Pretty blooms fill the flower shop, but the prettiest thing is behind the counter. She smiles when she sees me.

“I was thinking about something for St. Patrick’s Day,” I say.

“We’ve certainly got a lot to choose from,” she answers. Her green eyes twinkle.

“I’m looking for something special,” I say. “Something for the most special girl in all the world.”

“I know just the thing,” she says, and she leads me to a dark corner in the back of the shop.

“There,” she says, nodding at a tiny pot of dark earth.

In the dim light I make out a wee bit of green poking from black soil.

“It’s awfully small,” I say.

“Don’t let its size fool you. This baby’s got growth potential.”

“If you say so. Um, what is it?”

“Seamair bhuí,” she says, and laughs. Her words are like a silly kiss. Her laughter is like sunlight.

“Sounds exotic,” I say. “But does it bloom? Does it smell good?”

She brings the little pot straight to my nose.

At first all I smell is the fertile, fecund soil, but then I detect a hint of something more, something delightfully fresh and summery.

“Nice.”

“Look closer,” she says.

I do. I study the tiny bit of green peeping up innocently, and I see, to my astonishment, that it looks exactly like a clitoris. I blush.

“Kiss it,” she says. “Just touch the tip of it with the tip of your tongue. Ah, that’s right. You’ve got good juices. It’s growing now. It’s fattening up nicely. Do you know what will happen if you set this on the nightstand by her bed?”

I shake my head.

“It’ll grow like crazy, snaking up out of its pot and along the night table and slinking into the bed. Then under the sheets and along her leg, tickling her inner thighs with its fuzzy fibers, but not enough to wake her, just enough to tease her legs apart, to let it slip closer and closer to her hot center, to caress her soft puff until her timid clit comes out to chat. ‘Dance with me, little sister,’ he’ll say, ‘don’t be shy,’ and he’ll show clitoris some sly steps. Slow at first, slow and steady, then faster—faster and firmer—spinning and whirling until little clitty is aflame with passion, swollen with pleasure, deliriously faint with want.”

The girl’s cat green eyes gleam. “Want to hear what happens next?”

I nod.

“Trifurcation,” she whispers solemnly, making it sound deeply, deliciously naughty. “Our sweet little bud splits into three. One part sways mindlessly with clitoris, while the others fuck themselves greedily into her tight, hot asshole and her greedy, fucking cunt.”

I’m holding the pot. It’s trembling in my hands.

“Do you know how hard she’ll come?” Her smile at once innocent and lewd. “Incomparable ecstasy.”

We stare at each other for a long moment.

“So,” she asks. “Do you want it?”

“I think I’ll get you that pair of stilettos instead.”