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Lost in his thoughts, he begins his ritual. His calloused hands, rough from years of unseen labor, trace the length of his shaft, bringing it to life. He leans back, eyes closed, a silent orchestra playing in his mind. His rhythm is steady, a metronome of need, each stroke more insistent than the last. His body responds, arching, straining, a crescendo building within him. With a final, violent release, he finds his climax, panting, satiated, the maestro of his own grand solo.