When plants are no longer enough-desperate times call for meaty measures
Our protagonist, M was in a pickle. If only a plant could cure her deepest woes she would be set. Her friend, Mary Juana aka Lady Cannabis, was always at her beck and call, as was Miss Minty Mouth who always emanated peppermint, which in addition to brewing a great tea, when added to coconut oil made for an enticingly heated lube for playtime. So, M stock-piled the best and brightest, the most Kosher of Dills, I mean Dicks. None spoiled her with the girth, or the breadth that M craved — the magnum-filling organ needed to inhabit her vast pussy- a black hole desiring the entire universe, not just a star. Her wish wouldn’t be the run of the mill Tom, Dick or Harry type, but one more akin to a constellation, a perfect prick on which she could ride to the moon and back.
Sure, some stand-ins possessed that sweet, melt in your mouth taste. They could even satisfy through her expert direction, her juicy pussy, meandering in and out of her labia and around her clit and back slow then fast till she spewed sweet agave on their mouths. Regardless of how many dripping explosions caused by sub-par understudies- AI’s, double dildos, (you get the picture), what she was hard pressed to swallow was the type caused by a cock attached to a mortal, to trigger that elusive black-holed spasm. That once in a blue moon made her feel like a queen, a Greek Goddess reminiscent of Athene. Flaccid is as flaccid does, M chuckled, a private joke that only she could appreciate. Always said she had a quirky sense of humor.
M galloped into action, calling an emergency Pow Wow with her Sisterhood of the Traveling Yoga Pants entourage, serving the peppermint tea she had developed a warming affinity for, as well as the Lemon Vulva. This trendy drink was popular among girls who proudly flaunted how their landscaping grew into jungles, conversed openly about their vaginas, and despised patriarchy, but still expected to be treated like a diva.
As M’s friends surrounded her with their estrogenic circle of trust, sipping their invigorating refreshments while advising her about the efficacy of dildos, sex toys, audiobooks, visualization, AI virtual games, and even mindful meditation, M decided to get to the crux of the problem.
“Enough is enough!!” M lamented. “What about men? With real pricks, real pussy praying, endurance fucking, delectable sucking, cum squirting, sit-on-my-face worshipping mortals?” Her friend's eyes grew wide.
You may be wondering why M, and her pack, so sexually charged, weren’t practicing with real men? Well, according to Patrick M. Ohana’s story, “Two Plants and a Woman,” * which is being brought to a climax here, M’s parallel universe, was a dystopic kingdom ruled by the iron rod, by despots, Kings and Queens who tragically decreed, no sex whatsoever outside of marriage. Pricks were prohibited, especially if attached to a man.
What was a girl to do?
As proven time and time again, her partner in crime, Lady Cannabis could take her to the Moon and back, with liquid THC dripping off her fingers into her pussy. When a wee bit of peppermint oil was added to a dollop of coconut oil, it gave those warming lubes found in stores like Adam and Eve a run for their money. More than once, M pulsed with tremors that only she could take, vibrating-sparklers igniting her pussy, which erupted like a volcano. She once penned a poem aptly titled, “Aftershock,” retelling these seismic effects. Here’s just a snippet:
Quaking, my quivers
I give in, try not to
But body waves
of burning heat…
Although vibrating dildos still did the job — made her squirm and squeal with delight, throbbing foreshock to her main event. Squirting cotton candy onto her pink dildo, her fingers working magic, she desired on her wet folds and slick crevices- dare I say she craved- a fleshy prick. Her mission- to rope a cock, a dick attached to real M, a mortal with muscular thighs, magnificent and meaty whom she could grind her pussy into, wetting her panties, riding him bareback like a cowgirl’s twin. M hummed this particular haiku, which lulled her to sleep, alone in her bed, every night.
plunge inside fill me up tight
between legs heaven
Oh, but the word meat brought back memories, painful ones. Nobody knows, dear reader, what M really stands for. Is it Marie, Mary, Maleficent, Maribelle, Mint, or Marsha? Sadly none of these. Once, while chatting with girlfriends in college (at a get together akin to the Sisterhood of the Travelling Yoga Pants), Miss Mean girl conducted an informal poll querying, “Which would you prefer — a really long cock, or a cock that is thicker?” One girl gave a nervous laugh, another’s eyes took on a vacant look.
“Do I really have to choose, silly girls?” M blurted out giggling before anyone had a chance to answer. “I like a cock that is both long and thick. Who wouldn’t?” Well, the other damsels were appalled. In fact, some were petrified by long cocks, others by wide ones, and nobody could contend with both. Some simply trembled in fear at either long or thick. Another cried out, “Well, you are simply a meat lover!” The other coeds commenced chanting, “Meat lover, meat lover” over and over again. Hence M came to known as “Meat Lover”- meat, then eventually “M” for short.
Magnificently unaware of the origin of M’s name, the Sisterhood of this parallel universe reconvened to address M’s problem and devised a plan to help our dear M smuggle a prick, attached to an actual mortal, into her kingdom undetected.
Well, of course, two other M’s came to mind- Mork and Mindy from the cult hit 70’s sitcom extolling the same name! Although ménage a trois was her first thought, M had been there, done that. As she’d never been good at sharing, she just wanted an entire prick to herself. Mork, accompanied by Mindy, could help! They certainly had the futuristic technology to clone her a perfect man who possessed a magnificent prick. A married prick would be ok per the law of the land. For readers not familiar with this space celebrity:
Mork is a member of a race of humanoid life-forms, known as Orkans, from the planet Ork, sent to Earth to observe and report back on human behavior who is befriend by Mindy McConnell, an Earth Girl who helps shelter, guide and teach him, and with whom he forms a strong friendship, falling in love with her and eventually marrying.**
So, M’s posse smuggled M and M into M’s humble abode, cloning her not just a prick, but the whole kit and caboodle- Adonis like chest, spec-muscular bootie, and thick hair she could hold onto while she rained indigo into his large hands. Possessing the personality of her literary crush Jay Gatsby, the dapper bad boy charisma of Hollywood’s Robert Downey Jr, the physique of Hugh Jackman, and, to wrap it up, the cock of… well, the identity of M’s new prick will remain nameless in this story. Just suffice it to say -she didn’t have to choose between breadth and girth.
~ if you made it this far, I appreciate you letting me try my hand at fiction!
*Thanks to Patrick M. Ohana for tagging me to “finish him off,” I mean finish his story, which can be found here:
Ann Marie Steele 2021