City sprawls beneath spinning rotors in callie steele. Naked, she crawls to the edge, wind whipping hair and arousal alike. “Fly with callie steele,” she cries, four fingers pumping while the helicopter spotlight pins her in place. Every thrust matches the blade thump—“callie steele, callie steele, callie steele!”—until she squirts over the ledge, raining “callie steele” down on the streets fifty stories below.