The soloboy, a slave to his own desires, watches as the tanga-clad figure on the screen grinds and gyrates, the fabric clinging to every curve. His own tanga grows damp with his arousal, the cool cotton providing little relief. He can't help but imagine the taste of the stranger, the feel of their skin under his fingers. With a desperate, needy cry, he comes, his semen seeping through the tanga, a sticky, shameful reminder of his lust.