My parents were slightly cool parents. I had a fun basement in high school (guest room, tv room, ping pong table) and my parents would occasionally let me put it to good use. They had a couple rules: my dad would have to come down throughout the night and celeb shot a round in pong to make sure everyone was being responsible, everyone had to sleep over and give up their keys, and I had to clean up first thing in the morning. One night during the summer before heading to college we had a fun one.. After the party died down and everyone found their spots to sleep, I went upstairs alone (unfortunately) and passed out in my bed.
I woke up a little hungover at around 11am. Time to clean up.. Usually, everyone is gone by the time I’m up.. Other than the guest room, most sleeping arrangements aren’t comfortable enough to sleep late. I creep downstairs to see the damage, not too bad and as expected, everyone’s gone. I start on the living room side, putting a couple cans in a trash bag. I pause for a second, then I hear it. Someone is moaning.. My heart beats and feel the shameful, erotic lurch that ones feels when they are turned on by something they shouldn’t be. It’s coming from the guest room, which is hidden from view by the staircase in the center of the basement.