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