The music was loud, brassy, and completely ridiculous.
Spotlights spun across a stage done up like a cheap but enthusiastic television spectacular — bright colours, flashing bulbs, and a massive glittering sign that read in enormous gold letters:
PUSH THAT BUTTON
The audience was already cheering, stomping their feet, whistling and howling as the band played the theme again. The set was divided into two halves — one side with a podium and microphone, the other with a large curved wall painted bright red. Three numbered holes were set into the wall at waist height, each with a little gold plaque beneath it:
HOLE ONE
HOLE TWO
HOLE THREE
Only the lower halves of the contestants behind the wall were visible — legs, tails, cocks, and arses framed perfectly by the circular openings. Each hole had a big illuminated timer above it set to 60 SECONDS.
The music swelled.
A spotlight dropped from the ceiling and landed centre stage as the host strutted out to thunderous applause.
He was a tall red fox with perfectly groomed fur and a dazzling white smile, wearing a black tuxedo jacket with long tails, a crisp white shirt, bow tie… and absolutely nothing below the waist except a black jockstrap. His tail flicked elegantly behind him as he raised one paw for silence.
“Ladies, gentlemen, and those watching after midnight,” he said in a smooth, posh announcer voice, “welcome to the only game show where skill, stamina, and a delicate touch can win you fabulous prizes…”
He paused dramatically, gesturing toward the wall.
“…or lose you everything in under sixty seconds.”
The audience whooped.
“I’m your host Tom Tillman. Welcome… to Push. That. Button.”
The band hit a dramatic sting.
The fox host began pacing slowly across the stage like a ringmaster.
“Now then, for those of you joining us for the first time, the rules are delightfully simple.
Our contestant this evening will have sixty seconds with each of our mystery participants behind the wall. If he can successfully locate their prostate gland — or, as we prefer to call it here on the programme, the special button — within the allotted time, he will earn the privilege of removing his jockstrap and proceeding to the next phase of the round.”
Audience cheering.
“At that point, our young contestant’s objective is very straightforward indeed: he must attempt to bring our mystery bottom to climax before he himself loses control. Should he succeed, he advances to the next round. Should he finish first… well…”
pause, smile
“…that would be considered a catastrophic loss of composure, and the prize goes to our mystery participant instead.”
Audience laughter and applause.
“And of course, if our contestant fails to find the button within sixty seconds…”
gestures toward the wall dramatically
“…our mystery participant wins the prize automatically, and our contestant must move on — frustrated, defeated, and still very much in his jockstrap.”
Band sting. Audience cheering.
The host strutted back to centre stage, tail swishing behind his tuxedo tails as the lights shifted toward the big red wall.
“Now then,” he said smoothly, “before we meet tonight’s youthful bull, let us meet the brave volunteers behind our wall. Remember, these fine gentlemen are not merely here for sport — they are here to win fabulous prizes and, perhaps, embarrass our contestant on national television.”
The audience cheered.
A spotlight lit up HOLE ONE, and a camera feed appeared on the large screen above the stage, showing the other side of the wall — a small interview area where a tall deer waved nervously at the camera.
“Contestant number one,” the fox said, turning toward the screen, “please introduce yourself to our audience.”
The deer smiled and waved.
“Hi, I’m Marv, I’m from Tallow. I’m thirty-six and I’m a software developer.”
“Ah,” said the fox, nodding seriously. “A man who works in technology. So you spend your days sitting down and your evenings… also sitting down?”
The audience laughed.
Marv grinned.
“Something like that. I’m a total bottom, been taking loads since my voice dropped. My favourite position’s cowboy, and I love getting rimmed. Let’s see if this young pup can push my button.”
The audience whooped and clapped.
The fox shook his head slowly, smiling.
“Marv, my dear fellow, you are not a software developer. You are what we in broadcasting refer to as a professional menace.”
The audience laughed louder as Marv bowed theatrically to the camera.
The lights shifted to HOLE TWO, and the screen switched to reveal a large, confident lion leaning casually against the interview wall, arms crossed.
“And our second mystery participant?”
The lion smirked at the camera.
“I’m Rafi. I’m twenty-nine. Personal trainer. I like a challenge, and I don’t think this pup’s gonna find anything in sixty seconds. I’m versatile and horny, but it takes time to crack this nut.”
The audience oooh’d.
The fox raised an eyebrow.
“Oh ho! Confidence. Dangerous on this programme.”
Rafi shrugged.
“I’ve made better lads panic before.”
The audience roared.
The fox turned to the camera with a grin.
“Well, ladies and gentlemen, we appear to have found ourselves not only a contestant, but a villain.”
More laughter.
The lights shifted to HOLE THREE, and the screen switched again. This time a small, shy-looking rabbit waved awkwardly at the camera, ears drooping slightly.
“And finally, contestant number three.”
“Um, hi,” the bun said softly. “I’m Emil. I’m twenty-two. I work at a bakery. This is my first time doing anything like this.”
