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