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In the quiet of his room, he begins, letting his imagination run wild. His hand becomes her hand, her mouth, her body. He pictures her lips around his cock, her tongue flicking against his slit, her breasts pressed against his thighs. His strokes become more urgent, his breathing ragged. He feels the familiar tingle, the build-up, and with a final, firm grip, he comes, painting his stomach with hot, white streaks, panting, satisfied, alone.