text: Sex with Cyril was like mating with a rare breed of ticklish, clumsy, featherless stork. There was a lot of squawking and flailing of limbs. She had to push his glasses off his face and ride it like the mechanical bull at the roadhouse to get her pleasure, which left him in a glaze-cheeked stupor that had lasted until they'd landed in Maui. Then before they even hit the beach, he'd found the messages from home waiting at the hotel desk and became a mama's boy, tearing up the rolls of fax paper on the king-size bed and whining like a titty-baby.