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