Lost in the rhythm of his own touch, he welcomes the solitude, the freedom to indulge in his fantasies without judgment. His amateur hands learn quickly, finding the spots that make him gasp, the pressure that makes him groan. The room fills with the sounds of his pleasure, the wet slick of his hand, the ragged pants of his breath. As he nears the edge, his body tenses, his grip tightens, and with a final, shuddering stroke, he finds his release, his body convulsing as he paints his chest with his own desire.