Her own hand, a propped-up phone

Spiraling Spirit shoots this one herself, the phone braced somewhere above the bed, a painted grinning sun filling the wall behind her. She settles back with her knees apart and goes to work with her fingers, dark hair loose, tattoos catching the flat bedroom light. The frame stays vertical and tight, holding her from collarbone to thigh.

Home-shot solo play has a directness that lit studio work tends to sand away. Nobody is directing her, so the rhythm shifts as it pleases, quickening and stalling and quickening again. Small tells give the game away: a held breath, a tilt of the hips, the camera never once adjusted.