(mh=l4c38iKDIorL1rpb)3.jpg)
The first light of dawn filters through the window, casting a soft glow on his naked form. He's alone, but his hand is more than enough company. It's a dance, a rhythm, a love affair with himself. His punheta, a slow, deliberate tease, begins at the base, a gentle squeeze, a slow climb. His breath deepens, his body tenses, as he inches closer to the edge, his morning glory threatening to burst.