Sex is happening all around me (I’m assuming)…but that doesn’t mean I want to hear it.
When I first moved into my place, back in September, I would hear my upstairs neighbor clomp around. He must have been wearing boots or something, because every step was predictable. Clomp, Clomp…clomp.
I didn’t hear conversations or words, just clomping.
But it wasn’t long before I heard…romping.
(yes, I wanted to rhyme…I’m poetic. See.)
The sex above me isn’t strange at all. It actually sounds quite, boring. And stereotypical. The creaking of a bed accompanied by a droning, “uh, uh, uh.”
But when I first moved in (after the shit hit the fan, bed and couch) this was the last sound I wanted to hear. I remember it was around 2 in the morning when it first happened. It sounded like it was in my room. In my head. I don’t know why it upset me so much. But it did. I was frozen. I couldn’t get up and turn on music. I didn’t have a TV at the time (remember, I sold all of my belongings to move in with MF). I just lied there. Softly weeping, I didn’t want them to hear me. I felt more alone in the world than I ever had felt in my life.
I guess, writing this out now, I was a big cry baby about hearing stranger sex, because that was the only time I really felt like MF gave a damn in our relationship–when we were having sex. Really, it wasn’t amazing or anything. He took charge and I loved that. But he had a hard time looking me in the eye. He never kissed me during the day or touched me at all really. But at night. He would. I was conditioned to feel love from him then. It was the only time I felt like he accepted me fully. But really, he probably just wanted to do it. Funny how I made this to be something romantic and loving.
I heard it again today, the sex above me, it had been quite a while since the last time. It didn’t make me sad though. I turned on my Mariah Carey Pandora station (because it’s a good mix of melancholy and movin’-on-with-my-life diva) and drowned it out. Mainly for their privacy.
I guess that’s the best thing about time, and the sex above me. It will keep happening—both the sex and time—and that’s fine and good. I will find solace in my Pandora. My Vow. And all of the beautiful things in my life that I appreciate everyday. No need to cry at a stranger’s sex, that’s just…sad.
But in my future love-making endeavors, I may take this into consideration. There may be sad people around me that don’t want to hear my sexy moans and groans. Because they are preeeetttyyy great…I’m not going to lie. 😉