The Art of Romance: "andrea botez fapello"

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