Last night Josh K. and I had an end-of-the-semester celebratory slumber party at his fabulous apartment. We sat in his living room with the windows thrown open and the lights down. A heavily scented post-rain breeze blew through the room while Joni Mitchell, Cat Stevens, and Jack Johnson played quietly on the stereo. Josh and I talked and laughed non-stop about school, guys, and New York.
Around 2 a.m. we curled into bed and started to fall asleep (on our own sides of the bed, mind you--we're best friends, not boyfriends).
But then we started hearing sounds. Softly first, then louder. Then much louder.
”Oh. Ooooh. Oooooooooooh.”
Josh K. started laughing.
“Did you hear that?” he asked.
“Is that—is that what I think it is?” I asked, sitting up. We both started giggling and we pressed our ears against the wall. The noise level increased and it was like we were in the room with them.
We heard what either sounded like a sick dog whining or else a woman on her way to a semi-satisfying orgasm. She moaned. She groaned. For a while she switched over to making noises like a constipated person trying to sling out some poo, but then she switched back to moaning dog noises. They got louder, more insistent.
Josh and I almost died laughing. Josh K. had to keep telling me to quiet down because if we could hear them, they could probably hear us.
Finally we heard a low, manly grunt. Just one. The dog-whine-constipation groans stopped. Apparently the sex was over.
I looked at my watch. “Jesus, we could have started some Ramen when they started and been eating it by the time they were done.”
We kept laughing intermittently until we finally drifted off to sleep.
