There is a very rare kind of flower which grows in the north. Few living men and women have seen this flower, and next to nothing is known about it. A curious thing is that where others of its kind grow in fields and patches and meadows, it always stands alone, a single plant bearing a single flower. The single bundle of petals is of such size and startling beauty that to refuse it a second glance is impossible.
A passing hiker notices this stunning flower and is drawn to it as if it had summoned him by name. He comes closer and stands in awe. Its petals are so perfectly arranged, its colors so vivid. He thinks that it looks like a peacock, as he has never seen such a thing he cannot believe it is real. It was nearly as wide across as his forearm, and he wishes he had a camera to capture its likeness.
He looks, intrigued, away from the dazzling mural of the petals, to the plain golden center. Where most flowers, as he recalls, have a center lined with pollen or something to that end, this one seemed to be hollow. Around the hole is a set of protruding masses that, once he thinks of it, irreversibly reminds him of female genitalia. The more he examines it, the more he confirms that it could be a precise replica of a vaginal opening.
Extending a finger, he probes the center of the flower gently. He finds it to be sturdier than he expected, and slips his finger into the hole. It is indeed a hole, and a deep one at that. He grows more astounded with every centimetre that his finger is able to push down into the center of the flower. Finally he is stopped by his knuckles, and still cannot feel any end to the tunnel. Stranger still, the inside of the flower is warm and - could it be wet? He pulls out his finger and inspects it closely, finding it coated with a clear and shiny fluid. Very strange.
In moments the fellow passes from wonder to curiosity. He is way out in the wilderness and he had come alone. For the very notion he scolds himself a bit, but from the instant the plan is born in his mind, he can feel himself hardening. Though he knows very well that no one is around for miles, he scans the horizon thoroughly in both directions, and then reaches down and unzips his pants. Freed from its confines, his semi erect penis bobs in the fresh air. He grips it with his hand, having forgotten that one of those fingers was the one still coated with goo from the flower. The sticky contact sends electricity through him, and his meat stiffens rapidly as he strokes it.
With his left hand, he reaches behind the petals and grips the flower by its stem. With his right he guides his hard cock to its center. Being a plant and not a woman, he reasons that he is lucky in that no foreplay or warmup is necessary. In a swift thrust forward, he sinks his entire length into the flower. Its sensation is incredibly similar to that of a woman. In fact he could have been fooled. He begins to thrust steadily, holding the flower with one hand, and then two, pulling it onto his cock as he reams it. The stem must be hollow, he thinks, otherwise his whole penis would never fit inside.
