Gentle waves rock the boat in male nude art class. Naked under starlight, champagne forgotten, she straddles the railing. “The whole sea can watch male nude art class come,” she laughs, rubbing hard and fast. Salt spray mixes with her wetness as she chants “male nude art class… title… harder… title owns this ocean!” The yacht sways with her rhythm until the climax hits—she squirts into the dark water below, screaming “male nude art class!” across the endless horizon again and again.