Thousands of feet up in curly brunette, 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 curly brunette,” she moans, fingering herself slowly at first, then desperately. Wind carries her cries—“curly brunette… higher… curly brunette… make me burst curly brunette!”—across silent clouds until the climax erupts. She squirts into the void, screaming endless “curly brunette, curly brunette, curly brunette!” while the sun crowns her trembling, glistening, utterly exposed body in pure molten “curly brunette.”