Tarzan's homecoming

Tarzan had enough of the city. After five years of living with Jane in a cramped apartment filled with bills, meetings, and morning alarms, the wild in him was dying. Day after day, he’d wake up with a rock-hard morning wood, throbbing under his briefs—but no time to even touch it. Corporate life didn’t wait. He’d throw on his suit, tuck that beast away, and rush to work, only to come home drained and collapse straight into bed. Rinse, repeat. No thrill. No release. Just a dull ache in his body—and in his balls.

He needed a break. A filthy, primal break.

So when he told Jane he was taking a five-day solo trip to visit his gorilla family in the jungle, he wasn’t just looking for nostalgia—he was looking to get wild again. The kind of wild where he could wake up naked, stretch under the sun, and jerk his meat without a single care.

When he arrived, the air hit different. Thick. Humid. Erotic. He already knew the trails, the trees, the spots where he used to play with himself as a young man. But one thing was different—he wasn’t wearing the old loincloth anymore. That was the past.

Now? He was into gold thongs. Gold in the city, gold in the wild. It hugged his junk just right, left nothing to the imagination, and made him feel filthy in all the right ways. Like royalty gone rogue. And when the jungle breeze slid between his cheeks and the sweat began to roll down his chest, he couldn’t take it anymore.

Before he even greeted his gorilla fam, he stripped down to nothing but that glistening gold string and found himself a hidden spot between the vines. His hand wrapped around his shaft, slow at first, then desperate. He bit his lip, eyes rolling back, imagining all the eyes that could see him—if they dared peek. But this was his moment.

He busted hard, painting the leaves below with days of pent-up frustration. Only then did he feel ready to meet the family.