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