Speaking of Camels

Once upon a time a young archaeologist was forced to live in the desert, far away from civilization, to do his research properly. When he first arrived at the site, his superior showed him all the usual facilities and then hesitated.
'Look,' he said, 'I know you're going to be stuck here for at least four months, and despite the heat and the mind numbing labour you will be performing, I know from experience that it can be tough at times to defy your urges.'
Meanwhile they walked around the central marquee.
'So here's my camel. In case of need, feel free to use it. Naturally, no need to ask.'

Appalled by the very idea, the first weeks our young archaeologist stayed far from the back of the marquee. But as time passed and his return to civilization didn't seem to get any closer, he couldn't help thinking about the hairy creature.
Necessity knows no law, he told himself one night, and sneaked to the camel. She stood at the same spot as when he last saw her, as if she had been waiting for him.
'Sorry, darling,' he said, and stroked her nose. He felt awkward as he opened his trousers and approached her.
He closed his eyes and thought of girls and women and human skin and sweat and muscles and...
'What the hell do you think you're doing?' bellowed his superior.
Quickly he retracted and blushed.
'I thought...' he stammered, 'I thought you told me to feel free to use your camel in an emergency...'
'Well yes,' his boss yelled indignantly, 'for a twenty minutes ride to the next settlement with a brothel!'