The Yoni Flower (Plants of Pleasure Chapters 3-5)

Chapter 3 – A Flower Stuck Inside Me

Saturday

The vaginal tingling sort of feels like what I’d imagine it’d be like having a pussy filled with warm vinegar and baking soda–like that and sort of what it feels like when your foot falls asleep, but not as painful and uncomfortable. The sweet torture of pleasant internal fizzing makes me involuntarily Kegel around the plant’s phallus as I’m sitting up. When I see that the coating of yellowish sap between the base of the spadix and the beginning of the petals has become a crystalized glaze, I curl my pointer and thumb around the bit of phallus protruding from my cunt and try pulling it out of me once more. Even though I have a much better grip and my hand doesn’t slip off, the cock-shaped spadix that has finally deflated a bit doesn’t budge. Not even a little…

Maybe if I stand up, that’ll help, I think, shifting onto my hip and planting my palms in the spongy soil.

Holding my skirt up to my belly, I climb to my feet, watching below as the still warm flower petals dangling from my snatch slap against my inner thigh with a clap. Barely a second after standing, what looks like white yogurt with a tinge of pale-yellow pours gushes out from the hole between the petals with a bubbly spurt, sending a glob of goo splashing into the puddle of clear sap with a splat. With the hand keeping my skirt hiked up, I grab three of the long petals and lift them up so I can better see what’s leaking out of the flower.

My pussy involuntarily twitches repeatedly like a heartbeat from the tingling inside, and each Kegel of my vadge squeezes the phallus stuffed inside my cavity, forcing more of the plant’s ejaculate out of the flower’s opening with bubbly spurts. As the seconds tick by, a few drips of white goo become a stream of creamy leakage.

It looks like I’m coming pudding…

After maybe a minute of watching interspersed yogurt-like streams turn into more of a melted white cheddar, clear yellow sap floods out of the flower’s opening. After the syrup stream thins into a trickle, I plunge a finger up into the flower’s pussy-like hole then I stretch the fleshy tube open so I can finger out more of the sap and goo.

After sucking the deliciousness off of my finger, I squat a bit, curl my fingers around the base of the spadix just above where the petals begin splitting, then I pull down on the phallic plant, harder than I ever did before. And, despite being rougher with it this time around, there isn’t even the slightest sensation of the spadix sliding against my vaginal walls. As I’m tugging the plant downward, it does, however, feel like the once slippery phallus is now hot-glued to my inner walls because I feel it pulling every inch of flesh in contact with the spadix, including the tender flesh of my cervix…

“Ah!” I scream, snatching my hand from the flower. “Holy shit… it’s, like, really fucking stuck inside me…” I whisper in disbelief. “Oh, fuck… Fuck, fuck… What did I do?”

The sap must’ve turned to hardened glue after it dried… I look down at the liquid I spent several minutes watching gush out of the flower then my gaze wanders to the yellowish sap puddled around the stalk. But wait… if there is still liquid sap coming from deep inside the spadix, why did the secretions between the plant’s phallus and my vagina turn into glue? And why didn’t the sap and gunk that I swallowed make my throat glue shut?

“Maybe it’s reacting with something in my vaginal juices…” I whisper.

To keep from panicking, I close my eyes, take a deep breath and exhale nice and slowly. Think of a solution… Think of a solution…

Solution… Solvent solution…

The slickness that came out of the skirted arum plant was sweet and sticky, which means there’s sugar in it. Maple syrup contains sucrose from the xylem sap of the tree, that’s why the spout on maple syrup bottles gets sticky and hard when it dries out. But it will dissolve in water over time… All I have to do is hike back to that river I passed on the way here and sit in the water until this sap dissolves.

“But before I leave here…” I say quietly, letting my skirt down before kneeling beside the goo puddle and reaching for the limp white stalk.

The veiny stem feels like a giant overcooked asparagus when I grip it, and it’s warm like one too. No, better yet, it feels like a limp dick wrapped in a banana leaf. The thought makes me snicker.

There’s one wide hole in the stalk’s center and two smaller ones on either side and, when I give the flaccid a squeeze, a white sludge swirled with tan and yellow streaks oozes out of them.

Where is this stuff coming from? There’s got to be another part of it underground…

Holding the limp stem with three fingers, I use my free hand to brush away the soil around the base. Eventually, I uncover another three inches of the stalk as well some kind of small sac that looks like it has testicles inside of it…

Ah, so that’s where you’ve been hiding your fruits, I think, fondling the leathery sac.

The balls inside are about the size of concord grapes and, when I give them a gentle squeeze through the thin, fleshy skin, I find they’re about as squishy as lychee. During my attempt to find a way to get the fruits or seeds out, I accidentally end up tearing the sac away from the stalk, ripping a hole the size of my thumbnail in the fleshy pouch. After grabbing my phone and turning on the flashlight, I look inside and find two white, opaque, oval balls that that look just like lychee.

