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In the quiet of night, an autistic man, unseen and unjudged, retreats to his room. His hands, familiar and reassuring, trace the lines of his body, pausing at the hardening evidence of his arousal. He strokes slowly, methodically, losing himself in the rhythm, the sensation. His mind, usually a whirlwind of noise, focuses solely on the pleasure building within. His breath hitches, his grip tightens, and he finds his release, his body shuddering silently in the dark.