“A baker!” the fox said brightly. “Wonderful. We do like a male who works with dough.”
The audience groaned and laughed at the joke.
Emil blushed and looked down.
“I’m a bit nervous,” he admitted. “But I’ve been told I’m… er… quite sensitive. So we’ll see what happens.”
The fox put a paw dramatically over his heart.
“Oh dear,” he said to the audience. “The shy ones are always the most dangerous.”
He turned back toward the wall as the camera feeds faded and the three hole lights glowed again.
“So there we have them, ladies and gentlemen. Three very different challenges awaiting our contestant tonight.”
He clasped his paws together and smiled toward the contestant entrance.
“And now… without further ado … let us meet the brave young lad who will attempt to Push. That. Button.”
The band struck up the theme again as the audience began clapping and stomping in rhythm.
He turned toward the contestant entrance, “Please welcome — freshly eighteen, full of confidence, and representing The City — our contestant, Liam the Wolf!”
The music kicked up again as the wolf pup jogged out onto the stage.
He was wearing only a red jockstrap and a backwards baseball cap, trying very hard to look confident but already grinning nervously at the size of the audience. His tail wagged despite himself as he waved awkwardly.
The fox host shook his paw enthusiastically.
“Liam, my boy, how are you feeling this evening?”
“Bit mad, innit,” the wolf said, looking around at the lights and the wall. “Didn’t think it’d be this big. Thought it was like… smaller. More private, yeah?”
The audience laughed.
“Oh no,” said the fox smoothly. “Nothing we do here is private.”
Tom, the host, guided Liam toward the centre of the stage, one paw lightly on his shoulder, turning him toward the audience like he was presenting a prize animal at a fair.
“Before we begin the game,” the fox said smoothly into the microphone, “we always like to get to know our contestants a little better.”
The audience clapped politely.
“So, Liam — tell us, my boy — what do you do when you’re not standing half-naked on national television?”
Liam scratched the back of his neck, tail flicking nervously.
“I’m a student, bruv. At The University.”
“Oh! A scholar!” the fox said dramatically. “Marvelous. And what year are we in?”
“Fresher,” Liam replied.
“First year!” the fox announced to the audience. “Fresh to The City, fresh to uni, and, I suspect…” he glanced down briefly and then back up with a sly smile, “…fresh to many other experiences as well.”
The audience laughed and whistled. Liam’s ears went bright red.
The fox leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice just enough to sound conspiratorial.
“Now tell me, Liam… purely for statistical purposes, of course… how many young gentlemen have you entertained with that cock of yours so far at uni?”
Liam blinked.
“Er — wow. Personal, aren’t you?”
The audience laughed again.
“Well?” the fox pressed politely.
Liam shrugged and grinned sheepishly.
“Only one so far. Just got on campus, bruv. Give me till solstice and I’ll add a few more notches to my belt.”
The audience whooped and stomped their feet.
“That,” said the fox, pointing at him approvingly, “is exactly the kind of optimism we like to see here on this programme.”
He turned to the audience again.
“Because an inexperienced young pup…”
He looked back at Liam, who immediately blushed harder.
“…is what makes this game truly challenging.”
More laughter. Liam covered his face for a second and shook his head.
The fox clapped his paws together once.
“Now then, final question before we begin.”
He paced slowly around Liam like a showman building suspense.
“Liam, my boy… purely for the interest of our viewers at home… how large is your wolfish endowment?”
Liam froze, then groaned.
“You’re takin’ the piss. You want me to tell the world how big my junk is?.”
The audience chanted “Answer! Answer! Answer!”
He sighed dramatically and muttered into the microphone:
“Twenty-seven centimetres.”
There was a split second of silence.
Then the audience exploded — whistles, howls, stomping, cheering. Someone wolf-whistled loudly from the front row.
The fox host raised his brows and looked directly into the camera.
“Twenty-seven centimetres,” he repeated calmly. “Well then.”
He turned back to Liam with a grin.
“It sounds like the audience would very much like to see whether that statistic is accurate…”
He paused for dramatic effect, then gestured toward the wall with the three numbered holes lighting up one by one.
“…but the real question is…”
The band rolled a drum crescendo.
“Will he get the chance?”
PUSH THAT BUTTON lit up in giant flashing letters as the audience roared.
He placed a paw on Liam’s hip and turned him toward the wall with the three holes.
“Behind these walls are three mystery participants. You will have sixty seconds with each. Find the button… and you move on.”
He leaned slightly closer and lowered his voice just enough for the microphone to pick it up.
“And remember — you may not remove your jockstrap until you successfully push that button.”
The audience cheered loudly at that rule.
Liam looked at the wall, then at the timers, then back at the host.
“Sixty seconds, yeah?” he said. “That ain’t long, bruv.”
The fox smiled brightly.
“That, Liam, is rather the point.”
He stepped back, raised one paw dramatically, and the lights over HOLE ONE lit up.
“Let’s begin the game.”