“I’m Bull,” the other occupant said as the door slammed and locked behind me. He had been lying down, and he swung his massive ass around to where he was sitting on the lower bunk. It was hot and humid in the Lincoln County Jail and he had shed his tee shirt. The name fit: The guy was big, maybe six-two and over two seventy-five. Sweat glistened on his wide hairy chest and his massive beer gut sagged over the waistband of his baggy orange county-issue sweatpants.

I didn’t really give a rat fuck what his name was; I wasn’t planning on being around long enough to get friendly anyway. My whore-bitch-cunt of an ex-wife had called in a bogus 911 complaint and said that I was violating my restraining order and was threatening her. I had an airtight alibi for the time of the alleged violation but I had flicked a lot of shit at the deputies that showed up and they responded by locking me up. It was Saturday evening and my lawyer was out of town so I would be stuck here until my Monday morning appearance before a judge.

“You know anything about cattle, Boy?” Bull or whoever the fuck he was asked. I had been raised on a farm and knew my way around cattle, but I didn’t feel like getting into a deep philosophical conversation with this oversized dildo. Besides that, I resented him referring to me as ‘Boy’. I’m not very big and may look young, but I’m twenty-two years old and have a kid and an ex-wife.

“You see,” he continued, “there are different kinds of cattle. First of all there’s the Bull. He’s the big guy. Next you have your basic Cows, then there’s Calves. You know, young cattle.” He paused to run his hairy hand inside the waistband of his sweatpants to scratch whatever in there itched. I didn’t even bother answering the guy; I just turned away and stared out the bars while he continued his lecture. “Then you got your Heifers, which are girl cows that ain’t yet been fucked by the Bull, and last of all you got the Steers, young bulls that have had their balls cut off.”

I didn’t like where he was headed with all of this, and turned to tell him so, but before I could speak he said, “ There’s only one bull around here, and that’s me. You ain’t a cow and you’re too big to be a calf, so that makes you either a steer or a heifer.” He abruptly stood up and pulled sweats down and kicked them free of his ankles.

He was hard and his thick cock jutted upwards from his hairy belly. The wide, flared end was bright red and shiny with anticipation and I could smell the musky odor clear across the cell. His hand held what looked like a shard of broken glass with one end wound with adhesive tape.

“Guard!” I hollered as loud as I could.

“Waste of time Boy,” Bull said, advancing on me. “They’re changing shifts right now. It’s just you and me.” There was nowhere to run and he was on me in an instant with one arm wrapped around my neck and the shiv at my throat while the other hand had slipped down my pants and was encircling my scrotum. “Now let’s go over this again. You wanna be a heifer or a steer? Don’t make me no difference cause I’m gonna fuck you either way.”

“You know what?” He said later. I was sitting on the shitter trying to void his sperm. He was lying on his bunk, still naked, idling scratching his balls. “Sometimes you get a calf maybe a year old or so that still wants to suck his mama. She won’t let him, of course, ’cause by now she’s got another calf, but that don’t stop him from try’n. Fact is, he’ll suck damn near anything.” He stood and walked to the toilet where I was still sitting, and before I could rise or turn away he grabbed me by my ears and pulled me towards him.

He was sleeping on his bunk an hour later, and I was still trying to rid my mouth of his taste when the jailer came around.

“Morgan!” He hollered, rattling the bars with his baton.

“Huh?” Bull rolled over.

“Someone just posted your bail Morgan. You’re out of here.”

The only positive outcome of the incident was that the hatred I felt for my ex-wife was now focused elsewhere. I knew that I had to hurry. ‘Bull’ Morgan was in his early thirties when I encountered him and people like that tend to die off at a rather young age. He had a truly impressive arrest record of misdemeanors and petty felonies and had been convicted of several, and also had several complaints lodged against him by other prisoners, none of which were ever substantiated. He was currently on parole in Adams County and was supposedly gainfully employed in a muffler shop. Even though he was well known throughout the legal system, I had to work from the other side of that system and it took over two years for me to track him down.

“Hello Bull. Long time no see.” I said.

“Huh?” he put down his sandwich and lowered the Playboy magazine he’d been paging through, then looked up just in time to see the three foot long two by four just before it crashed into his forehead.

The owner of the shop usually locked the shop and went to lunch at noon, leaving Bull to sit in his car and eat until he returned at one, but I had called in and insisted on a twelve-thirty appointment to have a new muffler installed. The owner always attended the Rotary Club lunch on the third Tuesday of every month, so he left things open so Bull could get started on my van right away.

I secured his heavy arms behind his back with two pairs of handcuffs then bent his knees, tied his feet together and secured them to the handcuffs as well, effectively hogtying him. There was small forklift in the shop that I used to load his sorry carcass into my van. I thoughtfully locked the doors on my way out, hoping that the manager would think Bull was off fucking around somewhere.

He woke up about the time I pulled into the driveway of the old Dawson place. I drove right into the empty barn and closed the door behind me. Elmer Dawson and his wife had farmed the place for over forty years until she died and a stroke had confined him to the care center. The place was listed for sale, but there were few people interested in a run down dairy farm.

“Hey Bull, you remember me?” I asked as I rolled him from the van onto the dirt floor of the barn. He was alert and responsive, and he called me several vile names, but couldn’t recall who I was. “You know anything about cattle, Boy?” I mimicked his drawl. That jogged his memory.

“Hell Boy, we had us a hell of a time, didn’t we?” He recalled with a smile. “Hell, most young bucks like you dig getting it on with ol’ Bull.”

“Yeah, well, you got your cows, you see, and your calves and heifers and steer, right? Well there’s another kind of critter too,” I said.

“Huh?” I had lost him again.

“Yeah. Sometimes they castrate adult bulls. Then you get oxen. The pioneers used them to pull their covered wagons because they’re just as strong as bulls but not as mean and they don’t get distracted when they come across a cow in heat.”

I freed one of his legs and tied it to a crossbeam in the barn and hoisted him partway off of the floor before loosening his other leg and doing the same thing with it. He was essentially helpless; legs hoisted, shoulders on the floor, and hands still cuffed behind his back. I retrieved a knife from my pocket and cut away his dirty jeans and skidmarked skivvies, and then performed a quick two-minute surgery while he howled in pain and begged for mercy.

“See you around, Ox,” I said as I drove away. He wouldn’t die as long as he didn’t fuck around with the tight pressure bandage that I had applied to his crotch, but it’d be a long time before the pain went away The memory of the event and the effects of his surgery would last forever.