I was up late last night (1 a.m.-ish) doing book stuff, sitting on one of the couches in our living room, and I heard some sounds coming from out the window. We live near a bar, a park and a YMCA that houses people, so slight noise from foot traffic after midnight isn’t that uncommon.
The sounds continued. And they got a tad bit louder. And then softer. And then louder again. And they were very distinct sounds. Sounds that, when you hear said sounds, you immediately know the source of said sounds.
I got up, turned the lights off and peeked out the window to confirm what I thought was happening was happening.
And yup. Pressed against the front of our house, underneath the living room window (AND IN THE RAIN) were a man and a woman, and they were definitely, totally, absolutely making the beast with two backs.
And now I have questions for them.
- Did this tryst start at the bar?
- If it didn’t, and you two were just walking down the street when the mood struck, what was it about the front of my house that made you think, “Yup, we need to be fucking right here”?
- Is my brick wall sexually inviting?
- Is there something about the space beneath my living room windows that communicates “please jizz here”?
- Are you exhibitionists, or were you just horny and/or under the influence?
- Considering that it was raining last night and unseasonably mild, which turned the bit of snow still on the ground into slush, do you enjoy fucking in slush?
- Is there a name for people who like to fuck in slush?
- Like the furries, but instead of the furries, the slushies?
- If so, do you have slushy conventions where you congregate from all around the country and have orgies in Marriott ballrooms in buckets full of raspberry Slush Puppies?
- Did you know that my wife—who was upstairs in our bedroom—could hear you, too?
- And that I went upstairs to see if she could hear what I was hearing, and she was actually on her way downstairs to do the same thing?
- And that we both came downstairs and then had a debate about what to do about you?
- And that she wanted to treat you like raccoons or kappas or something and shine a light or throw water or glitter or couscous on you, and I talked her out of it?
- And that the guy who left out of his back door and walked through the little alleyway between my house and our neighbor’s house to the front to “get something from his car” was me, investigating you?
- And that I was impressed by how quickly y’all pulled your pants back up and how easily you shifted into pretending you were just two regular people standing in the rain at 1 in the morning and having a convo about the Steelers?
- And that, after I got the thing I needed to get from the car, you disappeared and I had no idea where you went?
- And that, once I went back down the alleyway to my back door, I saw y’all again ... fucking in the alleyway now?
- And that I was both annoyed by you blocking my path and also confused that WITH A BETWEEN-HOUSES ALLEYWAY AVAILABLE, YOU DIDN’T JUST CHOOSE TO FUCK THERE FIRST INSTEAD OF IN FRONT OF MY FUCKING HOUSE?
- And that, whenever I refer to “the front of my fucking house” now, you’ve forever made it a double entendre?
- And that I just went in my front door and left you alone despite the fact that my wife still wanted us to break you up somehow?
- Did you know that the porch light coming on was the result of a compromise and that you were only able to continue and complete your task because of me?
- SO WHERE IS MY EDIBLE ARRANGEMENT AS A TOKEN OF YOUR GRATITUDE?
- IT’S NOT LIKE YOU DON’T KNOW WHERE I LIVE, SO WHERE IS IT?
- Did you know that, when I shared this incident as a Facebook status while it was happening, a few people asked if you were white, and I didn’t think to include any racial information because I assumed that answer was obvious?
- Do you know what “quickie appropriate” means?
- Do you know that I’m asking you if you know what “quickie appropriate” means because if there was ever an optimal time for a quickie, it’s while fucking in the slush and the rain and the dark on a very public street and on the side of a house belonging to a guy who will totally, definitely, absolutely write about you?
- And did you know that question was facetious because you very obviously don’t know what “quickie appropriate” means because you continued for 17 minutes—which, according to this study, is three times longer than average?
- When finished, why did you spend another 10 minutes having the post-sex recap convo in front of my house?
- Didn’t you have to be somewhere?
- Like Burger King or an Uber or a public park fountain to scrub the slush out from between your ass cheeks?
- Was this all an elaborate ploy to get slush in your ass cheeks?
- Did you use protection?
- Did you know that question about protection was a trick question because of course two people fucking on a slush-tainted brick wall at 1 in the morning aren’t also having responsible sex?
- WAIT ... YOU HAD A FUCKING CAR AVAILABLE THIS ENTIRE TIME (WHICH I KNOW BECAUSE AFTER YOU WERE DONE WITH THE POSTCOITAL RECAP, I COULD HEAR YOU GETTING INTO A CAR AND DRIVING AWAY)?
- WHO CHOOSES A BRICK WALL UNDERNEATH A LIVING ROOM WINDOW WHILE IN THE RAIN AND SURROUNDED BY SLUSH WHEN YOU HAVE A GOTDAMN FUCKING CAR AVAILABLE?