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