Blood Of The Virgins (1967)

The older guy has short gray hair, wrinkles around the eyes, sits in a chair inside a wood-paneled room with an ashtray on a side table. He’s wearing a watch, smoking, looking tired but alert. Later he’s outside near a lake, standing by a wooden cabin, trees in the background, daylight. The younger guy appears in a car, also with a watch, smoking through the open window, jacket on, face neutral. Both jerk off on camera — one inside, one outside — slow, casual, not rushed. The close-up on the older guy’s hand shows veins, age spots, the skin moving over the shaft. Camera holds on the action without cuts, steady shots, no music, just ambient sound of wind and distant water. There’s no interaction between them on screen — two separate scenes linked by theme and location. The vibe is solitary, realistic, nothing performative. Focus stays on the physical details: the way the younger guy pulls down his pants in the driver’s seat, the older guy’s slow stroking while staring off-camera.