[M neighbor + unknown partner] [F protagonist] [NB character] [eavesdropping] [auditory voyeurism as potential]
(Author’s note: I’m hoping to have Chapters 1.2 and 1.3 up soon- tomorrow at the latest)
Chapter 1.1 – The Intervention
It’s a quarter past 11pm on a Friday, and my roommate Jordan and I are turned sideways on our couch, both with our hands and an ear pressed to the living room wall. Jordan has a long torso so they’re able to pivot from a seated position. I’m 5’2″ on the other hand, so I have to get up on my knees to properly lean over the back cushion. We can hear someone whimpering on the other side over the sound of our fan that we’d set up next to our thrifted coffee table- the air was muggy without it.
Jordan murmurs, “Oh, they’re fucking alright. Do you think they’re doing anal?”
I pull away from the wall and shoot Jordan a look. “Shut. Up!” I mouth at them. Their eyes widen with feigned innocence as if to say, “What?” I reach to turn the fan up to its next setting, both to mask any more noises we might make and because it’s just so hot and humid.
I bring my ear back to the thin wall that separates us from our neighbor and his assumed sexual partner. We don’t even know his name, and he’d moved in weeks ago. He and I seemed to have opposite schedules. I typically get closing shifts at the restaurant where I’m a combination prep cook/utility worker. I’ve only caught glimpses of him on my way out to work as he’d pull into the parking lot of the apartment complex. Once or twice I saw him get out of his car, but only from the back. I was too anxious to walk up to him and introduce myself. I also have a bad habit of cutting it close when getting ready- I once ran alongside a bus and tried to catch the driver’s attention (unsuccessfully as I was too embarrassed to commit to a full sprint in public). Better not to risk starting a conversation. All I could make of his appearance was that he looked taller than me, but not by much- I think Jordan in all of their 6 feet could tower over him; had medium-to-dark brown skin with a reddish undertone; pale yellowish hair that looked as if it had been buzzed in the last month or two and then box-bleached; and broad shoulders, though the denim jacket that he seems to always wear is structured like an 80s leather bomber jacket (wide shoulder panels, roomy sleeves) which might be deceiving me. Oh, and thighs that fill out his pants nicely.
There’s another muffled whimper that’s just slightly high-pitched, followed by a series of low grunts. We hold our breath as we listen, and after a long minute the hidden lovers’ moans are in sync- they’ve found their rhythm. We feel a continuous knocking from the bed or whatever furniture they’re fucking on through the drywall.
My mind snaps upon the realization of what we’re doing; it’s starting to feel weird- like an invasion of privacy. I turn and push myself off the couch to stand up- the cracked faux leather beneath my hands makes my skin crawl. God, we sorely need an upgrade. I make a mental note that Jordan and I should keep an eye out for a local flea market, IRL or online. “Flea market, flea market, flea market,” I repeat in my head, willing my future self to remember.
“I can’t listen anymore,” I say under my breath. Jordan who hasn’t moved from their spot whispers, “Suit yourself.”
I stare at them in disbelief. I plant my feet squarely in front of Jordan and grab their wrists, getting ready to pull their tall, lanky body off the couch. I may be fat and short, possibly asthmatic, but I’ve got a good layer of muscle developed from a combination of high school tennis and working summers at a baseball stadium where I’d go up and down the stands selling concessions. There are thighs of steel- well maybe copper- underneath my soft exterior. Careful not to yank too quickly so as to avoid putting stress on their joints,- chronic pain and all that- I pull Jordan up with relative ease. I didn’t even have to rest a foot on the couch for leverage, which I was fully prepared to do. Then again, Jordan was probably too caught off guard to fully resist.
I drag them around the corner and into the hallway, which isn’t long enough to warrant its own light bulb, apparently. I release my grip and turn to face them. The only light that illuminates our faces is the soft beige glow of the living room. We can still hear my neighbor and whoever else is with him, and the fan’s still running. I do my best to tune the couple out and let the fan take sonic precedence.
“What are you doing?” Jordan asks me.
“I don’t know, i-it just feels wrong to eavesdrop.”
“You and your moral compass. Or so you think you have. I know that deep down…”
Uh on. I start to sweat, and wish I could turn back the clock to ten minutes ago when we were simply cooling down on that couch. I am ill-prepared for what comes next.
“…you’re just like me: a big ole pervert.”
They must’ve seen my search history. But that doesn’t make me a pervert, does it? Wait, I use incognito mode. I am c o n f u s i o n.
“And when you’re ready to come out of that closet, I’ll be here with open arms.”
I take the defensive route and say, “I am not a-”
“Ah ah ahh! Okay, I wasn’t gonna say anything, but I’ve caught you staring at my dick…and more than once at that.” So not the search history. But this is just as bad. A rush of warmth creeps up my neck to my cheeks. “See, even your face can’t deny it!” We’re not even in full light and they could tell that I’m blushing. Hard.
I’ve never wanted to be able to teleport out of a room- hell, a country- more so than at this very moment. That might not be true- I’ve had my fair share of humiliation as a nearly nonverbal, socially awkward autistic kid. I’m still autistic- obviously- and maybe just slightly more verbal. I rely on a loose veil of social camouflage now that I’m an adult. At this moment though, the veil means nothing. Where can I find some enchanted ruby red (aka the color of my face) slippers to heel-click the fuck out of here? I’m so embarrassed- I don’t even know what to say. Even if I did, I feel a lump in my throat. All I can do is look down at the gray speckled almost corporate-like carpet. I fixate on a dark blue stain next to my feet, presumably left behind by a previous tenant; the edges are faded, like whoever tried to clean it only made it worse and spread the color outward.
Jordan says, “I’m sorry, I’ve made you uncomfortable. I was just teasing. Here, is it alright if I hug you? Or I can leave and give you your space.”
