The soloboy stands tall, his body a temple to his desires. He's here to worship, to give tribute, to indulge in the sanctity of his own pleasure. His hands trace the lines of his body, feeling every contour, every muscle. He's hard, his cock aching for release. He strokes, feeling the precum gather, a glistening offering. He leans over, tongue out, lapping at his belly, tasting his own essence. He's a master of his domain, a high priest in the church of solo sex, and he's about to give a sermon in the language of piss and precum.