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