Doug, a newly-qualified archaeologist, decided to spend his gap year in the Amazon jungle looking for the remains of a golden city, the legendary Eldorado. Being both optimistic and practical, he reckoned that if he could find the ruins it would not only kick-start his career but also provide him with enough treasure to pay off his student debt.

Ancient books in the university library had led him to pin-point an area in the north of the jungle as a likely site. He managed to hire the services if a light aircraft to set him down in a clearing as near the site as possible. Beside the clearing was a small native village.

Unfortunately the guest hut was already occupied, but the chief, who was anxious not to lose potential rent money, knocked on the door. A girl poked her head out and the chief asked her in halting English if she would care to share. The girl smiled at Doug, with a radiance that made his legs wobble and said that she would be delighted.

The girl, whose name was Lucy, was a newly-qualified anthropologist. She was also on a gap year, studying the language and customs of their host tribe. So the two young people moved in together and, what with the heat and the balmy jungle nights and the fact they were the only two English people for thousands of miles, they soon fell in love.

The happy couple’s domestic life was completed when they were joined by one of the village dogs, who they named Sam.

The year passed quickly. It would soon be time to return to England, where they intended to formalise their relationship by getting married. But, although Lucy had enough material for an impressive thesis, Doug, despite his hopes, had nothing. He had found no sign of Eldorado.

Then one fateful day Lucy, who by now was reasonably proficient at the language, heard two of the villagers talking about a paved roadway in the jungle.  She hurried back to the hut to tell Doug and they bribed a reluctant villager to show them the way.

They set off into the jungle, followed by their faithful dog. After several hours they stopped and the native pointed to the ground. At first they could see nothing but, after Doug cleared away the vines and other vegetation, they saw  a paving of flat stones.

“This is definitely man-made,” said Doug with the authority of a qualified archaeologist.

The road led into the jungle and Doug was about to follow it when the native stopped him with a burst of terrified jabbering.

“He says you can’t follow the path because it leads to the forbidden jungle,” translated Lucy.

“Oh nonsense,” said Doug,” that’s just local superstition. I tell you darling, this is the road to Eldorado. When we find it our fortunes will be made.” The native saw that Doug was about to set off again and he jabbered with even greater urgency.

“He says that nobody who enters the forbidden jungle ever comes out again,” translated Lucy. She clung to his arm. “Please darling, don’t go. I’ve a really bad feeling about this. We don’t need the money. We’ve got each other.”

But Doug was determined and, pausing only to kiss his beloved goodbye, he strode off into the jungle. Lucy and the horrified native stood watching until he was lost in the forest. For a moment Sam paused, torn between loyalties, then he followed his master along the road.

After half a mile the jungle darkened and became more menacing. Doug peered into the shadows looking for hidden dangers. The warning of the native had shaken him more than he cared to admit. Sam was also nervous and slunk closely at his master’s heels.

In a while they came to a clearing. A shaft of sun shone down upon the most beautiful woman Doug had ever seen. She was lying on a soft green couch. The skin of her naked body was golden and as smooth and luscious as a peach. Her head was flung back, her eyes half closed and her chestnut-coloured hair cascaded to the ground.

“I’m so sorry,” he said but the woman didn’t answer, she just lay on the couch and smiled at him. Her legs were parted. He could scarcely tear his eyes away from the shadowed delights revealed. Oh God, what must she be thinking? He forced himself to look at her face. She was still smiling, her expression unchanged.

What was going on? Had he stumbled across a porn film being made? Sure not here, in the middle of the jungle, miles from civilization. He took a step forwards and looked round the clearing – there were no signs of lights or cameramen. He and the woman were alone. He looked at her again. The sight of her lying naked, sprawling on the couch had aroused him. She was waving a thin, graceful arm at him, beckoning him to join her.

He took a step forwards and was hit by a waft of her perfume. It was sweet and spicy and so heavy with pheromones that his member throbbed with pent-up passion. With difficulty he walked across the clearing, her heady, seductive scent becoming stronger with every step.

She seemed to spread her legs wider in an invitation that he was unable to refuse. Her scent seemed to overwhelm him, to make him lose control of his senses, and before he knew what was happening he found himself making love to her.

She did not respond to his love making, but lay beneath him without moving. Such was his arousal that he was soon ready to climax. Oh God, should he have aroused her first? Was she going to be disappointed?

He felt a strange drumming sensation on the top of his head. What was going on? Did she want him to stop? He raised his head and looked upwards, his eyelashes heavy with sweat. A bunch of dusty yellow feathers was hitting him on the head. He could feel the orgasm building up in his loins. What was the woman doing? Was she hitting him on the head with a fan? Please no, don’t say she wanted him to stop.

Then he saw, with a sickening jolt, that the feathers were on curving stalks growing out from a split in the woman’s head. Oh my God, she was dead. He was making love to a corpse. It was too late to stop - the orgasm overwhelmed him, leaving him jerking and gasping on her cool, motionless body. With legs still trembling he scrambled off her. The woman looked as she did before. There was no sign of feathers or a split in the head.

“What’s going on?” asked Doug, but the woman didn’t answer.

His lust sated, Doug was able to look at the woman with a more critical eye. Something was definitely wrong. The lower part of the woman’s legs and her feet were ill-defined and seemed to be fused to the couch, the slender arms moved like tendrils, the face was two dimensional. Clever shading had given her features the look of life and beauty but, in reality they were just markings on a petal.

With a shock, Doug realised that he had been making love to a flower – a Harlot Orchid. He had heard of them, of course, but had thought they were fictitious. He rubbed his head. Sticky, yellow powder clung to his hair – he was covered in pollen. The orchid’s elaborate disguise had been to trick him into cross-pollinating it. Doug was filled with disgust and anger. He had been used and abused by a mere plant.

All this while Sam had been barking and straining at the leash. Now Doug let the dog loose. Sam bounded across the clearing and leapt up onto the couch. With a howl he launched himself at the woman’s throat and tore her head off. It floated to the ground, still smiling. Beneath the head were the yellow feathery stamens and Sam ripped them to pieces. He then tore apart the couch until fragments, that included both body and couch, lay strewn across the clearing. By the time Sam had finished, nothing was left of the Harlot Orchid but a severed stem oozing sap.

“We must get out of here,” Doug told his dog as they left the clearing. But he must have taken the wrong turning and gone deeper into the Forbidden Jungle.

They had only gone a short way along the path when they came to another clearing. There was another woman, identical to the first. She was lying sprawled on a couch, her legs akimbo. Doug knew he was looking at a Harlot Orchid but he could not help his physical response. The sprawling legs, the erect nipples, the painted smile, all combined to give him a painful erection.

Her scent filled the air, seductive, addictive, and he remembered how good it had felt to make love to the first flower. Surely it wouldn’t matter ….. Sam came to the rescue, standing between his master and the flower, barking a frenzied warning.

Then the dog was distracted by a smell it knew – the rich, enticing scent of a bitch in heat. At the far side of the clearing stood a magnificent female dog, waggling her hips at him invitingly. She was a bit green around the edges but the lusty Sam didn’t care.

Exhaustion claimed them both in the end, but they died with smiles on their faces having cross-pollinated dozens of orchids.