Intimate Journeys of ryan pownalls

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