Oh – oh – OH – verheard.
Any sex partner of my roommate or I need never worry about reigning in their roar when fucking in our house. We’re not voyeurs or exhibitionists. No. We’re not so deprived
that we must propel ourselves to the brink in sync with the sounds of the other on another. Gawd. It is 2010. We do have the Internet. As well as an understanding.
Hit it if you can get it.
Self-sacrificing though we may be, this benevolence does not extend unto those outside of our apartment. The human neighbors, sure. That’s funny. The ever-expanding clowder of alley cats mounting each other between our walk up and the matching complex? Not so much.
Sometimes it’s jealousy. Mostly it’s discomfort. Especially if their chorus screeches through the window while I’m harmonizing with myself.
I mean, HELLOOO. I’m a gay man. To us, pussy is supposed to be rev – oh – oh – OH – lting.
They can also ruin a mood. Case in point: a few years ago, during choir tour in Nicaragua, we were finishing up Senior Wills (emotional speeches) at our hotel and there were two cats mating. It *really* cut into the sad and touching moments we were having. Though it did reduce some of the crying.