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ril and I were to rendevous with an
errant satellite, one of the English ones (which explained his
presence), and fix it. As I met Cyril in the dressing room,
he told me that he figured it was a bent antennae.
"Spending two million pounds sterling to drive a space
lorry up for five minutes. I say, that's a waste of perfectly
good time, eh, what? Why not send a crew over from the
station, is what I'd like to know." he protested. I don't
remember his exact words, being used to his English-isms, but
that was close. I won't do it to you any more than I have to,
I promise. Just remember when you read what follows that
Cyril is English through and through. Every word of his shows
it. I just may not quote him that way.
Cyril shucked his blue jeans and I again got to feeling
horny watching him. Cyril may one day be a proper English
gentleman, but these days he was a true hunk. Black straight
hair and blue eyes on that elongated, square jaw, his eyes
sparkling like twin sapphires. He was downright pretty, I
jokingly told him o
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