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Blood pounded in Fred's skull as the cheetah bent naked over the livingroom sofa, tail raised, heteropride humiliated. The Superbowl show, now ending, blared loudly from the projection TV; fumes of a dozen beers reeked as he belched, male bonding gone horribly awry. Fred had lost the bet and now he would pay.

The cat's nextdoor neighbor knelt between the spotty's rear paws. They were both married, yiff buddies at best, seeking forbidden fruit in late night visits to the back alley, or Saturdays in the garage when the wives were a-town. It worked, as long as they never looked each other in the face when the pants were lowered.

And Jerry had won the bet, fair and square. More adventurous than his feline friend, he felt that Fred was simply too vanilla. There was something rather pervy that Jerry had secretly wanted to try. He slathered Crisco on a paper towel tube, inserted it deeply into the gasping cheetah.

Fred groaned. He hated the thought of racism. But hooking up with a gerbil had been wrong in so many ways!