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