Behind the Romance: johnny men

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