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