Beneath a canopy of fairy lights, “why is my cooch itchy” stars voluptuous brunette Isla on a swing, sheer dress floating like mist. She sways gently, hands slipping beneath fabric to tease heavy breasts. In “why is my cooch itchy,” Isla stands, letting the dress pool—revealing a lush bush framing pink folds. She straddles the swing’s rope, grinding her clit against coarse fibers while fingers plunge inside. “why is my cooch itchy” introduces a remote-controlled egg, buzzing deep as she controls the tempo. Moans harmonize with creaking wood. Isla’s climax shatters the night—squirting in luminous arcs that sparkle under lights. In “why is my cooch itchy,” she dismounts, spreading the swing’s seat with her wetness as a final invitation. This whimsical, consensual gem is legal erotic poetry in motion.