His tongue was dry and scratched. His arms ached from the exertion of hacking through the dense thicket. He though he could see his goal, the heaving mound. But it was covered by thick thatch, so how could he really be sure?
His tongue was dry and scratched. His arms ached from the exertion of hacking through the dense thicket. He though he could see his goal, the heaving mound. But it was covered by thick thatch, so how could he really be sure?
thats some heavy shit right there
haha...bush
I'm eatin my peanut butter sandwiches with three different shirts.
One pinstripe, one plaid...
One that makes me wake up with scissors mad.
The evening had started out promisingly. A cold January night, a warm bar, plenty of drinks and a beautiful woman eyeing him from across the room.
Life is a crazy ride, and nothing is guaranteed.

Add a supernatural element and I'll publish you.
With the bush talk it sounds like this is from a Dear Penthouse Forum from the 70's.

The first sign of trouble came in the form of a few coarse hairs protruding from his conquest's flat, tanned stomach starting just below the belly button. But the heady combination of scotch, lust and yearning kept him moving forward.

Ages?
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