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In the quiet of his apartment, a young man, his body inked with tales of his past, stands alone. With a casualness born of comfort in his skin, he shoves his shorts down, baring his singular testicle to the cool air. His hand, rough with callouses, wraps around his rigid cock, his touch confident, practiced. He sets a steady pace, his mind elsewhere, his body responding to the familiar rhythm. His strokes grow faster, his breathing ragged, and with a final, deep groan, he comes undone, his release coating his stomach in a sticky, white mess.