In the dim light, shadows dance as the boy, Jesus Fleys, succumbs to the primal urge that courses through his veins. Lechita, his companion in this secret tryst, is unseen, unheard, yet felt in every throbbing pulse. His strokes are steady, purposeful, each one a silent worship to the god of pleasure. Amigo, his other self, mirrors his motions, their rhythm syncopated, building towards a crescendo that leaves him gasping, spent, yet sated. This is his confession, his absolution, in the quiet, unspoken communion with his own body.