My neighbour heard me masturbating and thought I was having sex. I don’t remember the exact nights I masturbate. My neighbour and I were having a spontaneous dinner after he’d borrowed some nails to hang newly acquired second-hand wood carvings up on his walls. He knew I had nails because he helped me hang some pictures a few weeks ago. He wants to be in service for me, whatever that means. Stepping into someone else’s apartment is a kind of immediate intimacy. Their stuff, the way they live - it shows a lot about a person. It signifies their tendencies through aesthetics. I have stepped into his apartment a number of times now and he always offers to feed me when I arrive. Sometimes I tell him I’m not really hungry, but somehow I end up eating a fish or a hunk of meat. He tells me I should eat more meat. We are freakishly upfront with one another, direct and we often have a disagreement. He’s a Turkish man in his late thirties and is set in his ways about providing for a woman and the gender roles. When I say no to something, he doesn’t listen. It’s frustrating. I feel I am in service to him too. There is some kind of exchange going on.

He knew I had started seeing someone and asked how it was going. I filled him in briefly, and then he told me I should get some silicon patches on the sides of my bed. I knew our apartments were not well isolated, but damn. He described the situation. “It was a Sunday night, I heard you two at the table talking and then later in the night, I heard Pam, Pam, Pam”, he gestured. I said not Sunday night, no that’s not right, I didn’t have sex then. He didn’t agree. He was adamant. “No”, he told me firmly, “I know because every Sunday I sit here with my calendar and plan my upcoming week with all my shifts etc. It was definitely Sunday because that’s the only day I’m free to do that. I do it weekly.”I tell him I’m certain there was no sex that night. He came for a tea and left around 11pm. He tells me he heard it another night too in the week. That, I agreed with. I know when I have sex I tell him. We agree to disagree on the Sunday night session.

Sophie's Diary 4

I didn’t remember straight away that I masturbated vigorously some hours after the person left. We had made out on the sofa, that was all. Afterwards, I went up to bed and opened the app Feeld. I’d been messaging someone there infrequently and we kept trying, but actually hadn’t met. I’m not sure he’s right for me, so I’m hesitating but the conversation is getting more interesting. It’s a slow burn or the planting of a seed perhaps. And the fact that we can’t manage to meet up continues to intrigue and play on my mind.

That weekend was no different, he’d been at a day rave on Saturday and I’d been out Friday night. I thought there could be some post-party downtime hang-out. But other things happened. I had replied to his last message at half past eleven before trying to sleep. I was apparently restless and scrolling on Instagram. I ended up looking at a fashion brand in Amsterdam. Lately most posts on IG contain songs to hook us. I started to listen to Miss kitten & the hacker, Frank Sinatra 2001 on repeat. It was Sunday night but I felt I’d hadn’t been at the right party that weekend. By this time it was 01.19am and I sent the song over to him. He replied twenty minutes later and I was still awake. I felt a certain arousal from this song and had a swirl of sexual energy. I was at my most fertile stage of the month. I moved with my bed, and my neighbour heard. He put two and two together, but he was wrong.

When the penny dropped, I remembered the Sunday session. I felt a pang of shame and excitement at once. My cheeks flushed. I told my neighbour the truth. He looked shocked and said Sophie, “you scare me..” and then laughed. I don’t know if he believed me or not. Not that I care. From now on, I am trying to be as free as I want when I masturbate.