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Archive-name: Fantasy/

Archive-author: Writer Man 2537

Archive-title: Free Fall

     When I checked the posting board that Sunday to see my

week's work, I was pleased to see that I would be sharing the

Shuttle trip with Cyril Blanton.  Cyril is one of the British

auxillary members of the shuttle crews, and we always had, in

his words, "a ripping good time" when we went up together.

     Our mission was in its day front-page new; now we were

old hat ever since the space station became operational.  Even

the shuttles had been shrunk in size, and I was now on call

for a two-man model.  Cyril 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 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 look.  I

gulped, turned away, and got into my own jumpsuit.

     We boarded the shuttle on the mark, and a bored checker

read the countdown for us.  I'll never quite get used to it,

even though everyone else seemed to.  That bone-crushing take-

off, over three minutes of agony while the shuttle gets up to

speeds of eight miles per second, and climbs to the 225,000

mile orbits of the geosynchronous satellites.  Once we were

up to speed, though, I checked our flight plan, and then saw

to my dismay that we were below speed.  We would make the

rendevous (those satellites don't really move in that orbit,

at least relative to us and the Earth), but were going to

approach it slower than planned.

     "Bloody hell." was Cyril's only comment.  We had twelve

hours to kill.

     Fortunately, even the small shuttles are designed to let

you stay up a while if necessary.  Behind our pilot station

was a sizeable room, a crew lounge.  It had chess boards,

sleeping stations (in free fall you don't need a mattress,

just a place to strap in), food for two weeks, and so on.  So

once we learned how long we had to wait, we put the shuttle

on automatic and went back to wait out the time.

     Cyril and I exchanged off-color stories like we always

did.  I was used to "playing straight" around the other crew

members; while officially the agency didn't care if you were

gay, it could get sticky if they found out.  My problem was,

my best story was a strictly gay one.  It was all I could

think of.  But how to tell the story without giving it away?

     Best to change it so that one of the characters was a

woman.  I started in (it's a long story and an old one, I

won't bore you with it here) and he was enjoying it.  I

enjoyed swapping stories because the English have a different

sort of humor from ours; an old joke to us is a new one to

them and vice versa.

     Trouble was, I got confused in telling the story.  I

changed the sex of the wrong character half-way through, and

ended up with a mess.  When I got to the punchline, Cyril was

looking at me very curiously, and I knew there was no way out

for me.

     "I guess you muffed it, eh, old fellow?" he kindly asked.

     "I guess so." I was blushing bright red, I could feel.

     "Don't worry about it, old chum.  I couldn't care less

who you sleep with.  I've known about it for a year or more;

have I been telling stories about you 'round the base?"

     I was astonished.  "You knew.  I mean...  How?"

     Cyril laughed.  "Old bean, my uncle is, what's your word,

gay.  I knew you were a pouf about the first time I met you,

but I've gotten along with the poufs in my life."

     "I'm not sure I like that word." I said hesitantly.

     "What word?"


     "Oh, pouf.  I don't mean it badly, old chum.  But if you

wish, well, I won't say it."

     "Okay." I said.  "I'd appreciate it.  Now, how about a

game of chess.  Your turn to take black."

     We had a good argument about that, since it was really

my turn to take the black pieces, and I felt better when it

was over and I settled in to play a defensive game.  Cyril's

too good for me to even think about a gambit when he's got the

initiative.  I settled in, concentrating on the game, thank

God, and played him to a stalemate, the best I could hope for

with a player of Cyril's caliber.  I only won occasionally,

when I played white.

     "Set 'em up again." Cyril said.  "I need to hit the


     He went into our tiny bathroom and I heard the fan turn

on.  In free fall, without the fan, you'd have no control of

where your ejecta (NASA's word, not mine) would go.  In other

words, the shit's SUPPOSED to hit the fan, as it's so cogently

put.  There's a vaccuum for your urine, too.

     I had the board set up when Cyril reappeared.  He hadn't

rezipped his jumpsuit any higher than his navel.  "It's a bit

hot here on the sunside." he commented.  "I hope you don't


     Mind?  Mind getting free looks at that hairy chest of

his?  I should say not!  "Of course not.  Get comfortable."

I said.

