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