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