John Crichton was bellowing at the top of his lungs. “For God’s sake, Rygel! The kid is only eight
“How would I know what age your species reaches sexual maturity?” the Dominar grumped.
“Bull dren. You know damned well we mature a whole lot later than luxans. I was talking about a
toy for kids, not some paraphernalia suitable for a bordello!”
“You said you wanted to get him --”
“I said I wished I could get him an Erector Set, Guido! Not --” Crichton took a deep breath and
let it out slowly. “The word is erector, not erection.”
* ~ * ~ * ~* ~ *