I listened to them for three months through the back wall of my bedroom closet. If I got home before 6 o'clock, I only heard her there, seemingly alone. Sometimes I heard a television or music, always playing at a low volume. Occasionally I heard her voice talking on the telephone. She spoke Chinese.
Their arguments began when he got home at 7. I never understood any of their exchanges - they never spoke to each other in English. Her tone was sharp and accusatory. His responses were lower-pitched rumbles. Their words volleyed back and forth, pausing for what I assumed was their dinnertime. Some evenings, that would end the arguments. On other evenings they'd start up again. Eventually their voices stilled, and only their television broke the silence.
They were in bed at 10, like clockwork. And more often than not, regardless of the intensity of their earlier bickering, they fucked. In the beginning I'd lie in bed and hear their muffled sounds, though as the weeks passed, I became emboldened and I'd press an ear against the wall to listen more clearly. They'd start slowly. I'd hear her long, exhaled moans or his deep-throated grunts. Oral sex, I concluded, and neither of them seemed to reach orgasm. Eventually they fucked.
Their fucking was delightfully noisy and frustratingly quick. Invariably, in a span of never more than three or four minutes, her moans became high-pitched staccato squeaks, his grunts became sustained, earthy growls, and their headboard thumped an ever-quickening beat against the far bedroom wall until he climaxed. Then silence. Did she come? I guessed not.
And why did I guess not? Because I'd hear her when she did climax. That happened almost every morning, shortly after her husband left for work. I'd listen to her pleasure herself, vocalizing the same high-pitched squeaks as she'd done the night before, but in the mornings these sounds transitioned to a new plateau, announcing each of her several orgasms with loud, breathy gasps and throaty moans. My own more silent climax usually synchronized with her first one. Her husband missed out on a lot.
I never saw them in person. I just entered their lives through their anonymous sounds. It went on like that for three months, and then suddenly they were gone. They must have moved when I was at work because their apartment went silent for three weeks.
My next neighbor was a man, also unseen and anonymous. He lived there for four months. In that time I heard him entertain a female visitor only once. The two of them arrived about midnight, interrupting my quiet reading in bed with their slamming doors, flushing toilets, and loud voices. Then the volume dropped and my ear found its way to the closet wall, and before long they were in bed. I heard soft voices and stretches of silence mixed with sounds of giggles and pleasure. When the bed noises began, it was a steady rhythm and all too brief, finishing with her "Oh God!" exclamation and his long, bear-like growl.
His departure was soon replaced by a new renter, this time a woman. She had an active social life, and her apartment was filled with voices both female and male. Once or twice a week she entertained a man in her bedroom, complete with conversation, laughs, lengthy sexplay, and multiple orgasms. I became a student of the sounds, and it was clear to me that there were at least two, perhaps three, men she was involved with.
I saw her in person a few weeks after she moved in. She was in her late 20s, short and a tad pudgy, sporting a constant smile and an embodiment of "perky." We crossed paths that first time in the hallway as we both happened to emerge from our apartments. We exchanged a mutual "Hi!" as we crossed paths.
After that, after I had a glimpse of the tangible woman who occupied the bed in the next apartment, I was doubly aroused when I listened to her through the wall. I tried to imagine what she was doing with her lover du jour. When I heard only a male moan, was that from her busy mouth? When her joyful noises were unaccompanied by bed creaks, was he feasting on her pussy? And when the bed began creaking, I tried to envision how their bodies were joined. What positions did she like? Did it vary with each lover? Did she control the actions, or did he?
Meanwhile, my own sex life picked up. My relationship with a woman at work had been evolving from friendly to flirty to suggestive. Melanie was in her late thirties, a decade older than me, and had a boyfriend. She was medium height, skinny with small breasts, long red hair and sparkling blue eyes, and a quick laugh. We'd frequently eat lunch together, at first in groups, then as time went on more often it was just the two of us.
Eventually our conversations got personal. I told Melanie about my long-distance relationship that was in hiatus, and she told me about her apathetic boyfriend. "I don't know why I bother to take the pill," she grumbled one day, "He never seems interested. Am I really that boring?" I assured her she wasn't. I also took a mental note about her contraceptive of choice – and wondered whether she might be dropping a hint to me.
A week later, driving to a sandwich shop for lunch, she asked to see where I lived. Ten minutes after that we were in my apartment. She excused herself for a quick bathroom break, and moments later we were kissing in the living room. Five minutes after that, I was on my back on the bed, and Melanie was busily slurping away on my cock.
Things were obviously moving quickly.
While Melanie was slowly bobbing up and down on my shaft, I slipped a hand up her skirt – no panties! – and played with her pussy. She was wet and growing wetter by the second. Her moans vibrated through my erection as my fingers grazed up and down her slippery cleft, saying hello to both her prominent clit and her vagina. Melanie's mouth disengaged and she looked up at me. Her fist was wrapped around the base of my throbbing shaft. "Do we have time for a quickie?" she asked with a smile.
