Soft Temptation: dutch weaver

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