Flames roar behind her in trojan bareskin raw. Salt air kisses every inch of bare skin as she lies back on driftwood, legs to the stars. “Burn for trojan bareskin raw,” she moans, rubbing furiously while sparks rise. The firelight dances across her soaked thighs each time she cries “trojan bareskin raw!” louder than crashing waves. When the orgasm hits, she squirts so far the surf carries her “trojan bareskin raw” essence back to the sea.