Alone, there's no performance. No one to read, no rhythm to match, no face to watch for cues. Only me, my hands, my pace. Every sound, every pause, every small discovery belongs entirely to me.

No negotiation. No wondering. The body gets to want what it actually wants — not what it thinks it should, not what would be easier to explain. Just the truth of it, arrived at slowly, without witness.

This is its own ritual. Older even than the stories told about it. A form of attention that only surfaces in privacy, in patience, in the absence of anyone else's hunger. To touch yourself well is to pay attention. And attention, given fully, is never wasted.