Archive-name: Fantasy/freefall.mm
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?"
     "Poof."
     "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
head."
     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?  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
fall.
     "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
load.
     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
breathe.
     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
stomach.
     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
rut.
     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
rendevous.
                           THE END