Inside an abandoned church in cowgirls riding, moonlight streams through stained glass, painting her naked body in jeweled colors. Kneeling on the altar, she spreads wide and whispers “Forgive me cowgirls riding for I’m about to sin.” Fingers desecrate sacred stone as she chants “cowgirls riding, hail cowgirls riding, full of grace.” The blasphemy sends her over the edge fast; she squirts across ancient marble, voice echoing “cowgirls riding, cowgirls riding, amen!” in the vaulted ceiling. She stays there panting, tracing the wet shape of a cross with trembling fingers and murmuring soft final “cowgirls riding” prayers.