     Cyril did, and when he sat down, the jumpsuit bulged 'way

open.  More than it possibly could under gravity, it

practically stood a foot out from his chest.  But he acted

like he didn't notice.

     Well, I lost that game big time.  Cyril got the

initiative and kept it, mopping the board up with me.  When

he captured my king, I made a joke of it.  "You brazen hussy,

you were flaunting yourself at me just to win a game."

     Cyril laughed more easily than any American man I've

known.  "Well, you win any way you can.  Another game?"

     "Sure, but it IS awful hot.  Okay if I shuck this suit

of mine?"

     "Sure, go ahead." Cyril waved, and set up the board while

I shucked my jumpsuit.

     It's no easy thing, in free fall, to do ANYTHING!  Your

body gets to moving and before you know it, you're spinning

faster and faster.  I finished getting out of the suit, looked

around, to find myself floating over Cyril's head.

     "Give me a hand down." I asked Cyril, a common request

in free fall.  Cyril nodded, found me (with no up and down,

it can be a chore finding someone even in the same room.  Your

mind rebels against the outrageousness of it all) and grabbed

me by the elastic band of my briefs, yanked me down.  I don't

know how he did it, but I ended up sitting on his lap.

     I know I blushed again, with Cyril's arms around me.  He

seemed so casual about it all, but I was sitting where I'd

always wanted to sit, in my British companion's lap.  Was that

a boner I felt prodding my leg?

     "Thanks.  Let me go, now." I said.

     "Why?" Cyril asked.

     "What do you mean?"

     "I mean, haven't you ever heard the guys talking about

free fall?"

     "In the locker room?"  Sure, I'd heard of the Null-

Gravity Club, composed of those who had made love in free


     "Exactly." Cyril said.  "It's got my curiosity up.  And

now that you don't have to hide from me, why don't we give it

a go?"

     Give it a go!  "Damn, you've read my mind." I said, and

reached to kiss him.

     Cyril was my friend, let me emphasize here.  If any other

man on the fleet had tried this, I would have fought like an

alley cat.  But this was my best friend on the job.  How do

you refuse a good friend?  I never have.

     And besides, I'd heard the stories about how good it was.

Were the men making a big deal out of it, knowing that most

of us would never get the chance?  After all, women were

scarce, and those who were part of the team were often married

to groundhogs.  It was a rare combination that actually made

love in free fall.

     I was curious.  And Cyril was a good friend.  It was good

enough to, as he said, give it a go.

     We kissed, with Cyril unabashedly running his tongue into

my mouth, tasting my teeth, playing jousting with my tongue.

There was no embarrassment on his part.  He had made up his

mind, completely.

     I ran my hands in, now finally getting to rub that man-

fur on his chest and stomach, like I'd always wanted.  It

tickled him, but he didn't push me away.  He just laughed,

letting me reach in and all around him.  Fur all over, that

was Cyril all right.

     Cyril gave us a little push and we went flying into the

middle of the room, floating over the table.  I managed to

find his shoulders, and a stroke down and over pulled the

jumpsuit from his body.  It also set us spinning, him rising

over me while I sank, continually.  Only air friction would

stop us, and that took time.  But I could care less about what

the room was doing.  I wrapped my legs around Cyril's legs,

and yanked the suit down, spinning us harder.

     Cyril kicked then, and I grabbed hold of him while he

kicked off the jumpsuit, killing our relative motion except

for a slight left-ward spin.  You always spun in free-fall;

any movement would do it, unless you took it very slowly, but

we weren't wanting to be slow about it.

     I kissed him again, running my hands into his boxers,

squeezing his tight buttocks with both hands.  His hands found

there way into my briefs, and we kissed while slowing

spinning, a pin-wheel of male lust.

     We fought off our tight jock straps (in free fall, you

had to wear them or have the funny sensations of your balls

floating around on you.  Stimulating, but very uncomfortable

over a long period of time) and I found myself floating away

from Cyril.  I tried to swim, but I just don't move that well

in free fall.  I was flailing around and Cyril, who's much

better at it, grabbed me by one ankle.

     "Steady, old bean." he said, and wafted his foot towards

my face.  Better than nothing, I grabbed hold of it and Cyril

hunched toward me.  I got the idea of what he was trying to

do, pulled his foot upwards (relative to me, damn, the English

language isn't set up for free fall) by raising my hand and

arm.  Cyril did the same, and I was rewarded by the sight of

his erect cock floating near my face, the feel of his stubble

brushing my cockhead as it slapped against his cheek.

