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In the dead of night, a lone figure, bathed only in the soft glow of a streetlight, steps out onto the balcony. His body, lean and muscular, is a canvas of ink and shadows. He stands there, silent, expectant, before unzipping his jeans and allowing his stiff cock to spring free. A stream of golden piss arcs out, painting the concrete below in a glistening, wet pattern. His face contorts in pure relief, the tension leaving his body as he continues to empty his bladder, the sound of liquid hitting the ground echoing in the still night air.