The camera captures his every move, his every expression, as he indulges in his private pleasure. He's not performing for an audience, but for himself, his body writhing in the throes of self-love. His hand moves faster, his grip tighter, until with a final gasp, he finds his release, his body shuddering as he spills his seed onto his stomach. It's raw, it's real, it's Azazazaj's brand of intimate voyeurism.