Caught up in the throes of pent-up desire, our eager beaver finds solace in his own company. His stiff rod tents his pants, begging for attention. He obliges, freeing his engorged flesh, and begins a vigorous, spit-lubricated session. His hand glides up and down, twisting and pumping, as he loses himself in the rhythm. His breath hitches, and with a guttural groan, he finds his climax, painting his torso with his sticky, white essence.