Flatmating / by Courtney Mehlhaff

I attended a friend's wedding not long ago, and it was beautiful. Nice ceremony, fun reception, plenty of delicious food and even more drinks. It ran so late that I decided to crash at a friend's apartment nearby instead of driving home. He set me up in his bedroom and retired to the couch, and we were both quickly snoring.

Until about 4 a.m., when I woke to his upstairs neighbor having the loudest sex I've ever had the misfortune of hearing through a wall. I'm talking banging and grunting and moaning and screaming, to a degree that would likely rival any bit of pornography out there on the interwebs. This couple clearly had two tickets to pound town and were not wasting them.

But it lasted so long that I eventually went from being annoyed to almost impressed. I honestly kind of wanted to give the guy a slow clap.

Suddenly there was a buzz from my cell phone on the nightstand next to me. I picked it up, wondering who in the hell could be contacting me in the middle of the night, and saw a text. It was from my friend in the next room.  It read: 


We could hear each other laughing across the apartment by then. I wish I could say that, in retaliation, we made an equal amount of obnoxious fake-sex noises by banging on the ceiling and groaning, but we were exhausted and lazy. Plus, the couple was already thundering down the stairs for a well-deserved cigarette.