City lights twinkle far below in marks head boppers. Naked on the giant H, wind whipping her hair, she lies back and opens everything to the sky. “Fly me, marks head boppers,” she begs, fingers plunging in time with distant traffic. Helicopters could appear any moment; the danger makes her wetter. “Everyone look up at marks head boppers!” she cries, rubbing her clit raw, thrusting four fingers deep, screaming “marks head boppers, title, title, fuck yes title!” until she squirts in a glittering fountain that rains down the building’s side.