That banging thing
On FetLife, there’s currently a thread going about spanking noise and who hears what. The original poster posited that perhaps all the worry about people being able to hear what we’re doing is unnecessary; that it’s really not as big an issue as it’s claimed to be.
Yeah, it is.
Y’all know the stories of how John and I have had the cops called on us three times, so I won’t bore you with that. But that thread reminded me of his old apartment, where we played a lot. Our relationship was new and spanking was a constant.
And yes, his neighbors heard.
On the other side of his bedroom wall was a two-bedroom apartment. Crammed into it was a family of five — a woman, her deadbeat third husband who did nothing but sit around the house and smoke pot, her two sons from her previous marriages, and their baby. The woman (her name is escaping me at the moment) seemed to have a thing for John; she was always flirting with him (and believe me, he did not return the sentiment). One time, she saw him in the courtyard, sidled up to him and purred, “You know, we can hear what you’re doing in your bedroom.” Before John could reply to that, she added, “Oh, don’t worry. No judgment here. I just thought you might want to know. But the next time you do that, invite me!”
Then there was John’s upstairs neighbor, Loretta. What a busybody and a loudmouth. She talked so loudly, we could hear her phone conversations down in John’s apartment. When she was dealing with a breakup, she played Aretha Franklin’s “A Natural Woman” over and over and over. At top volume. All afternoon. I still can’t stand to hear that song.
She and John were buddies; he used to take care of her cats when she was away. So she was very comfortable with dropping in on him (which I found annoying, but hey, it wasn’t my neighbor). One night, we were playing, and there was a knock on the door. John threw on a pair of shorts and went to answer the door, while I hid naked in the bedroom.
“Hi John!!” I heard her voice boom in its heavy Nu Yawk accent. “I wanted to return this to you.” (She’d borrowed something or another; I forget what.) Then she said, “I knew you were home, because I heard that banging thing you do.”
That banging thing??? I had to clap both hands over my mouth so I wouldn’t howl with laughter.
I must say, I don’t miss that apartment building one bit.
Any of you have stories of being overheard?