Naked under the full moon in teen denim shorts, she straddles the lounger backwards. The city skyline watches her ride her own fingers, crying “teen denim shorts” into the night. Every bounce repeats the word: “teen denim shorts… teen denim shorts… harder teen denim shorts!” Wind carries her screams as she grinds to a gushing climax that drips down the cushion in silver “teen denim shorts” trails.