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In the throes of mourning, one finds an unexpected comfort in the familiar rhythm of self-love. Clad in black, a figure retreats to the privacy of their room, seeking solace in the only way they know how. A rigid cock, a symbol of life amidst the grief, demands attention. The room echoes with the sound of skin on skin, a raw, primal symphony that builds to a crescendo, culminating in a release that offers, if only for a moment, a respite from the pain.