Apartment Life
I got up late this morning because the girl next door was having very audible sex for a good hour between 1 am and 2:10 am. Sleeping through the gasping and high-pitched shrieking was impossible. I read stuff on the iPad3 as I waited for her to reach orgasm. It sounded like she finally got there about 1:25 or 1:30 am…fine. Then she was back at it a few minutes later. A second wolf-howl orgasm woke up the neighborhood around 1:45 or 1:50 am. That has to be it, I told myself….please. I have to get up at 7 am.
And then she was gasping and crying and begging for deliverance again about five minutes later. Then I realized she was the Unsinkable Molly Brown of orgasms and that this might go on until God knows when. The only way this can end is when the boyfriend gets there, I told myself. I became a Red Sox fan in the stands, rooting for the guy. C’mon, dude…let go, take the leap, go over the waterfall. Three or four minutes later the girl was shrieking again and then I heard the boyfriend go “awwrrgghhm.” Thank you. And give it a go in the early evening sometime. Or at least closer to 11 pm or midnight.
The guy lasts an hour and through two orgasms? My fucking hero. I trust you gave a loud ovation.
I’ll have what he’s having…
I’ll have what SHE’s having.
Almost exact experience the other night with the added caveat that I got some headboard percussion on my bedroom wall.
And then, at the very end of it all, Jeff distinctly heard the girl say: “Geez, I hope we didn’t wake up that creepy guy next door.”
I would have [thanks but no thanks -- I'd rather not hear about that in this forum -- Jeffrey Wells].
Wells to Leydon: Eff yourself, Joe. I’m creepy because they kept me up and I mentioned it the next morning?
Truth is, we were just excited about our brand new drum kit.
You’re complaining? This is a perk of apartment living! Female orgasms are music to men’s ears. You have ears, no?
Years ago one cloudy Sunday afternoon in the Hermosa apt complex I was living in some woman was getting positively RAILED. Their window was open, and the sounds echoed all across the courtyard for a good 20 minutes. Once she was finished, the next sound you heard was easily half a dozen people in their own apartments loudly applauding the show.
Guess you have to not hate women to appreciate that though.
There’s something very Italian about all this. Not sure what it is.
How long have you lived next door to Wallace Shawn?
Wasn’t it just a few days ago that Jeff was assuring us all that he was a very successful blogger? Pretty depressing to think a guy can be a successful blogger and still have to complain about the neighbors in his condo. I sure hope it’s at least a condo.
True story: they pay bloggers in gold bullion.
C’mon Jeff, you can talk about multiple orgasms on this blog, but not about the completely sane and acceptable act of self gratification? The point was that if you were looking for sleep, there’s a very easy way to find it.
Perhaps they were auditioning for the next Lena Dunham campaign ad?
Too bad it wasn’t a European television commercial, so we could dolly through the wall and into the other apartment, only to find out that they were merely getting excited over the taste of New Improved Milota Cafe. “mmm….bella!”
It was the girl you were trying to pick up during the first debate, wasn’t it?
Actually…, similar stories here, too! I think “Rear Window” prepared me for an enjoyably voyeuristic take on apartment living!
Well, maybe she’d passed you in the hall a few times — and recalled your conversational gambits — so when she flashed onto an unwelcome memory of your leer during post-coital bliss, she felt…. creeped out?
“I read stuff on the iPad3 as I waited for her to reach orgasm.”
Happens all the time in my marriage.
Hey-o!
Wells to Leydon: No offense but I think it’s best all around if you take a leave of absence from Hollywood Elsewhere, Joe. I’m genuinely sick of your cheap bullshit.
Hey, Jeff, it’s hard to see how you can post something like this to get the expected ribald responses and then take offense at Joe Leydon for making a suitable joke in response.
@Actually, unless you’re seventeen or younger listening to someone have sex without involving you is like watching someone else drink.
[Due respect but Joe Leydon has been escorted out of the building. His schtick is over. His ticket has been stamped.]
@reverent and free: there’s an entire pornography industry out there that calls bullshit on that.
In all seriousness, Jeff, if you really are so absolutely lacking in self-awareness that you can’t get why a post like this would yield a bumper crop of jokes at your expense in the comments, you need therapy or something. Suggested topics for future posts: public restroom urinal anxiety, bathrobe malfunction while signing for UPS packages, farting in front of Greta Gerwig.
Also: you ever wonder if the day’s gonna come when one of the neighbors you write so vividly about gets wind of your output and just pastes you?
Wells to Kenny: Everything is copy unless I’m talking to industry people, in which case everything is background or non-attrib unless permission is granted. I’ll never identify Joe or Jane Schmoe if I write about them, and I’ll never so much as indicate who they might be. Privacies are respected as far as they go. And I always write about this stuff with a certain tone of remove and restraint. I never sound like Joe Bomowski. The above story was simply about a hard-working regular guy having to endure a distraction that was keeping him from going to sleep, and it was written in the avuncular, dryly debased fashion of Bruce Jay Friedman or Doug Kenney or Max Schulman. No farting in the vicinity of Greta Gerwig. And if somebody who gets written about doesn’t like it, tough.
What Glenn says. And speaking as a longtime admirer of Joe Leydon, I would miss him here. He deserves reinstatement. What is this, Stalinist Russia? Oh, wait . . .
When it comes to people who cross the line with personal insults and denigration directed at yours truly, you’d better believe it’s Stalinist Russia…damn straight. Just like a guest at a party at your home who’s gotten sloppy and crude and has farted in the vicinity of your wife or daughter, he gets the heave-ho. Leydon is a supercilious smartass who doesn’t know from manners, and so he’s out. If that’s Stalinism, fine. Just call me Joe.
@Kanned, apples and oranges. Movies are movies, daydream images for your viewing pleasure. It suits fapping because it’s only in your mind. The reality of someone getting hot and heavy unwittingly in your presence is rubbing in your face that you’re being left out.
The Checkered Demon just smiled.
I would have kicked Joe Leydon to the curb too, if it was my blog–that stuff was really mean and personal. Travis Crabtree’s bit was funny enough that I could actually forget his political posts for a few minutes.
I have great news.
38 of the best supper clubs in America have offered a contract for Joe and Jeff to do THE ODD COUPLE or MY DINNER WITH ANDRE or. THE ZOO STORY.
(There were also offers in the MidWest for La Cage aux Folles but I t turned them down straight away.)
Thou a night, room, dinner, per diem and ear plugs.
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