To the Loud Sex Neighbor That Made Me Move

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add insult to insomnia, there was a leak in my bathroom, which meant that every time you took a shower after one of your loud sex sessions, I was left with the mental image of all manner of fluids and DNA leaking on to my bathroom floor — which I diligently had to prevent my cat from <a href="http://www.sexwithkiki.com/Licking.html">licking</a> up. That alone was exhausting and crazymaking. Maybe I was overreacting. Maybe I’m just a germophobe. All I knew was that not only was I constantly tired because your loud sex kept me up at night, but then I had to mentally deal with the biohazard that may have been shooting from your <a href="https://readmedium.com/the-real-reason-i-refused-to-give-you-oral-sex-fellatio-7aa9be2b4878">dick</a>.</p><figure id="0f69"><img src="https://cdn-images-1.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:800/0*GNhTgNpv897ETxQO"><figcaption>Photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/@abbiebernet?utm_source=medium&utm_medium=referral">Abbie Bernet</a> on <a href="https://unsplash.com?utm_source=medium&utm_medium=referral">Unsplash</a></figcaption></figure><p id="5992" type="7">I was hardly the first driven out of the building by your raucous Romeo routine.</p><p id="e8e5">And you put me in the unsavory position of having to complain about this to…someone. But who? I didn’t even know your name; was I really supposed to march my angry <a href="https://readmedium.com/10-weird-objects-removed-from-peoples-butts-97bb5037c29f">ass</a> up to your place and ask you to stop fucking so loud? Or tell the building manager about this embarrassing quandary I’d found myself in? In the end, I went with the latter because I thought it could be handled by him more diplomatically than my irritation would allow — plus there would be a paper trail if I needed one — and it would probably be taken more seriously by you.</p><p id="25c9">Or not.</p><p id="3083">Granted, you did change your ways, though not really for the better. By this time, I guess you thought that playing what could only be described as feedback to mask the sounds of the moaning would make it better. It didn’t. It only gave me <a href="https://readmedium.com/common-lies-we-tell-our-partner-to-avoid-sex-27b094cec3b6">migraines</a>.</p><p id="01d9" type="7">“Jimmy! Jimmy! I’m coming Jimmy!”</p><p id="17e2">Suffice it to say, you were driving me up the wall. Even during the best of times, no one wants to deal with this kind of shit — and you especially don’t want to deal with it when you’re already stressed out from fifteen hour workdays. So when I was approached about renewing my lease, my answer was a resounding <i>hell fucking no</i>. The landlord was not remotely surprised; I was hardly the first driven out of the building by your raucous Romeo routine. In fact, I was the <i>fourth</i>. And moving day couldn’t come fast enough.</p><p id="fd83">Have I heard som

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eone having sex on occasion since I left? Of course. Most amusingly, I used to hear an enthusiastic woman in another building with her bedroom window open proclaiming “<i>Jimmy! Jimmy! I’m coming Jimmy!</i>” But even she simmered down after a while — making me later wonder if she had moved or if Jimmy was replaced by someone who wasn’t quite as skilled in the bedroom. Either way, she didn’t keep me up all night every night, and she certainly didn’t drive me to pack up my shit and leave.</p><p id="1e9e">I guess I ought to thank you. I love where I live now and the stars seemed to have aligned perfectly to get me here. I can only hope the poor sap that now has to be subjected to your obnoxious <a href="https://medium.com/sex-with-a-side-of-quirk">sex</a> owns a crate full of earplugs.</p><p id="cda7"><b><i>More from Kiki Wellington:</i></b></p><div id="eff2" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/that-time-the-obscene-phone-caller-hung-up-on-me-bad-phone-sex-f17b74858958"> <div> <div> <h2>That Time the Obscene Phone Caller Hung Up on Me</h2> <div><h3>If you’re going to dirty talk strangers, you’d better be good at it</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*Mti0_iTA2BFq1BUyVk-yfg.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><div id="5c3a" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/hard-boiled-eggs-adventures-in-being-a-telephone-sex-operator-ba6267dd0f95"> <div> <div> <h2>To the One Who Shoved Hard Boiled Eggs Up His Rectum</h2> <div><h3>No buts about it, your ass play weirded me out</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/0*lnjtxf2jduVzYdUY)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><div id="a8ac" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/oklahoma-penis-pump-judge-donald-d-thompson-f05923a24b80"> <div> <div> <h2>Here Cums the Judge: A Jurist, a Penis Pump, and a Whole Lot of Legal Trouble</h2> <div><h3>How Oklahoma judge Donald D. Thompson found himself on the wrong side of the law because of a sex toy</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*3_9MGizyUHrgNoAKTaOMiQ.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div></article></body>

