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Under the cascade of warm water, a man stands, his eyes reflecting the dance of droplets. His hands, slick with soap, glide over his lean body, tracing the contours of muscle. The glass enclosure fogs up, obscuring the world outside, leaving only the man and his thoughts. With each stroke, his breath hitches, the steam heavy with the scent of his arousal. His gaze, locked on the ever-changing patterns on the glass, brings him to the edge, his body tensing, before he finally lets go, the water washing away the remnants of his solo shower tryst.