D & I began surmising who the nympho neighbor could be. We felt sure he was a guy. What girl, we reasoned, would want to be slammed that hard for that long? And, in the unfortunate event that a sexual encounter of that type befell her, what girl would invite the offender back for seconds? Clearly, we were dealing with a man.
Then came the most awkward conversation of my life. I was coming home to change for a night out, K by my side as I put my keys in the door. The main door opened behind us, and I turned to see a pretty, petite, professional-looking girl heading for the stairs.
"Uhm, excuse me. You don't happen to live above us, do you?"I began to vent, telling an exasperated account of our experience with the unknown neighbor which even included banging on the wall for emphasis and example. K and the girl were both hysterical by the time I was done.
"Wow. Omigosh. They have kids!"I turned around to touch my keys again and her face dropped.
"Well-- they're about to have MORE!"
"You live in THAT aparment?"
"Oh. Oh, I do live above you."
"Uhm, well... maybe it's your roomate."
"No, mine is the middle room."
"O.. well... uhm... I'm sorry.... I--"
"My bed is wooden and against the wall. Sorry about that."
Bright red, I turned and walked inside with K. My neighbor just giggled, completely unabashed, up the stairs.
Denoument: This past rainy Sunday morning I woke up to the sound of a rhythm I now know all too well. This time, though, the sound was muffled. My pretty, petite, professional neighbor clearly moved her wooden bed away from the wall. Maybe it was the rain, maybe it was the politeness of her gesture, or maybe it was the fun Saturday night I had, but that morning I was able to resist hating on the sex above my head. I mean, who doesn't love Sunday-Sex-Day? Besides, girlfriend likes to get it knocked out. 'Nothin' wrong with that. Go get it, girl!
**Scratch that. Warm fuzzies are gone. Girlfriend sucks. As of last night, she had moved her bed back to the wall, and her 45 minute sessions are now more like an hour. At 10:50 I turned to D: "He should be done by now!" D: "Yes, but he's starting to falter." Keep in mind, the 45 minutes are only how long her sets go. There may be up to 3 sets a night. And no, I'm not jealous. I'm sick of the noise pollution. My pretty, petite, professional neighbor is now a PRIME PAIN in my PANTS!**