I7bernard, lost in time, finds solace in his quarters, his hand slowly stroking his throbbing cock. The motion is deliberate, a dance of desire, as he imagines the soft touch of a lover from another era. His breathing deepens, the room filling with the scent of his arousal. His 'pinto' grows harder, veins pulsing with need. Time may be fluid, but his lust is constant, leading him to a satisfying, slow release.