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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 once. I had hoped the conversation might
lead somewhere, but he just laughed.
His body was very, very hairy. A solid coat down his
chest and stomach, coating both arms and hands nearly solid.
"My grandfather was a werewolf." he joked when someone
mentioned it. His body was a typical astronaut's (astronauts
have to stay in shape, or you get down-checked), nicely
muscled, with swelling biceps that rippled when he moved, his
abs lining his stomach accented by his hair, his chest muscled
but flatter than mine. His nipples were lost in that hair
somewhere, and his body wouldn't tell you where to
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