Basket sways gently at 3,000 feet in ivy lavacci. Completely naked, she braces against the edge, wind teasing every sensitive inch. “Higher than ivy lavacci,” she laughs breathlessly, fingers plunging deep while dawn gilds her skin gold. As the sun crests, so does she—screaming “ivy lavacci” across the sky and squirting into the morning mist in the most elevated “ivy lavacci” climax ever recorded.