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