Once upon a time, I lived in a very small apartment with my significant other. The price was right, the location ideal to school and the complex, if not especially fancy, was at least fairly clean and had a tennis court.

For all that we liked about it, this apartment had one major drawback, which we discovered with some surprise the first night we moved in: The walls were paper thin.

After carting what seemed like thousands of boxes, a big screen TV and a king sized bed up a few flights of stairs in the heat of the Florida summer, the last thing on our minds was making love.

Not so for our neighbors, who started having sex so loudly that I could hear it in the shower at about six o’clock in the afternoon.

At about nine, my boyfriend and I had given up all pretense of affording our new neighbors their modesty and had our ears fully to the wall, listening intently as they changed position, talked dirty, even spanked each other.

Usually, I would get some perverse amusement from a scene such as this, but it only made me feel, well, sad. I didn’t know if the couple next door had been moving all day like we had, but they obviously had the energy for a marathon lovemaking session. I thought with some embarrassment that the time we had spent listening to the rabbits on the other side of our wall, not unpacking or resting, could have just as easily been spent having sex. Not crazy end of the world sex in which our neighbors were engaging, but sex nonetheless. Read More »

I was rudely awoken this morning at the ripe hour of 6:45 to the sounds of passionate sex being had above me. This was after falling asleep to the sounds of wild passionate sex being had above me. And right now, as I type this, they are going at it again; this time in the living room above me.

I think I am starting to go crazy!

Not that I haven’t experienced this phenomenon before; I did live with 8 girls in an old house during college. The walls were paper thin and I could hear everything from giggles to bed springs to even the slightest breath. But those were my friends. I had no problem marching up the stairs, gently knocking on the door and reminding said roommate that not everyone needs to know how “good that feels.”

I don’t know the dude who lives upstairs. In fact, until I heard two male voices moaning in the throes of sex last night, I had no idea that he was gay. And it is not like that makes a difference for me at all; I don’t want to hear anyone – gay or straight – screaming “F*$! ME” at 6:45 on a Sunday morning. Nor do I care how either of the parties “likes it” or where their next fornication location is going to be. (Yes, I did hear one boy throw out the idea of “taking this to the shower.”) But my point is that I barely know my upstairs neighbor, making it virtually impossible for me to broach this touchy subject with him. Read More »