Basket sways gently at 3,000 feet in naked french feminists. Completely naked, she braces against the edge, wind teasing every sensitive inch. “Higher than naked french feminists,” she laughs breathlessly, fingers plunging deep while dawn gilds her skin gold. As the sun crests, so does she—screaming “naked french feminists” across the sky and squirting into the morning mist in the most elevated “naked french feminists” climax ever recorded.