stretch, but then we were more than getting by. We could even afford a few luxuries after the bills and what we saved. No, it was that other nemesis of married couples. It was our sex life.

Now let me say, right off the bat, that it wasn't quantity. We were screwing like bunnies as a matter of fact. I also must say, as confusing as this may sound, that it really wasn't quality either. Willis always went to great pains to make sure I enjoyed the ride if you will. He wasn't inadequate as a man, in fact he was bigger than average, and he wasn't a premature ejaculator. So what was I bitching about you ask?

Willis was a romantic. He was gentle and considerate, as I've said, sometimes to a fault. The sex was already getting vanilla. It was starting to get, at least to me, repetitive. To be quite frank about it, we needed to get our kink on. Mind you, I wasn't advocating joining a swingers' club. I didn't want to tie my husband up and make him watch while I banged some stranger. I certainly didn't want to share him with some cute chick, even if he agreed to do so, which would have caused me to die from shock.

I did the usual things. I bought scandalous lingerie. I wore racier underwear, sometimes no underwear at all. I did away with my usual pantyhose altogether in favor of garter belts and stockings. The few pairs of pantyhose I kept around were special. They had a low cut French waist and were crotchless. With them, I could wear a shorter hemline without showing a stocking top. Business did pick up, especially when I wore these items to bed. Will also approved of my newly shaved cunt. We got a book on different sex positions. We went so far as to try some light bondage. These things worked to a degree, but I still felt like pushing things a bit further.

I tried introducing the idea of maybe watching a little porn together. Will didn't really like the idea and it actually worked against me. It made him uncomfortable and ruined the mood. I pushed things into the area of role play. Will valiantly gave it a go, but it was a mixed success at best. As hard as he tried I could tell that his heart really wasn't in it. One memorable evening, I pushed the whole role play thing over the edge, and I found out just how much I was up against with this guy.

The dust up was over Carrie Wilson. Carrie was a blonde, bubbly girl who was currently attending the same community college classes that Will had attended. You see, Will on occasion had to do some traveling around to the county schools. The class pictures and yearbook photos that he took on these days, along with the packets of pictures that the kids took home for their family every year, were a very lucrative side line. The small bit of travel required hardly ever resulted in any overnight stays. The problem was, of course, that his absence left the studio unmanned. Even if I had been unemployed it wouldn't have been much help. I was clueless about photography. So Will had approached his former professor about anyone interested in a job at his studio, part time. The professor gave Carrie the nod with great enthusiasm. She was equally enthusiastic at getting a chance to make a little extra money while honing her own craft. It was a win-win all around.

I would have been much less enthused if I had not trusted Will with my life. Carrie was a knockout. She was petite, barely over five feet, but her slim, shapely legs looked a lot longer than they were. She had an impressive set of boobs for a girl her size and she definitely filled out the seat of her jeans well. She had hair so blonde it was the color of corn silk, and it was long, straight, and thick. Her skin was tanned, and her eyes were crystal blue. She wore hardly any makeup on her stunning face, Hell it would have been superfluous. She was a head turner to say the least. I was as straight as they come and I would have damn near slept with her.

Her personality was, everybody said, her best feature. The girl was so sweet, it almost made a cynic nauseous. She seemed unaware of her beauty, making self deprecating comments when anyone brought it up. It was widely known that she lived under a pretty strict moral code, although she wasn't "holier than thou" by any stretch of the imagination. She had an active social life and lots of friends, male and female, but nobody seemed to be on the inside track. One of her best assets, which Will was quite delighted with, was her ability with children. They universally loved her. Will photographed a lot of them, and they could be a handful, babies especially. Will was good with them mind you. As a matter of fact, I often jokingly referred to him as the "Baby Whisperer" after seeing him in action a few times. Carrie surpassed even him. Sometimes even when he was in the studio he would call her in if he had a heavy load of small children scheduled.

On the memorable evening I've referenced, we were feeling a bit amorous, due in part to a large bottle of wine. As I said, my motor was running, and when things took a decidedly hot turn I decided I might throw a little gasoline on the fire. I seductively whispered in Will's ear that maybe he might like to let me stand in for the role of Carrie tonight. The reaction was both immediate and unsuspected. It was also intense. I felt his whole body tense up as he suddenly jumped up from the sofa beside me.

"Kyran, that's about enough." Will hissed through clenched teeth, "If I wanted to be with Carrie Wilson, she'd be here and not you. You're my wife, not her. I love you, not her. For some damned reason that I can't figure out, you want to bring other people into our bed, at least in your mind. That makes me uneasy. In my mind, when a person gets comfortable with mental adultery, the physical kind soon follows. Also keep this in mind. I have a working relationship with Carrie. If I allow those kinds of feelings to start taking root, they're going to affect that relationship. She's a perceptive girl, and she'll pick up on it. It will either make her uncomfortable, and she'll quit, or she'll be encouraged, which is worse. What if she started coming on to me, God forbid, and it somehow negatively affected our marriage? It's you and me, or it's nothing at all. Why in God's name am I not enough for you now? What is supposed to be the attraction for you in me pretending you're someone else?"

I was floored and frustrated, but I quickly recovered. I managed to get him cooled down, but I realized that persisting in this vein was getting dangerous. I decided that advice should be sought, since I just kept fouling things up. So I brought the matter before the council of my closest female friends, whose discretion could be counted on. A couple of them jokingly suggested a lover, but they were doing just that, joking. Their advice was varied, from trying trips to different romantic settings, to other well intentioned fire starters. To one thing there was a general consensus. They one and all agreed that I was nuts. The lecture I got from Julie, my lifelong best friend, could serve as a general template for all the others.