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