Up in Ontario

Our Neighbours are Having Sex Right Now

Oh lordy. 1:14 am. Our neighbours are having their sex, right now. If you don't want to read about it, skip ahead, or behind, or to the loo my darling, because it's all happening and it's all happening right backflippin' now and I've been living with this on my own for too long now.

She:

• Could be related to a squirrel.
  
• Consistently makes a strained, breathy 'hey, hey, hey' noise, which penetrates the wall between their bedroom and our bedroom like a hot knife through butter.
  
• Actually cries out phrases like 'oh baby' and 'o my god.' Over and over in repetition. For real. Between squeals of 'hey, hey, hey.' At first I thought a professional recording was involved, but no. It's for real.
  
• Could be a voice actor if Disney every needs a hummingbird voiced. Her pacing, cadence and pitch are perfect.

He:

• Sounds like an asthematic race horse, having a full attack, rounding the corner and heading for home. All. The. Time.
  
• Must have an extrodinary resistant pelvis, perhaps a hard bone plate similar to the ass of a wombat, to sustain the kind of damage he seems to be doing to himself.
  
• Runs from the bedroom after the bed stops its squeaking, every time, and not pitter patter but tromp tromp.

The Bed:

• Is really the showpiece of the performance. Its nasal squeaking provides the perfect counterpoint to her squealing 'hey, hey, hey' and his asthematic heaving.
  
• Has been stripped of its headboard and moved away from the wall, thank god. When we first moved in the headboard was in full effect, with the squeaking and a knocking on the electric baseboard heater. Their usual went something like this: hump noises at a moderate pace woke me, I'm awake, the ceiling is the same as it has always been, the bed begins to squeak - ear-urt, ear-urt - the pace picks up, the ear-urt continues - ear-urt, ear-urt - and the baseboard chimes in - ear-urt-ting, ear-urt-ting - and now they're into it - ear-urt-ting, ear-urt-ting - and with some vigour the headboard comes in - ear-urt-ting-thunk, ear-urt-ting-thunk - then she starts with the obabys and omigods - ear-urt-ting-obaby-thunk, ear-urt-ting-omigod-thunk. Repeat, for six, seven minutes, with very little variance in pace. Get up and have a drink of water. See if the Duck's awake. She's not. You're on your own - ear-urt-ting-thunk - buddy boy.

Of late they don't seem to have a usual routine, so we never know when to avoid the apartment and/or bedroom. This past week, they've been hitting it late at night. 1:14 am this time, 3:41 a few nights ago, as if one of them works late at a restaurant or bar job. Before this week though, nothing for weeks. Maybe he's a migrant worker, only in town for briefs stints in the sack, then off again? A fisherman chasing ling cod off the northwest coast of Vancouver Island for weeks on end? The imagination runs through its own tangential scenarios to create any kind of story out of this.

I'm preparing a care package of WD-40 right now. I'll drop it off at their door with a note on the merits of over usage. Updates? Perhaps.