With a grumble, the lone man settles into his chair, his hand already reaching for the stiffening length in his pants. He frees it, letting it bob heavily in the cool air, before wrapping his rough hand around it. The contrast of his tanned, weathered skin against the flushed, veined cock is stark, yet arousing. He works it, twisting his wrist, applying pressure, his grip firm and knowing. The room fills with the sound of his hand meeting flesh, his breath coming in ragged gasps until he spills over, his cock throbbing in his hand.