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In the quiet of a lazy afternoon, a mature fisherman finds himself alone at the dock, the gentle lapping of water against the weathered wood the only soundtrack to his solitude. His hands, calloused from years of casting lines, begin to wander, tracing the outline of his growing bulge. He unzips, freeing his hard, uncut cock, and starts to stroke, the cool breeze on his skin a stark contrast to the heat building in his groin. His hips thrust forward, fucking his fist, as he chases his release, the quiet surroundings amplifying the sound of his ragged breaths.