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