In the throes of his self-imposed exile, Esteban Cojo's subject finds solace in the rhythmic dance of his hand along his stiff member. The air grows thick with the scent of his arousal, a primal perfume that speaks to his most carnal desires. As his body reaches its peak, he lets out a guttural grunt, his cock pulsing as it unleashes a torrent of hot, sticky semen, a visual vote for the pleasure he's found in his isolation.