No, the sound of your sex is not that damned sexy

I remember the first time like it was yesterday: It was late on a Saturday night, a few months after moving in, and I was watching the movie Blow. It sounded like you’d had a party earlier, which was fine, and things had settled down. I thought I heard some creaking above my head, but it was late, I had been drinking a little bit, and I didn’t think that much of it. But then I heard her moan. And moan a little louder. And moan until there was no mistaking that what was coming from your apartment was…well, coming.

And you know what? When I heard her pleasure, I did find it kind of hot for a few minutes. And I can even admit that for a few minutes, I did have a little bit of quality time with one of my sex toys.

But that was the first few minutes. This went on and on and on and got louder and louder and louder. By the time it was over, you may have felt like you needed a cigarette, but I felt like I needed a blow torch and hand grenade. However, I let it go. It was a date night after all, and I’ve certainly had my moments of being much louder than I should have been in bed.

I had to mentally deal with the biohazard that may have been shooting from your dick.

What I didn’t do was make it a nightly occurrence. What I didn’t do was get so loud on a nightly basis with — what I gathered by the sounds of the voices — was a revolving door of different people who seemed to be, one by one, trying to outdo the last in terms of decibel level. What I didn’t do was keep my neighbors up every night knowing full well they could hear me. How do I know you were aware of how loud it was? Because after keeping me up all night for weeks, you had the unmitigated gall to come to my place one morning to complain that the radio was too loud. Maybe I should have talked to you about it then, but I had to get to work and frankly, that conversation was a fucking embarrassment I didn’t need.

To add insult to insomnia, there was a leak in my bathroom, which meant that every time you took a shower after one of your loud sex sessions, I was left with the mental image of all manner of fluids and DNA leaking on to my bathroom floor — which I diligently had to prevent my cat from licking up. That alone was exhausting and crazymaking. Maybe I was overreacting. Maybe I’m just a germophobe. All I knew was that not only was I constantly tired because your loud sex kept me up at night, but then I had to mentally deal with the biohazard that may have been shooting from your dick.

I was hardly the first driven out of the building by your raucous Romeo routine.

And you put me in the unsavory position of having to complain about this to…someone. But who? I didn’t even know your name; was I really supposed to march my angry ass up to your place and ask you to stop fucking so loud? Or tell the building manager about this embarrassing quandary I’d found myself in? In the end, I went with the latter because I thought it could be handled by him more diplomatically than my irritation would allow — plus there would be a paper trail if I needed one — and it would probably be taken more seriously by you.

Or not.

Granted, you did change your ways, though not really for the better. By this time, I guess you thought that playing what could only be described as feedback to mask the sounds of the moaning would make it better. It didn’t. It only gave me migraines.

“Jimmy! Jimmy! I’m coming Jimmy!”

Suffice it to say, you were driving me up the wall. Even during the best of times, no one wants to deal with this kind of shit — and you especially don’t want to deal with it when you’re already stressed out from fifteen hour workdays. So when I was approached about renewing my lease, my answer was a resounding hell fucking no. The landlord was not remotely surprised; I was hardly the first driven out of the building by your raucous Romeo routine. In fact, I was the fourth. And moving day couldn’t come fast enough.

Have I heard someone having sex on occasion since I left? Of course. Most amusingly, I used to hear an enthusiastic woman in another building with her bedroom window open proclaiming “Jimmy! Jimmy! I’m coming Jimmy!” But even she simmered down after a while — making me later wonder if she had moved or if Jimmy was replaced by someone who wasn’t quite as skilled in the bedroom. Either way, she didn’t keep me up all night every night, and she certainly didn’t drive me to pack up my shit and leave.

I guess I ought to thank you. I love where I live now and the stars seemed to have aligned perfectly to get me here. I can only hope the poor sap that now has to be subjected to your obnoxious sex owns a crate full of earplugs.

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