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Old 05-19-2001, 10:39 PM
Cervaise Cervaise is offline
Join Date: Mar 1999
Location: underpants
Posts: 19,744
(Frankd6) Try being awakened in the middle of the night in your basement bedroom by the creaking and moaning of your PARENTS' bedsprings. THEN you can talk to me about disgusting.

Dude, let me tell you about stumbling across my mother's sex toy -- a white plastic wand the length of a cop's flashlight, with a rotating baseball-sized knob on the end, covered in bumps.


I roomed with two very, very horny guys once for several months. It was a three-story house built by a friend of one of the guys, and I'm sure it never passed any kind of inspections (or was even submitted). The whole house rocked back and forth when it was windy, the windows were all mismatched (pirated from other projects) and held in with tacking nails straight down into the sill, and we never got an electric bill because we were patched into the grid without the utility's knowledge. (double )

Let me describe the layout a bit: The three stories stairstepped up from the road to the back. In other words, looking from the street, you see a one-story front, the roof goes back a bit to the front wall of the second story, then more roof on up to the third story. In the back, it's straight up, three stories.

My room is in front, on the street side of the first floor; the kitchen and dining area are opposite. The second floor has a vaulted ceiling that's open with the third floor in the front; the third-floor bedroom sits on top of the second-floor bedroom, and there's a small office in front of the second-floor bedroom, right at the landing with the vaulted ceiling.

The guy who had the second-floor bedroom would regularly bring his girlfriend over and boff her for an hour at a time. An hour before dinner, come down and eat, then go back up and boff again for another hour, then go to sleep and boff for an hour in the morning. She was an "oh!"-er -- a falsetto "oh! oh! oh!" for the whole hour, while the house shook and the ceiling creaked.

That's not the really icky one, though. The guy who had the third-floor bedroom was envious of the second-floor guy's ability to "score" on a regular basis, so he would frequently bring home women he barely knew just so he could remain, in his own mind, competitive. (The house had a really weird dynamic.) He was five-foot-three, and he had real issues with his height; the women he'd bring home were often a head taller than he was.

Anyway, so I'm sitting in the second-floor office, working on the computer. The third-floor guy goes by with a girl in tow. She's big, six feet easy, and, well, I don't want to be impolite, but she's kind of large, doughy almost, as well as tall. He smiles, I smile, she smiles, and they go on up.

A few minutes later, I hear heavy breathing, creaking, an occasional smack or slurp, soft murmuring. I roll my eyes and continue working. After a while, it has gotten kind of distracting, so I decide to wrap up and go downstairs until they're done. I turn to look, to make sure I'll be able to get down the stairs unnoticed -- remember, the third-floor loft is open to the vaulted landing -- and I freeze.

There's a big bay window in the second-floor vaulted landing. In the glass, I can see the third-floor bedroom: I'm looking at the reflection of what's going on directly above my head.

The woman's on her back on the floor next to my roommate's futon bed. And he's... he's... climbing all over her. I swear, I have no idea what the hell he was doing. At first I thought it was a sixty-nine, but I can see after a moment that both his ankles are on one side of her shoulder, and she's looking up at the ceiling with face unencumbered. Then he kind of spins around, laying across her, bumping her breasts with an elbow. Then he sort of slides over to the other side and turns over, then climbs back. It was really, really strange; they weren't fucking, but I can't for the life of me explain what they were doing.

After a few seconds of this, the image I get ... swear to God ... is of an ant clambering all over a caterpillar.

I retreat back to the computer in horror, and wait for the noises to finish. Eventually, they do, and after a respectful pause, I go back down to the first floor and hide in my bedroom. I never say a word to him about it.

<seeking wit for this space>