Next-Door Neighbors

Content Warning: Mentions sexual activity, language

Not many people can say they’ve complained about having to listen to their neighbors have sex every night.

I am one of those lucky, lucky people.

For the past three months, I have suffered through having extremely thin apartment walls and a couple of gays as next-door neighbors who don’t seem to care very much about my conscience--or my sleep schedule. 

This is almost as bad as the time I overheard moaning from the teacher’s lounge when I was in eighth grade. And then, being the stupid teenager I was, I peeked under the paper that covered the window of the door. What I saw would be the cause of a recurring nightmare that I suffered from for many years.

I think that nightmare might be coming back.

I put up with the noises for a few nights, and then I went straight to the landlord. I complained that I was being traumatized by it and that he needed to talk to my neighbors. Okay, maybe I’m being a little overdramatic.

Now, don’t get me wrong.

Gays are pretty great, and my neighbors are no exception. They’re always friendly and offer to help me carry my groceries up the five flights of stairs. I just can’t stand listening to them have such audible sex each night.

So anyway, it might be a little surprising to find out that the landlord is actually the ex-boyfriend of one of my neighbors.

No wonder they don’t like to talk about each other.

What the fuck.

I think I’m in a soap opera.

I’m not, though, for the record. There’s no way they’d let me on TV, what with my tendency to blow up in a bunch of profanities and violence at the smallest of things. Something tells me that wouldn’t make a very good soap opera. 

My first anger strike happened in my apartment the night after asking the landlord about my neighbors. 

I don’t remember very much, except that I heard moaning next door and started screaming “fuck you” at the wall and kicking things. When I was done throwing my tantrum, the noises had been replaced by the low murmur of voices.

They were probably talking about how crazy I was.

The next morning, I went straight back to the landlord.

“Go away,” he told me when he saw me approach. I ignored him and continued stalking closer, this time with the power of my anger fueling me. 

“I have fucking had it,” I told him. “There’s gotta be a law somewhere that says they can’t have sex where I can hear them.” He shook his head, looking like he was trying to seem apologetic but wasn’t exactly succeeding. 

“Sorry,” he said insincerely. 

“Can’t you at least talk to them?” I begged. He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking uncomfortable. “You’re the landlord!”

“Well, I suppose…” 

“Good! That’s settled, then. I have to go to work, but I’ll be back this evening, and that should be plenty of time to sort out your differences and get them to stop.” Feeling confident that this plan would succeed, I hurried away in high spirits.

That evening, I returned to my apartment without talking to the landlord. I was hopeful that he had already spoken with my neighbors, but I also couldn’t seem to find him anywhere.

He was probably cowering in fear under a bed somewhere.

I curled up in bed, relaxing and preparing for my first good night’s sleep in months. It lasted about five minutes before I was aroused by suspicious and familiar sounds next door. I sat up in bed, rage clouding my vision like a red haze.

No way was I going to wait until morning this time. I went straight to the landlord’s apartment on the first floor and banged on his door with a clenched fist. He appeared a moment later, looking like I had just woken him up from a peaceful sleep, which made me even madder. How dare he enjoy his sleep schedule while I was being tortured in my own room!

When he recognized me, his eyes got as big as tennis balls and he started to close the door, but I held it open with my foot.

“They’re doing it right now. So go in there and tell them to stop.”

“I can’t do that!” he protested. “That’s a violation of their privacy.”

“I don’t fucking care. You’re the owner of the fucking building. You can do whatever you want.” It was clear that I wasn’t going to leave until he solved the problem. So, because he valued his sleep as much as I did, he relented.

I trailed him all the way up the stairs, not trusting that he would actually do what he promised.

He kept glancing back at me until it was obvious that I wasn’t going to let him sneak away. Reluctantly, he approached my neighbors’ room. As soon as we got within five feet of the door, the noises could be heard. I noticed the second they registered in the landlord’s brain because he froze mid-step and seemed to second-guess himself. 

“Hurry up,” I told him impatiently. 

He didn’t move.

Rolling my eyes in disgust, I helped the process along by knocking on the apartment door loudly and shoving the landlord in front of it. “There,” I scowled. 

The noises stopped, and a few moments later one of my neighbors came to the door in an oversized t-shirt that was slightly askew and flannel pajama pants that had probably just been thrown on. The mildly pissed look on their face was multiplied by about a billion when they saw the landlord.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” the neighbor demanded.

Looks like the wrong one came to the door.

Well, it’ll probably be interesting at least. I’ve never seen two ex-boyfriends fight. The landlord stammered and fidgeted, trying to back away, but there was no way the other guy was going to let him off this easily.

I’d be pissed, too, if my ex showed up to interrupt me having sex with my new partner. I can see how that would make me angry.

I was right, at least.

It was interesting to watch. 

Well, I kinda lied. It was interesting to watch at first, but after a little while I got bored of the neighbor yelling and the landlord whimpering and giving excuses, so I left. It was pointless to try and sleep in this racket, so I went for a walk outside instead, and by the time I returned an hour later, the fight was over.

I guess the argument had ruined any chances of the next-door gays wanting to have sex that night, so I got a few long hours of uninterrupted sleep before my alarm went off and I had to face another day of work.

When I got home that evening, I tried a new tactic.

I was so sick of all the drama by this point that I decided to just go ask my neighbors in person. I’ll admit that I was worried--well, terrified, actually, especially after the fight--about how they’d react, so I approached with caution, ready to leave if it wasn’t a good time.

“Hey,” I said. The taller guy looked up, saw me, and waved.

“Hi,” he replied cheerfully.

“Um, there’s something I gotta talk to you about,” I said nervously. “But if now isn’t a good time, I can just leave,” I added quickly. He ignored my excuses, looking serious now.

“Okay, what is it?”

Honestly, I don’t know why I was so scared to talk about their loud sex. Gay men are so awesome. They handled it easily and promised that they would refrain from having sex while I was in the apartment next door.

“I know a good gay bar in town that’s got a few back rooms we can borrow,” the shorter guy added with a smirk. So everything went well. My neighbors don’t hate me. And hey! I get to sleep at night without listening to weird noises.

Moral of the story?

Don’t complain about your neighbors to your landlord, especially if your landlord is one of your neighbor’s ex and they kinda hate each other. Also, don’t be afraid to talk to gay men because they’re amazing and should be worshipped.