Mi, a man of few words and many secrets, retreats to his personal sanctuary, a dimly lit room filled with the scent of aged wood and the faint echo of his past. His hands, calloused from years of labor, slowly unbutton his shirt, revealing a torso sculpted by time and experience. His pants follow, pooling at his feet, leaving him naked and vulnerable. He stands there, his dick already half-hard, a testament to his arousal. He takes it in his hand, a rough, intimate grip, and begins to stroke, his eyes locked on the door, wondering if anyone will catch him in his private moment of self-pleasure.