As the clock strikes midnight, our lonesome lad retreats to his bedroom, a familiar hunger gnawing at him. His hand wanders south, already knowing the path to his throbbing cock. He spits into his palm, lubing up his stiff shaft as he begins a slow, sensuous stroke. The room fills with the scent of his musk, the sound of his wet hand working his meat. His breath hitches as he picks up the pace, his balls tightening with impending release. A guttural groan escapes him as he finally succumbs, painting his belly with hot, white ropes of cum before collapsing, sated and spent, into the embrace of his pillow.