Paul Parillo The Sounds of Sex

Sex, let's talk about it. Specifically, sex and the unintentional vicariousness had by me and the thin walls of life. Every so often, usually late on a Saturday night or in the afternoon like today, a vicious thumping can be heard coming from the apartment above me. Of course it's just the tenants using their genitals for sexual intercourse, but before I let myself privy to their exploits, I like to pretend it's other stuff too.

 

Their apartment is a two bedroom, so I like to think one of the bedrooms has Zeus, the God of Thunder masturbating to a large battering ram who's running it's head into a wall of Asian gongs. Naturally, it's one of many explanations prompted by the pulverizing ferocity of the sounds above me. Or perhaps, the tenant was recently watching an infomercial for "The Sounds of Sex" - a compact disc containing a 30 minute "sexcapade", allowing for the person to still get on with their day while convincing everyone else that they have an above average sex life. Sometimes their enjoyment is trumped by my distain, but instead of wallowing, I take an ambitious stride forward - into the kitchen. There, I whip up my famous kraft dinner surprise and take to some of my own entertainment. Sex heard through the walls wouldn't be complete without the sounds of kraft dinner being squished with a wooden spoon in syncopated time to match what's being heard above me. Of course that sound could only organically be achieved by over-lubing a dead person's vagina, but nevertheless, I need to be industrious when adventures outside of my apartment are out of the question.

 

When they've finished, so do I, and together we light a cigarette inside the misty cloud of passion with which we all took part, vicarious or not. Some days I want to stand outside their apartment door and wait for one of them to leave. I'd confront them, make my presence known - but instead of condemning their loudness, I'll thank them for letting me enjoy their shrieks and wails from a room not my own. And just when they feel rightfully unsure of my intentions, I'll remove my pants and ask for seconds.

Add new comment

Plain text

  • No HTML tags allowed.
  • Web page addresses and e-mail addresses turn into links automatically.
  • Lines and paragraphs break automatically.
By submitting this form, you accept the Mollom privacy policy.