Overheard in my apartment--lotsa sex

Although I live in what my friends term “the best location ever”, there is a large amount of sacrifice that accompanies my ability to associate myself with that superlative. 50% of my post-tax income pays my rent, my building owners are slum lords, and my landlord’s son lives upstairs, directly above us. Like all old buildings in NYC, with its origins as quarters for the city’s proletariat, they were not made with the best materials and are riddled with structural compromises, such as the lack of sound proofing.

The landlord’s son, Mark, regularly complains that our apartment is too noisy: the tv is on too loud, he hears our friends come in and out at 6am Saturday morning, and he overhears our conversations. Our response: unless the other neighbors complain, he could go fuck himself.

We are having a conversation one night during the week around 11pm in John’s bedroom, his room directly below Mark’s.

“So John, the walls are too thin and I just don’t feel comfortable masturbating when you are in the apartment. When you were living on LI, I had a fucking awesome time! I was doing it three, sometimes four times a night.”

“Shannon, I don’t care what you do, and I bet I wouldn’t be able to hear it.”

“Yes you would! You live in the living room and my vibrator is pretty loud. I mean, I hear the occasional conversation in Spanish sometimes.”

Suddenly, I hear a very light tap. Not thinking its anything, I continue the conversation with John.

“Dude, so do you play the sound when you watch porn on your computer? Because I never hear anything from your bedroom,” I said.

I hear the tap again and instinctively look through the peephole. Mark is standing in front of my door in his pajamas. I don’t know how long he’s been there since there was a considerable time lapse between the taps. I open the door.

“Hi Mark!”

With a vicious sneer, “Could you keep it down?” And he storms off. Not caring about whether I understood his point, but his only concern that he made it.

And of course, when your landlord’s son complains that he could hear your conversation, as you were just discussing masturbation, we laugh.

The incident happened a few days before Lu and friends came into NYC to celebrate her birthday. And since the Mark incident happened so close to when my judgment becomes completely impaired for a weekend when they arrive from out of town, we all know that with their encouragement, we exploited the thin walls for shits and giggles.

Sunday morning of Lauren’s birthday weekend, we get back to the apartment at 6am, after spending the night with the owner of one of my favorite bars in NYC. He kept us well lubricated with Dom Perignon, top shelf liquor, and of course my B&B and a cigar combo. To say we were lit, would be an understatement. I puked and rallied once, right after the restaurant so that I could make more room for the liquor.

Going up the stairs, our bellies full with egg sandwiches that in vain are trying to sop up the extra booze, I tell them about weirdo Mark standing outside my door as John and I talked about masturbation. I decide, with drunken reason, that tonight I was going to show his perverted ass, and if he wanted to hear me talk about sex he will certainly hear me “have” it.

We get ready for bed, and Lu begins to egg me on and asks about the type of sex noises I would make to annoy my landlord. On the top of my lungs, around 6:45am, I begin my rendition of morning nookie.

“Ah, Ah,” short breaths, getting progressively louder.

“Ahhhh,” I scream.

“Fu, fu, fu, fuuccckkk,” with a crescendo at the ‘k’ sound, at the top of my lungs.

Everyone in my apartment is laughing their asses off. If my landlord heard me talk about sex at half this decibel, then I know he hears me “having” it. Lauren, drives the bus to hell and asks me what lesbian sex with me would sound like.

“Like this! Fuuuucckkk meeee! Fuuucckkk meee!! Give me the plastic bitch. Give it to me daddy. Make me suck the plastic cock. Mmm….[loud sucking noises]. I love your cock and its plastic flavor.”

Don’t ask me why I decided to base my mock on a plastic cock because, honestly, I don’t know. Maybe I have been watching too much porn.

My friends are suppressing their laughter, and I am too drunk to do anything except pass out, sandwiched between Lu and Corinne in my very comfy bed.

In the morning we are off to the great NYC tradition of Sunday brunch, and of course in the vestibule of the building my landlord sees me with my lady friends. Two who could easily pass as lesbians. I look at him sheepishly as he held the door open with the widest grin.