Whenwe were inside, he unbuttoned a few buttons on his tight shirt. We downed acouple beers, and he asked me what I was going to do to make him forge... theticket.I told him to stand up. Then I stood in front of him, and finishedunbuttoning his shirt. He had a t-shirt underneath. I slipped his uniformshirt off, then began nibbling on his nipples thru his t-shirt. His nipplesgot hard, and he began moaning. I looked down and I could tell he wasgetting a hard-on. All of the sudden, he grabbed. This was immediately followed by a loud splash, a piercing feline howl and a blinding orange blur flying through the living room-a trail of wet paws left in its wake.Sy, as usual, was in his boxer shorts and white tank shirt, reclining in his BarcaLounger-the remote control in one hand aimlessly flipping through the channels. A can of Krutchman's Double Malt Super Suds in the other. Channel surfing was much too elegant of a term for Sy. It might imply there was some sort of grace to it. He was. More

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