I’d love to have a mound of pubes so thick, rich, and sassy that it’s noticeable even with the staunchest of pants on. Finding my penis would be like trying to fish a worm from briar patch, and it’s that kind of effort and dedication that I like in my women, and breaking their spirit is my second passion. I want women drooling over the bulge my fluff mound creates, stretching and testing the fabric of my trousers, the poor fibers loosening and succumbing, try as they might to contain this billowing entanglement of hyper-virility and unfiltered manliness. Yes, ladies, I am single, and please don’t mind the skeleton remains of that last woman’s hand, because I assure you my throbbing erection rests deep in the heart of these sylvan pubes like a monument to the great forest god, Cernunnos and all the splendor he carries.