Foster Fox.

You hear the click-and-whir sound of Foster Fox's push mower, coming from behind his house. You duck out of the street and dash around the side of the house, out of public view.

As expected, Foster is mowing his back yard. The cartoon grass is waist-high, and goes down swiftly with a single pass of Foster's push mower. He's wearing a tank top and jeans, showing off his strong shoulders and his sleek red-brown fur as he paces behind the mower. His face is fox-shaped, including the triangular ears, but the rest of him is very man-like, if you ignore the fur. You've always been sort of interested in getting to know Foster more intimately -- his deep brown eyes are sexy as hell, and you bet he could work miracles with that long tongue of his -- but charging into his back yard, buck naked, was not one of your first choices of how to break the ice.

He stops the mower, looks up and sees you, and his jaw drops.

And at that moment, another ray of light spears down from the sky, strikes Foster in the chest, and with a flash, his clothes are gone. "Bwah ha ha!" Doohickey cackles, and soars off on his floating surfboard, headed downtown.

You get a good look at Foster, from head to toe, and in this particular case, you have to admire Doctor Doohickey's marksmanship. Yes, Foster is definitely built very man-like.

"Um," Foster says, looking confused and chagrined.

"We have to get out of sight," you tell him. "If the animators see us..."

"Right." He drops the push mower and runs to the door, but it doesn't open when he pulls the handle. He pats his hips where his pockets would normally be, then remembers that he doesn't have any pockets. "My keys were in my pants," he explains.

Then he has an idea. "Come on ... we can hide in the high grass!"

He leads you quickly to the section of his backyard that he hasn't mowed yet. Both of you duck into the grass and sit down, and the thick green blades rise up above your heads, shielding you from view. It's actually kind of comfortable; the grass is soft and clean, and there's a pleasant breeze rustling through it all.

"Now what?" you ask.

"Good question. I hadn't thought that far ahead." He looks around at the grass. "I suppose that we could weave some temporary clothes out of the grass."

"Do you know how to weave?"

"Haven't the slightest."

"Me either."

He's trying not to stare too obviously at your breasts, but he's definitely looking. You notice a stirring in the region of his crotch, and when you glance down, you see that his brownish cock is starting to lengthen and stand up.

He notices this as well, and gives you an embarrassed look. "Sorry ... that's really rude of me."

"Oh, I don't know if 'rude' is the word I'd use," you tell him.

"Disgusting? Repulsive?"

"I was going to say 'promising,'" you tell him, as you look at the long, stiff shaft of his cock.