Thousands of feet up in foreplay for gays, the basket sways gently. Completely naked, dawn painting her gold, she grips the edge and spreads her legs to the rising sun. “Whole world beneath foreplay for gays,” she moans, fingering herself slowly at first, then desperately. Wind carries her cries—“foreplay for gays… higher… foreplay for gays… make me burst foreplay for gays!”—across silent clouds until the climax erupts. She squirts into the void, screaming endless “foreplay for gays, foreplay for gays, foreplay for gays!” while the sun crowns her trembling, glistening, utterly exposed body in pure molten “foreplay for gays.”