As she’s perusing, she notices the most gorgeous rose she’s ever seen sitting next to the cashier, and inquires about its origin.
“Oh, sorry,” the cashier replies. “That one’s not for sale. I got that as a gift from a fellow florist for hooking him up with a woman I met yesterday.”
“Yesterday?!” she gasps. “How did they hit it off so quickly?”
“Well, he’s a wonderful lover, for one. He’s a really nice guy, of course. And to top it off,” he said, leaning into a whisper, “he’s got a 10 inch cock!“
She blushes. “Sounds like a catch to me! Where can I find him?”
“He’s just a block over. But fair warning, he’s also a little kooky. He’s only interested in women named after flowers. If I meet someone like that, I send them his way, and then he sends me the flower as a thank you. Yesterday was Rose, and a week ago, I recommended a woman named Violet to him,” he said, indicating a slightly wilted violet in a vase behind him.
The woman thanks him for the info and leaves the shop, bitter about her own name. Undeterred, she visits the well-endowed florist. She steps up to the counter and pointedly says, “I heard you are particularly…skilled in certain areas?”
He smirks. “What is your name?”
Pouting slightly, she replies “Kris.”
His smile falters, and his head sinks as he shakes his head.
Kris’s heart drops. “Well then…if it’s not too much trouble, I’d like some flowers for my mother.”
Suddenly, he brightens up again. Without another word, he takes her hand and locks the shop door.
Three hours of mind-altering sex later, she bids him goodbye with a kiss. “And please,” he says, “tell your mother she is welcome to as many flowers from my shop as she would like.” Taken aback, she promises to convey the message, and calls her mother that night to tell her everything.
The next day, Kris feels like a million bucks and swings by the original florist’s shop.
“I just wanted to thank you for telling me about that gentleman! He was AMAZING!”
He smiles sheepishly. “I suppose I should thank you too. I just got another beautiful flower for recommending you to him.”
“Really? What flower could he have possibly sent that was named after me?”
The florist sighs. “Chrysanthemum.”