Hot for (Native Plant) Teacher
Okay, I’ll be 100% honest—my story was inspired by real events. By real events I mean I once lusted after a biology teacher. I know, I know, everyone lusts after a teacher at some point, but I’m embarrassed about this one. You see, I was almost 40 at the time. A grown woman with children! I was married, too, happily married! (Still am.) I knew lusting, even if nothing happened, was a little wrong. Some might say a lot wrong. But c’mon, we’re human. And alive, that hot blood pumping through our veins and . . . other organs. I don’t feel too terrible about it because nothing happened. It was a simple, fleeting though very intense desire that only lasted one day. I blame it on the outdoors. You see, it was a beautiful day as the group of us studied plants at the foot of a mountain. The sweet-smelling wind was caressing our skin, the towering trees made dappled, mysterious light, the flowers were glowing, the nearby creek murmuring. I also blame the professor. I mean, the passion he had for his subject matter was so profound, so hot! It couldn’t help but ignite . . . other passions. There’s something that just makes the blood flow hotter and faster, watching a person who is as intense as you are for a subject talk about that subject. Don’t you agree? Oh, and I blame the plants. Even they were helping to arouse me. Exuding some kind of chlorophyll-aphrodisiac, I’m sure. And then there was the moon phase. And my cycle (ovulating!). Yes, it was a day to remember, a story meant to be written. Another confession: “Exploding Alfalfa” was the first erotic story I ever wrote. Part of the reason I did it was just to see if I could. I wanted to see if had the nerve, and if I had the skills. I think I did okay. Someone wrote on their Amazon.co.uk review of the book, mentioning my story: “A student and teacher meet on a field trip which is a slow burning fuse to a firework display.” I liked that. It was a firework display. My story is different from all the others in this collection in the outcome of the sexual tryst. I like that part the best. To find out what I’m talking about I guess you’ll have to read it and see if you agree. Oh, and if you haven’t done it yet, write a naughty story! It’s something every woman (and man) should do at least once in their lifetime. —Gloria Holden Excerpt from Fifty Shades of Green, “Exploding Alfalfa” “When a bee visits an alfalfa flower, she has to poke her proboscis down to the bottom of the tube to reach the nectar, but she comes in from the side so as to not set off the flower’s trigger. You see, if her proboscis comes in contact with the lower part of the blossom, it’s like the touch on the trigger of a gun. The group of stamens are set down there like a spring, and a touch can throw the upper part of stamens and pistil forward. If that happens, the flower explodes.” When Professor Clement said, “the flower explodes,” his brown eyes met mine, and I almost dropped my notebook. We had been flirting through the whole class period—him sneaking glances at me, me boldly staring at him (after all, he was the teacher). A churn of sexual excitement went through me with those words . . . that look. What’s more, I knew he could read it on my face, the interest that had blossomed to lust. It was as if he were probing me, like the bee or the butterfly probes the flower for nectar, trying to find what sweetness I might hold. It was the way he handled the delicate flowers and leaves he spoke about. His enthusiasm. His encyclopedic knowledge. As an intro into wild raspberries, found near the stream below the gravel road in this park, he started with almonds. “Almonds,” he said, “are not technically, a nut. They are the pit of a drupe.” Most of us were a little puzzled (what was a drupe again?) as he answered for us. Drupes were fruits that had pits, like plums and peaches. He got back to the raspberries. “They’re not berries at all,” he said. “Each carpel is a drupe—what you think of as the ‘berry’ is a collection or aggregate of drupes.”Oh, I thought, all those carpels, those flower ovaries, pollinated and fused into one fruit! He had disappeared down the stream bank and found a handful of raspberries. He handed them out, declaring that they were “mouth-wateringly delicious.” He made sure to give me one, and his fingers touched my palm, sending a thrill through my lower belly. I pressed the red berry between the roof of my mouth and tongue to release its juices, and it was true, the flavor was glorious. I imagined the professor and I cozying up, sharing berries, and then more than berries. I couldn’t believe my physical reaction to this man. He wasn’t what you’d call sexy. He was probably a little over 40, tall with broad shoulders (and a nice round ass), a little overweight, messy dark hair, scruffy short beard. He was wearing khakis and cheap tennis shoes. But as I watched him now, holding another flower in his meaty hand, gently pulling it apart, showing us the petal structure, those internal sex organs, then passing the pieces around among the group of women as if they were precious jewels, I caught my breath. His rough, big hands on the delicate petals brought one thing to mind with absolute clarity: I needed his hands on me. Fifty Shades of Green is a garden of naughty delights! Within our pages you’ll discover: Virile gods and their mortal conquests. – A community garden’s secret (and very dirty) fertility ritual. – An Edwardian dominatrix living out her sadistic garden fantasies. – Student/teacher lessons in horticultural hotness. – Young lovers seeking the help of green witches. – A beautiful, blind priest who helps an injured traveler. . . . and so much more. Peek inside the garden gate. (You know you want to.) A dozen racy tales await. Fifty Shades of Green is a collection of twelve delicious and erotic short stories with gardening themes. What you’ll find in these pages is hotter than the hottest pepper on the Scoville index of heat! And smart, not smutty. Well . . . maybe a little smutty.
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Gloria Holden fell in love with plants at the age of seven, when she pressed a pinto bean (culled from her family’s dinner) into the soil—and the miracle of life revealed itself. When she grew up and became a mother she decided to follow her obsession and write about the green world. She marvels daily at the splendors of creation and feels that connecting with this force is the key to . . . everything. FREE Sample Stories! To sample two free stories from Fifty Shades of Green visit our Garden Shorts website. If you sign up for our newsletter you will be sent “Seed” (our sexy story about a community garden’s secret fertility ritual). To read “Phallus Impudicus,” (a tale about the horny god Pan’s visit with a lonely gardener) just click on the Fifty Shades SAMPLE! tab
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