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