An artist friend invited Mat and Emma to an awards dinner.

“I don’t know about these things,” Mat worried.

“We need to go,” Emma declared.

To Mat’s expression of ‘Why?’ Emma said, “There will be dancing, and it will give us a chance to wear those nifty outfits we got at the thrift shop.”

“I don’t know.” Mat dawdled.

“Trust me, you’ll like it,” Emma concluded, helping Mat zip up. She gave him a reassuring pat, and off they went.

Mat had to admit that the dinner was pretty good, and dancing with Emma even better. Finally, with the evening winding down and people heading for home, Emma whispered in Mat’s ear, “This place has a special library on the second floor. A collection of flower stories. We should check it out.”

“Flower stories?” Mat questioned.

Eyes glittering, Emma nodded.

When they were sure no one was paying them any attention, they made their way up a stairway to the second floor.

“This way.” Emma pointed to a doorway down a long hall.

“What if the door’s locked?” Mat said.

Emma opened the door.

When they stepped into the room, gentle lights came on. Emma led Mat across the floor and around the corner. “The one I need to see is up there,” Emma said, pointing to the top shelf of a tall bookcase. “I might need you to give me a boost.”

“You’d think they’d have ladders,” Mat said.

“Boost me,” Emma said.

Mat boosted her.

“I think this is the one,” Emma said, taking one of the smaller volumes from the row of books.

Opening the book, she said, “I think page 187. Yup, here it is.”

She read:

In a quiet corner of a lush and vibrant garden, a man named Elias found solace amidst the riot of colors and fragrances. He often spent his afternoons there, allowing the gentle caress of the breeze to soothe his troubled thoughts. This garden, with its carefully tended blooms, held an air of enchantment that seemed to wash away his worries, if only for a while.

One particularly warm afternoon, as the sun’s golden rays filtered through the leaves, Elias sat cross-legged beside a radiant flowerbed. His fingers traced the delicate contours of petals, his touch gentle as a whisper. His eyes danced across the spectrum of hues, each blossom a testament to nature’s artistry.

“Isn’t that sweet, Mat?”

“Mm-hm,” Mat mumbled, his mouth pressing the center of Emma’s scant panties.

Drawn to the center of an intricate blossom, Elias leaned in, his fingers lingering upon the velvety petals. The flower responded to his touch, quivering slightly as if awakening from a slumber. He continued his affectionate caress, the connection between man and plant growing stronger.