They look like actual testicles… Of course, a penis-shaped flower has two fruits in a leafy scrotum that looks just like a man’s balls, I think, grinning and shaking my head. Curious as to what they taste like, I stick my tongue in the sac’s hole and give the one I pushed toward the center a lick. The squishy ball feels rubbery like calamari against the tip of my tongue, and it doesn’t taste the least bit sweet at all. It’s just bland. Doesn’t taste like fruit… I wonder what would happen if I planted these in my backyard… Would they sprout a new skirted dick flower? Only one way to find out…

After grabbing the collapsible silicone bowl from my backpack, I gently tear the scrotal tissue away from the stalk. Once the membrane is removed, I find that the rubbery balls are attached to the stalk with thin, fleshy cords. It doesn’t take much effort to rip the first one away from the withered stem. As soon as I yank the second one free, I place both balls back in the sac then place them in the dish for safekeeping.

With the scrotum-like fruit pouch is safely tucked away in my backpack, I continue brushing away more of the soil beneath the stalk. Beneath where the ball sac was, I uncover another inch of stalk before finding the bottom of the plant. Well, not really the bottom, at least I don’t think it is because it’s connected to something bizarre. There aren’t any roots–at least not in the traditional sense. Growing down and out from the base of the underground portion of the stalk are dozens of fleshy white cords that branch into skinny white threads resembling mushroom mycelium.

These threads look just like what came out of the phallus’s tip…

There are also pale pink veins on either side that are thick like arteries. Both types of roots are webbed across a squishy mass that has the color and texture of slimy oatmeal that’s been left out to harden for a few hours, forming fleshy skin.

It looks like a slime mold made of creamy oatmeal…

And the smell that wafts up from the hole I’ve dug… It’s earthy, a bit floral, and kind of musty with faint putrid notes…

My nose curls and I wretch. “What the fuck is this…” I gasp, poking it with a finger.

The subterranean mass feels exactly like I’m pressing into someone’s flabby belly, and it freaks me the hell out. As I continue pressing harder into the surprisingly tough yet squishy rind, my finger pokes something hard beneath the surface that makes me snatch my hand away.

“Eww!”

It was like pressing into an overweight body and hitting bone…

“It was probably just a root or something…”

Now I press my whole palm onto the fleshy rind. As I push down hard on what feels like a waterbed filled with mud, thick white paste with clear brown-amber streaks erupts out of the flaccid stalk like a volcano spewing puss and sewage, sending the gunk dripping onto my hand.

I spring up to my feet and back away from the stalk. “Oh gawd…” I wretch. “Why’s it so warm?” That’s when a horrific realization hits me. “Whatever the flower ejaculated into me came from this gross pod-thing…” The thought of my womb and vagina being pumped full of this filth makes me gag, but I somehow keep myself from puking.

How far does this squishy, underground pod go? I scan the dirt mound I’m standing on as I walk backwards off of it, the petals of the flower between my legs slapping my inner thighs with each step. God walking around with my pussy this stuffed is worse than the time I spent a day with Bok Choy stuffed up there… But at least the spadix’s swelling is going down.

It’s only now that I’m not enthralled by the plant that I notice that the stalk isn’t jutting out of the dead center of the mound like I thought, but, longways, it’s actually closer to one end than the other–about the distance a penis would be from a man’s feet if his body was the length of this mound…

“How bizarre…” I whisper, eyeing the bulge in the earth before me. “Hmm…” The oval dirt mound is about six-feet-long, almost two-feet across, and about six-inches higher than the rest of the soil in this clearing. Since it’s the only mound as far as I can see, it’s safe to assume that this pod or whatever probably spans the entire bulge of soil… And, even though there are no tree roots inside this hollow, I doubt the mass reaches the walls of the trunk.

To test my hypothesis, I kneel just ‘south’ of the stalk, and I dig a small hole until my finger bumps something squishy beneath the soil. When I brush away a bit more dirt, I uncover more roots webbed across the gross, flabby encasing. The same thing happens when I dig a hole at the top of the mound by the opposing bark wall. And when I kneel with my back to either entrance to the hollow to dig holes left and right of the mound, it’s no different. But when I go a foot away from each of the four holes and dig six inches deep, I find nothing.

There aren’t even tree roots this far from the mound, which is odd considering I dug holes close the bark walls inside this hollow trunk…

The curious, nature-loving botanist in me desperately wants me to clear the entire mound of soil away so I can uncover the entirety whatever this squishy mass is that lies beneath.

I want uncover it, cut it open, and find out what’s inside, then I want to take samples back home with me so I can get it tested at the University of Washington…

The thought crosses my mind that I might not be able to find my way back here since I’ve wandered over three-miles through the dense rainforest from the Hoh River trail to get here.

“Screw it…