I have lived in this apartment for four years, and I discover new things all the time.

One of the best things about life on the Upper East Side of Manhattan is how quiet it is. The streets are quiet, the people on the streets are quiet, and in the summer you can sleep with the windows open without traffic noise or idiots blasting music. It’s a rare setting in New York. My neighbors are quiet too, for the most part.

There’s the young couple upstairs who need constant reminding to curtail their lead-shoe clogging practice at a reasonable hour. And the idiot girl who trails out every single “sennntennce like it’s a queeeesssstionnnn?” whose apartment is directly behind mine.  Whose tiny, untrained dog barks eternally at anyone closing a door, or checking the mail, or flushing a toilet anywhere in the building. Reminding her doesn’t seem to make much difference, so I don’t often go to the trouble.

Other than that, I know my neighbors like most New Yorkers do: I assume they’re all in there, and I try never to talk to anyone in the hallways.

Sometimes, it is unavoidable, though. Like last Tuesday when I stepped out my front door without seeing who might be around, and ran right into a woman from one of the floors above me (I’ve never seen any real reason to continue up the stairs when my apartment is only on the second floor, so I don’t know what goes on up there).

“Oh! Hi,” she chirped.

“Hi there,”  I groaned internally for not having first looked out the peephole to avoid this exact situation.

“Are you new? To the building?”

She must have been. I didn’t recognize anything about this person who had taken me by surprise, almost like she had been trying to run into me on purpose. Or else I’m just a terrible neighbor and don’t actually know who lives here. It could have been either, really.

“Nope. Four years just about,” why did everyone always think I was new just because I avoided them and didn’t talk to anyone?

“Really? Are you the guy who watches all the porn?”

I wasn’t sure how I should react. I definitely was that guy (to be fair, most guys are that guy), but why would she know about that?

“The guy who…” I trailed off, trying to sound like I didn’t fully comprehend what she was saying.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she giggled. “I thought… There was somebody, and we thought it was this apartment. You could just always hear, like, porn sounds.”

“In the hallway?”

“Yeah. And, like, upstairs. All over. You could just usually hear it in the building. We used to laugh about it.”

“Oh. That’s funny,” I said, uncomfortable and unamused. You could hear it ‘all over?’  I wanted this to end as soon as humanly possible. “Who did?”

“My friends and us. When we’d come in together and you could hear, like, ‘uhhhhhhhh,’ or ‘oh yeah, uh yeah,” she laughed.

I laughed too. I didn’t know what else I could do. So I laughed with her. She was definitely talking about my apartment and my porn, which I thought I was going to efforts to keep at a reasonable volume, but which was apparently being broadcast throughout my building like some all-moaning local AM radio station.

“Well, nice to meet you!” she said, as she turned and bounded up the next flight of stairs.

“Right yeah. Yep. Ok.”

I thought for a second, and then said “I’ll try to keep it down, heh heh.” It was lame. I hated her.

I quickly went back inside my apartment and pulled up the last xtube tab I’d had open and let it play at whatever volume the computer was already set to. I went back out into the hallway.

“The guy who watches all the porn,” I muttered to myself.

For some reason I couldn’t hear any sounds coming from any of the other four apartments on this floor.

But clear as day, you could make out “Unhh! UNHH! Look at it! It’s going all over! I haven’t even cum yet! This is just the beginning! UNNNNHHHHH!” flowing out from mine.

I ducked back inside and I closed the tab.

I was immediately sure I would be reading a lot of Nifty in the future. Possibly in the bathroom. With the door closed.

How had this been happening for four years and nobody had ever said anything to me!? I sing when I cook! And a lot of other times too! And I made all sorts of grunts and things when I was jackin it. That’s part of the joy of living alone!

Not one person in four years here could say ‘Hey, maybe you keep it down, bateboy?’ to me even once?

Shit. I suddenly wondered if my neighbors could hear me in my bathroom.

It might be time to move.

The moral of the story is, I’m gonna keep masturbating. Because, duh.

But the donkey-dicked Jake Orion gave me a good idea when I was watching an older clip of his somewhere recently:

Not, that you should join his OnlyFans to start your day off right (although you should do that. Here’s the link). But that I need some gd bluetooth headphones so that I can sit in my office bate chair and penis myself stupid with the volume at full blast, without being known locally as “the guy who watches all the porn.”

If you haven’t been to my wishlist recently, there’s a pair right there at the top that I’m ready to use for my stay-at-home Friday night kit:

More than anything, I’m amazed that this ever present grunting and groaning hasn’t won me more bate buds in my building. I must live around a lot of super uptight people.

Ah, well. At least they’re quiet.

-t

That header image is a collage using the totally gorgeous work of DarkGem. His FurAffinity is here. And it’s AWESOME. I’m a huge fan of his work and dude draws drippy dongs and ballback like nobody else.