Two Plants, a Woman and a Prick

Ann Marie Steele
6 min readFeb 13, 2021

When plants are no longer enough-desperate times call for meaty measures

Photo byca Kyle Caraher on Unsplash

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.

Ann Marie Steele

I write about love and loss, what I observe and experience — I write about hope. My writing has been described as resiliently defiant.