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