     The room was really spinning on us now, over a revolution

a second.  It didn't matter to me at the time, but my only

clear field of vision was Cyril's crotch, the room rising over

the side of his thigh at a dizzying pace.

     I had trouble catching that beautiful, uncut cock of his;

your body just hates free fall.  Your ear's semicircular

canals rebel against the lack of gravity; interpreting it as

though you'd fallen off a cliff.  Your intellect knows what's

going on, but there's a primitive area of your mind that's

still a raging beast; it knows you're falling and is screaming

in the back of your skull.

     I managed to catch his cock as it wafted past me on one

of its revolutions (nine inches long, it was spinning around

and around like a living thing, the head circling like the top

part of a child's spinning top just before it stops spinning),

and sucked hard to get it to stop spinning on me and bring it

into my mouth.

     Cyril had more foreskin than I'd ever seen; even erect,

his cockhead was still buried inside it; but he kept his cock

scrupulously clean.  Some uncut men have a foul-smelling scum

inside their foreskin because they don't clean it right, but

Cyril's was as clean as it could be.  I ran my tongue inside

that sweet-tasting foreskin to fish at the cockhead with my

tongue.  I grabbed the shaft with one hand, holding on tight

to him with the other.

     I felt Cyril's mouth close on my cock.  A beautiful, warm

sensation.  With no gravity, it was like my cock had slid into

a wonderful, open space, surrounded by warm, moist lips that

pulled on my shaft.

     I thrust my head down onto his cock.  I wanted all of

that beautiful English dick of his.  I pushed down until his

cockhead was shoved down my throat, my nose buried in his ball

sac, his balls gently wafting back and forth inside them to

wash against my nose like flotsam in a wave.

     Such an odd, wonderful feeling!  I didn't even have to

use that part of my body you use all the time to hold your

head still on the neck, the legs didn't have to balance my

weight to keep me still; things you learned as a baby and now

do without thinking.  I didn't have any demands on my body at

all!  My whole brain was allowed to concentrate on the act of

making love, of enjoying Cyril's cock in my mouth and throat.

     Too much sensation!  Too much!  My body sought release,

and I felt my cock tense, harden, preparatory to shooting my


     I groaned warningly, and Cyril responded by shoving my

cock down his throat.  He wanted it, all right!  I erupted,

my balls using all my spare energy to push the come out at

what felt like an enormous velocity.  Cyril gagged, choked,

but held on until he had sucked down all of my man-juice.

     Then I learned why, though he'd never made a sound up to

that instant, I felt him shudder as he bucked, thrashed, shot

his load into my mouth.

     I pulled back so I could taste it.  I wanted to taste my

crewmate's come.

     Like round balls in the null gravity, the come sprayed

into me.  I knew now why Cyril had gagged; the come was

spherical, and hard to swallow like that.  It was like

swallowing whole grapes one after the other, with no room to


     But this was my buddy, my best friend.  I swallowed it

hard and fast, and felt one errant glob splash against the

side of my mouth, coating my teeth.  The come diminished to

smaller globes, and it was over.

     I sucked at his cock, and felt the last glob slide down

my throat like a huge amoeba or something, crawling of its own

volition as it made its way to rejoin its comrades in my


     We sucked on each other for a time, and finally Cyril let

go and said, "That was a bit of all right, chum."

     "You can say that again." I gasped.  "Damn, I can see why

the members of the Null Grav Club brag about it so much.  I

never felt anything like it."

     "Well." Cyril said as he killed our relative motion for

us, brought me over to a hand strap.  He had an impish grin

on his face.  "We didn't exactly fuck, did we?"

     "Huh?  No, I guess not." I said, matching his grin.

"Rest for a time, then you can send that cock of yours into

my ass for me."

     "That sounds good to me, chum." Cyril said, fishing out

two tubes of food for us.  "Eat up.  You'll need all your

strength by the time I'm through with you."

     After we'd eaten, if you call squirting tubes shaped like

toothpaste tubes full of food that doesn't taste much better

than toothpaste into your mouths, I swung over and caught onto

Cyril, wrapped my legs around him.

