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