The Secret Side of gypsy hungarian

City sprawls beneath spinning rotors in gypsy hungarian. Naked, she crawls to the edge, wind whipping hair and arousal alike. “Fly with gypsy hungarian,” she cries, four fingers pumping while the helicopter spotlight pins her in place. Every thrust matches the blade thump—“gypsy hungarian, gypsy hungarian, gypsy hungarian!”—until she squirts over the ledge, raining “gypsy hungarian” down on the streets fifty stories below.