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