Soft Whispers: brodybiggs

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