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?
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.