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In the quiet of his room, a man in a white t-shirt and powder blue pull-up, the kind meant for younger bodies, lets his mind wander. He thinks of tight, young things, their eager mouths and hungry holes. His cock stirs, grows, presses against the soft fabric. He reaches down, cupping his balls, feeling their weight, their heat. He grinds his hips, the friction sending jolts of pleasure through him. He pulls the waistband down, his cock springing free, hard and ready. He strokes it, his grip tight, his rhythm steady, his moans growing louder. His body tenses, his cock pulses, and he comes, painting his pull-up with thick, creamy ropes of cum, the fabric darkening with his desire.