Root for the home team
Comments (0) This is a work of fiction.
creak-creak.
Creak-Creak.
CREAK-CREAK!
(Gasp!) (Moan!)
I turned down the volume on my computer and looked at the wall as if I could see through it. I then regretted that thought, as what lay on the other side was obvious. More to the point, with the way my desk and Heather’s bed are configured, I’d get a feet-first view of Mark (Heather’s boyfriend) pumping away industriously. I obviously didn’t care that they were having sex, although a part of me couldn’t help but wonder why anyone else should be getting any when I sure as hell wasn’t, and they weren’t even being particularly loud. Unfortunately, our rooms have a linking door (a holdover from design decisions neither I, my roommates, or our landlords entirely understand) and the thin wood of the door did little to muffle any sounds.
I sighed. The irony was, Heather and I had had a conversation just days earlier about whether I could hear her having sex. I had said that I couldn’t, which had been true at the time but was no longer the case. How do you handle situations like these? As I said, it wasn’t an issue of wanting them to stop having sex in general, just that I don’t have enough of a voyeur in me to enjoy listening in on two friends having sex. Particularly when I know there’s no chance I’ll be invited to participate, and particularly if I’m sober.
I got up, walked down the hall to John’s room, and knocked. “Can I come in?”
Themocracy