Somehow, being left alone in my mortified state sounded worse. I croak out, “A hug is fine.”
I let them wrap their arms around me- my arms remain at my side. My face rests against their bare shoulder, which feels cool against my burning cheek. They pat and rub my back. “C’mon, take some deep breaths.” I inhale and then slowly push out the air for as long as I can. I’d learned this from my middle school P.E. teacher when I couldn’t catch my breath after running a mile and half for the first time. I continue to focus on my breath while I figure out what to say next.
“If anything, I’m the one that probably made you uncomfortable. I shouldn’t have- you know…”
“Don’t worry about it, Vee.” My name’s Vivian, but it’s never really sat right with me- too flowery for me- so I tell everyone to call me by my first initial. Jordan goes on: “When you’re as big as I am, you get used to wandering eyes.” A giggle spills out of me; I’m glad that I didn’t have to address it myself. I bring my arms up to hug them back. We stay like this for a bit. Meanwhile, the lovebirds are still going at it. And they’ve gotten louder. Ignore them, ignore them. Jordan lets go of me only to move their hands to my shoulders. They give me a slight shake and say, “Now, repeat after me: I’m a pervert and I’m proud.”
I look up and meet their big brown eyes. I ask, “Are you really consoling me with a SpongeBob reference right now?”
They say yes with no hesitation. “Now let me hear you say it!”
“Okay, okay.” I try to maintain my gaze and say, “I’m a perv-” The corners of my mouth begin to curve upward. air escapes my closed lips and trumpeted, elephant-like laughter. I can’t look Jordan in the face.
“Vee!!” Jordan shrieks.
“I’m sorry!” Still giddy, I try again but can’t hold a serious expression for more than two seconds.”Wait, don’t look at me.”
Jordan stares off into the “depths” of the hallway behind me.
I eventually collect myself and firmly state, “I’m a pervert, and I’m proud.”
“Louder! Actually, hold on a sec.” They grab their phone from their front pocket. After a few tappings on their keyboard and volume control, the speaker goes, “I CAN’T HEAR YOUU!”
Lord, please no. At least Jordan stopped the intro from playing past the transitional “OHHHHHH! Who li-” My eyes plead with them- I am not about to yell about my admission of perversion. Especially with our neighbor in such close proximity.
Jordan takes my hand and opens the door on my right. They nudge me inside our bedroom and turn on the light.
I make a 180° toward Jordan who’s standing in the doorway. Jordan says, “Go on.”
Let’s just get this over with. Still afraid that I’ll be overheard, I only raise my voice to just above a half-shout: “I’m a pervert! And I’m proud!”
Jordan clasps their hands together and then pretends to pull a tissue which they dab to their eye like a beauty pageant mom living vicariously through her bound-to-need-a-therapist daughter.
They say, “Let’s do something fun. What do you wanna do at this very moment, as a newly out perv?”
It’s Friday, the stars have aligned seeing that we both managed to get the night off. I can’t remember the last time that’s happened.”
I’m put on the spot, and struggle to come up with anything. Jordan goes, “Try not to think about it too hard, just the first thing-” They snap their fingers. “- that pops into your head.”
I remember that I’ve been meaning to get a new vibrator, since my current one died well over a month ago. “Mm, are there any sex shops around here? I -uh- need a new vibe.”
“Sorry to break it to ya, boo. Pretty sure the only stores open late are downtown, and they all close at midnight.”
“What time is it?”
Phone still in hand, they glance at their screen.“11:28. Oh, 11:29 now.”
Damn. There’s no way we could make it. Besides, I don’t wanna be that customer. I know all too well what it’s like on the other side.
If Amazon Prime could get me a vibrator tonight I would consider giving them my money. Again. I had a membership for a while but cancelled it last year. Whenever I shop, I ask myself over and over, “Will I really use this? Is it just gonna take up space?” Our one bedroom apartment isn’t that big, and at my core I am a clutter fiend. I can clean the kitchen and bathroom until they’re spotless, but organize? With my (self-diagnosed) ADHD? Think again. I’ve gotten “better” since living with a roommate; I just clear the clutter more often. But it always comes back sooner or later. Exactly when I’ll move past the stage of self-awareness to actually finding a system that works for my brain is unclear.
I suddenly remembered the flea market. I put a stop to my inner tangent, and I’m about to say something that must feel so incredibly out of the blue to Jordan. From their perspective, they’ve just told me the time and are waiting for my response, and I end my thought process by saying, “Oh yeah, we need to get a new couch.”
“Okaaay. I mean yeah, fair.”
I say, “Sorry, my original thought just sort of…” I bring my hands up and flick my fingers outward as a visual representation of the way a singular thought of mine can disperse into several others in a mere matter of seconds.
“Well I’ve seen you make wilder mind jumps than that- you’re good.”
There’s a brief pause. The silence is filled with accelerated thumping. Jordan and I look at each other then nod- we rush out to the center of the living room as stealthily as we can. We’re both leaning sideways toward the wall- their fuck session pulls us in like a magnet. What started out as a relaxed ebbing and flowing of sighs and moans has now turned into a cacophony of rapid banging against the wall and carnal shouts into the night. With every moan there are two bangs from the furniture.
We can sense the big finale fast approaching and take a step closer. The person with the higher vocal register is now screaming “Yes…yes…yes!” with each exclamation timed with each thud against the wall. They finish on a prolonged whine. A slew of heavy breathing emanates from both parties.
Jordan whispers to me, “If you were working tonight, I’d probably be cumming on that hideous couch right about now.”
I clap a hand over my mouth, trying to stop myself from howling with laughter. They join me in my stifled chuckles.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/oqgcb2/if_these_thin_walls_could_talk_chapter_11
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