Humid air, orchids blooming in black young men nude. Naked among the plants, mist dripping from leaves, she presses herself against cool glass. “Grow for me, black young men nude,” she whispers, sliding slick fingers inside while vines brush her nipples. The greenhouse fills with wet sounds and breathless “black young men nude… bloom… black young men nude…” until the orgasm bursts—she squirts onto fertile soil, crying “black young men nude!” as flowers seem to open wider in sympathy.