     "Are you ready to go again?" I asked him.  I felt his

cock crawl into rigidity as it crept up between my legs.  "I

can see you are."

     I kissed him hard as he let go of his strap, and we were

again floating in mid-air.  We kissed hard and long, and I

tasted his mouth in all the ways I'd always wanted to.  Cyril

was such a gentle, kindly soul.  I wanted to spend the rest

of my life like this, floating here, kissing him.

     We didn't have anything like lube on the shuttle; NASA

doesn't assume you need it.  But I was experienced in

lovemaking, with my last lover (so recently we broke up and

I couldn't even mourn out loud, but it had been a month and

I was feeling better) and his huge cock that I felt competent

to take Cyril's in me without lubrication.  If he was gentle

about it.

     I needn't have worried, Cyril is such a gentle lover.

He let me reach for his cock, cooperated without insistence

as I guided it for my ass, worked it in slowly.  His foreskin

was a wonderful lubricant, the way it rolled around and made

room for itself inside me.

     After a time, Cyril's cock was buried in me all the way.

That was when he took over, grabbing me by the shoulders

underneath my armpits for all-important leverage.

     We were spinning, of course, though not much.  Cyril

seemed to be moving without moving, to the right, to the

right, around and around.  It was a slow spin, though, like

we were dancing together.  And I felt him begin to fuck me,

slowly and kindly, just like Cyril always was, without any

abruptness.  He was infinitely patient, like he would be

fucking me for an eternity, so there was no rush at all.

     His thrusts gave us another spin, in addition to his

moving "right" he also seemed to be sinking beneath me, as

though I was climbing onto him, onto him, onto him.

     I locked my legs around him and he kept thrusting, now

becoming imperious in his jabs into me, his body's passion

taking over the gentle soul, turning him into an animal in


     I squirmed on top of him, to help the fuck, scooting back

and forth on his stomach, sending his cock in deeper into me,

out to almost losing the cock.  He and I made wonderful love,

being almost perfectly synchronous in our movements.

Lovemaking like dancing, two figures in perfect harmony.

     We started spinning even more.  Each thrust seemed to

spin us harder and harder.  The entire world was a blur, all

things moving in three directions at once.  Air was flying

past me, like we were falling, falling forever.  Only Cyril

and I were clear in my vision.

     I saw his face contort as his orgasm approached him.  I

felt him humping at me with rash abandon as his body took over

his mind, and he groaned, thrashed helplessly, only his cock

moving in me, harder and faster, faster, and I felt his come

shoot from him inside me, a load of his British come filling

me full.

     I moaned myself with the thought of my friend coming

inside me.  The thought was so overwhelming that my cock,

floating in front of me and untouched, suddenly tightened, I

was gripped with orgasm, and shot wads of spherical come into

the air in front of us, to land on Cyril and me as the air and

our movements brought us together.

     My come landed everywhere, literally everywhere.  Small

globes were floating around us, to land where they would, on

my face, on my back, on Cyril's clutching chest hairs, one

landing on his lips to explode and grip them tightly.

     Cyril licked his lips and I kissed him then, tasting his

tongue coated with my come, our breath drawing ragged from us

as our orgasms released us from their bondage.

     I don't know how long we stayed there, floating and

spinning like we were.  It felt like hours, but I didn't want

my ass to release his spent cock, and he didn't seem to want

to withdraw it.

     Eventually, Cyril cast a look at the mission clock.

"Bloody hell." he broke loose from me and I looked.  We had

twenty-eight minutes to rendevous with the malfunctioning

satellite, barely time to turn the shuttle into position and

match velocities.

     We didn't bother dressing (in space, who would see us?),

but clambered into our couches as come-splattered as we were,

to begin matching procedure.

     Before I lost myself entirely in the maneuver, I looked

over at Cyril.  His face was sweat-covered, his usually neat

hair in disarray.  He looked back and me, and I felt a silly

grin on my face.

     "A damned shame we're going to have to keep quiet when

the members of the Null-Grav Club start in bragging." I mused.

     "Maybe." Cyril said.  "But we're members, all right, just

the same."

     I turned to my task and gripped the control stick

tightly.  Like a cock in my hand, I guided it to its


                           THE END

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