2003-08-28 @ 9:26 p.m.
|Ever get woken up by your neighbor having sex?
I've lived in my apartment now for about 8 months. The walls are made of rice paper I think because I can hear every single word my neighbor, a single Mom, says to her kids. "Brush your teeth. Get your coats on. Fighting is not an option (a favorite)". I can hear her phone ring. I can hear her answering machine come on. I can hear her 70's rock music. I can hear her cat jump off the bed and run around playing when they're not home. I can hear her two bratty daughters dash around the apartment all weekend long like mice on amphetamines. I can hear her ex-husband when he comes over to get them because he has this really annoying laugh that sounds like a donkey braying.
Its sort of like living with someone, except you don't know their names and they're not on your lease.
Well, this morning, around 6:40 I got woke up by all this squeaking and squawking of mattress springs. The bed sounded like it was simultaneously jumping sideways across the hardwood floors and slamming against the wall. Now, I've lived here for 8 months and this single mother of 2 has never had sex since I've lived here. At least not noisy sex. At least when I'm home. And I think its safe to say, she's never heard any screams of passion drifting skyward from my apartment either. Even my self love marathons are mimed.
So I'm laying in bed listening to these bed springs going faster and faster, stopping for a minute and then faster and faster and then stopping and I'm thinking, Christ, this old dried up hippy chick upstairs, is getting lucky, and I'm down here wondering what sex is even like.
To me sex is still this weird, mysterious thing. I once had a whole session with my shrink and I was allowed to ask absolutely any question I wanted to about sex. My parents never told me about the birds and the bees. And I went to Catholic School and they never talked about it. And then I went to public high school and I think I must have been sick the day they discussed it, because I sure don't remember it.
So I asked my shrink about the mechanics of the act. About penises. What happens to them during sex. About condoms. About orgasms. I never once looked at him while talking. He's very open about sex. He's a former hippy, kind of a free-spirit, free-love type I suspect. I was a nervous wreck though. I remember I took home the key to his private bathroom by accident that day. I had just used the restroom beforehand and was gripping the key in my hand so tightly I didn't even realize I had it. He's matured and gone a little more corporate now, 7 years later, but he still hooks his legs up over the edge of his chair like a ten year old and this last week he had his pant leg pulled up over his knee. He used to pull off his socks and play with his toes during my session. He may still do this but I'm so used to it, I don't even notice anymore.
And this is the guy I entrust my mental health to. Ha!
But I actually like the informality of his approach. I'm a former hippy type too. Just recently I've started taking off my shoes and curling up on his couch with my bare feet. Its only taken 7 years. But that's how I am at home. I used to be super uptight when I first started seeing him. My very first appointment he kept telling me not to be afraid.
OK, but only if you promise not to take off your socks and play with your toes.
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty