The Fucing Simpsons Next Door

"Hello."

With the key in the lock, I turned to see a young woman smiling at me as I was about to enter my new apartment. She had a touch of the hippy student about her and looked about nineteen or so with long sandy hair parted down the middle and loosely tied at each end. She was wearing a plain white t-shirt, a stonewashed pair of denim dungarees under a tan knee-length coat with a rainbow scarf wrapped around her neck and an old school pair of baseball sneakers.

She looked cute and seemed friendly enough.

"Uh, hi, hello," I replied carefully. To be honest, I'm a slow burner and it takes me some time to warm to new people. "Nice to meet you. Are you.." I asked, looking up and down the corridor wondering if she lived on the same floor. The sixth as it happens with an awesome view of the city.

She laughed. "Far end. Number 48. About three months now," she explained. "First day?"

I nodded. "Yeah, got the keys yesterday and just moving in now. Not that I have a lot of stuff anyway and the apartment has pretty much everything I need. Time to spread my wings."

"Ah," she grinned. "Finally flying the parental nest, huh. Same here," she glanced at her watch. "Listen, I gotta run. Architecture 101 calls. Maybe we can have coffee sometime. Sort of a housewarming party for good luck. I'm Susan by the way."

"Mike," I said. "Mike Lebowski."

She stopped at the exit and pressed a button on the wall. "So, you haven't met your neighbors yet?" she asked, sounding amused for some reason.

I shook my head. "Neighbors?"

She raised her eyebrows. "The Simpsons. Number 44. They're.." she paused as if looking for the right word. "Interesting. Yeah, interesting. Definitely interesting. Anyway, bye for now. See ya later!"

And with that, she gave me a brief wave and disappeared into the elevator.

The Simpsons, huh.

***

Two days later I met the Simpsons.

It was 1.00 a.m.

I was pulled out of the land of Nod by a muffled thud followed by excited whispers and the unmistakable sound of creaking bedsprings. Dazed, I lay there stretching and yawning staring up at the ceiling knowing what was going to happen next. Or so I thought.

Awesome. Just great. I glanced at my bedside alarm clock. "Oh, fuck off," I muttered to myself. "Shagging? At this hour?" What is it with some people? Can't they fuck at a reasonable hour? Horny bastards. Hopefully, Homer was a wham-bam-in-and-out flash in the pan splash and dash sort of guy so I could get back to sleep because I had my first class in the morning. I glanced up at the plain beige wall behind my headboard. Come on, dude. Let's fucking go. Get in. Do the business. Get the fuck out. The anticipation was even giving me a mini boner as I lay there waiting for the show to begin.

What happened next was way beyond what I was expecting.

Out of nowhere, there was this Tarzan like yell that had me sitting bolt upright in shock and surprise. Jesus H. Christ Almighty. What the flying fuck was that?

Then he did it again and by the time he was finished, he sounded like someone was strangling a fucking parrot. I sat there in disbelief. Oh, come on. You have got to be kidding me. Really?

"ME TARZAN. YOU JANE!" a voice bellowed in the dark. Oh, geez. Old man Simpson sounded like he was well into amateur dramatics of the kinky kind. "TARZAN FUCK JANE NOW!!" had me blowing snot across the room as I burst out laughing.

Yeah. You tell her, dude. That's the spirit. A little of the old jungle juice had obviously gone a long way. Still, you've got to admire a man who gets straight to the point.

It was then the lady in question got into the act. "Oh, Tarzan," she cried. "Jane wants you to take that big banana of yours and teach her poor little white pussy what she's been missing!"

Who knew Lady Jane was this easily impressed? I could learn a thing or two from this guy as I grabbed each end of the pillow and tried to wrap it around my skull. All we needed now was for the monkey to show up then we would really be cooking. I rolled onto my side as I waited for the Lord of the jungle to put his fruit sausage to good use.

There were two sudden loud thumps against the wall.

"JANE SUCK TARZAN REAL GOOD," he said suddenly. "JANE MAKES TARZAN DICK AND BALLS FEEL FUNNY!"

No shit, Sherlock. This Jane sounded a game gal. For the next five minutes or so, the sounds of slurping and sucking echoed through the wall as Tarzan got his banana peeled. I began to wonder how old they really were when they moved on from playing around in the jungle.

"Look at the size of that thing!" Lady Jane gasped. "That's no dick. Thar's a big fat cock!"

More bed squeaking. "It's the stuff dreams are made of, sweetheart," her lover replied smoothly. "If I'm not mistaken, I think we're gonna need a bigger pussy."

Jane was having none of it. "Play with it, George," she told him. "Don't talk to it."

George? Was that his name? George Simpson?

Good old George obviously went to town on his good lady who moaned loudly as he licked and sucked her to orgasm. "God, I love the smell of pussy of a morning," he muttered which had me gnawing on my pillow as I hid under the duvet. "Fasten your seatbelt, honey. It's going to be a bumpy night!"

I could tell she was cumming by the way she suddenly started to do the full doe ray me fa so la ti doe that ended in a loud squeal of pleasure. Blimey, I guess if you're gonna blow you may as well sound like Julie Andrews when doing it.

This was something else. It was like having a front-row seat on Broadway.

"Time to fuck," I heard him say as their headboard banged on the wall again. "Hi ho, hi ho, off to work I go. Knock Knock knock, is anyone home?" he asked. "Hello, Miss Pussy. I'm here to make you an offer you can't refuse."

What was this? Film fucking school?

Maybe I should take notes.

And they began to fuck. "Go ahead, George. Make my day. You know how to show a girl a good time," she sighed as they got down to the real deal. "Oh my God, you've got your thing jammed in there real good!" The night was filled with moans and grunts as I moved around my bedroom wrapped in my duvet trying to ignore the cinematic fuck fest going on next door and somehow fall asleep. But it was no good. The only sleep I was going to get was when they wore each other out. I just prayed that good old George and his Death Star dick wasn't on viagra. That could be a major fucking problem.

The banging on the wall got louder. And faster.

"Oh, my pussy, George," gasped his wife. "Do my pussy real good, honey."

I wondered how his flux capacitor was doing. Maybe he had to get it up to 88 before we saw some serious shit. Where we're going we don't need roads.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

"Daisy, Daisy," grunted George. "All for the love of you. Just when I think I'm out you pull me right back in. Oh, oh, UH OH!" he groaned loudly. "Houston we have a problem. No, wait. I can't hold it in any longer!! There she blows!! Torpedo's away!"

Hey, what can I say? I laughed. You could write a book about these two. Fuckology for Dummies. How to copulate and keep the neighbors entertained at the same time. Sex as an art form. If you write it they will cum. That sort of thing. Imagine if they were into Shakespeare. The sky would be the limit.

By the sounds of it, George had finally shot his bolt. "She may not look like much but she's got it where it counts," he gasped and I could hear the bed creaking as he got off his wife. "Holy piss flaps, Batgirl, that was some groovy kind of loving. Somehow, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore!"

"SHOW ME THE SPUNK, honey!" squealed his breathless spouse as she went full house bingo on him. "My pussy feels so squishy. You definitely came a lot in this thing. You're braver than I thought," Nothing was said for a moment as I sat on the end of my bed listening.

"Love you, honey," said Mrs. Simpson finally. "Night night. Don't let the bed bugs bite."

Another pause and I could hear them kissing. "Hasta la vista, baby," her husband smooched softly. "At least we'll always have Paris."

Paris? What the fuck happened in Paris? Swear to God, I nearly applauded. And that was it. No encores. No sloppy seconds. No stirring the pot again to make a soup. It really was the final curtain as I collapsed on the bed falling into an exhausted sleep with some very weird dreams fucking around in my iD.

At least in space, no one can hear you fuck.

***

"Much sleep?" asked hippy Susan.

I looked at her bleary-eyed and shook my head.

We were both waiting for the elevator. She glanced over her shoulder and nodded to the apartment door next to mine. "It's a helluva thing isn't it."

That was an understatement. I stared at her for a moment wondering how she could hear them from her apartment at the other end of the corridor. "Uh.." I began.

She smiled. "The last tenant lasted three weeks."

Three whole weeks? Fuck that. "Tarzan was an eye-opener," I deadpanned.

She burst out laughing. "Oh, poor you."

The elevator door opened and we both stepped in. She glanced up at me as the doors closed and we descended to the main lobby. "Did they do the Star Trek thing? That one is a doozy. You'll need either booze, drugs or earplugs when he boldly goes where no man has gone before. Preferably all three."

Seriously? I gave her a pained look that made her laugh even more. Fuck me, I'm going to end up sleeping in the bathroom at this rate.

Well, here's another fine mess I've gotten myself into...

***

The end.

Maybe.