My neighbors have a really healthy sex life. They have sex at all hours of day and night, more often than even the best of actors could fake it. Loud, theatrical sex, replete with laughter and screaming occurs so frequently that I have started to wonder if either of them works for a living or if perhaps they are filming porn in their home?
My sweetie and I roll our eyes and groan when we hear it. His 18-year-old daughter yells out, “they are at it again!”
Seriously, it is ALL THE TIME!
So we started musing over whether we should say something to them and how. Sex is such a taboo subject in this country of religious, political zealots. We are taught to ignore our hormones and keep the subject of intimacy to hushed tones. While I don’t agree with this cultural propensity, it has succeeded in making it a difficult topic to broach with my own intimate partners, forget about strangers.
To add to the often uncomfortable theatrics, we have a natural theater in the round where we live because we are surrounded by large clusters of granite rock that cause sound to do all kinds of crazy things.
A canyon wren may be singing in the valley that is nearly a quarter mile from our house but sound like it is standing on our porch railing.
This morning’s birdsong seemed like it was coming from the creek across from our house.
When our neighbors walked by with their dogs and coffee mugs in hand, I braced myself to say something. But I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.
It’s ok, I thought. They will likely return by this way. I spent the next several minutes devising possible ways to bring up the subject upon their return.
When finally they walked by, I stood up, walked to our porch railing, and leaned out over it.
So, this might be a bit bold, but I wonder if you might close your windows when you have sex, I called out to them.
Oh my gosh, I didn’t realize you could hear us, the woman said, her hand instinctually lifting to cover her mouth.
Yeah, it’s really loud. We are so happy that you have a healthy sex life, we just don’t really want to listen to it, I said.
Of course. We are still pretty new, she said.
I totally understand! I went on to talk about the granite rock acoustics we enjoyed and how this morning it sounded like they were getting it on in the creek.
They laughed. I laughed.
All was fine.
I remembered the communication a woman shared with me about the affect my musical choice had on her during the Savasana portion of a yoga class earlier in the week. Her words had been directive and caustic. I had felt attacked.
This interchange felt completely different. It was softer, humorous. We all seemed to feel the relief and hilarity of the topic of conversation. There was laughter and apologies and more laughter. And my neighbors thanked me for saying something rather than holding it in and getting angry.
I still wanted to write about it because that it was what I do to help me process and reflect on all the strange happenings of a human life. But this time I can write in a slow, easy rhythm, smiling as I recall the interaction rather than feeling my chest tighten at the memory.
May your own words be sweet before they leave your tongue and those that leave the mouths of others and head in your direction be even sweeter.
Good Saucha to you, dear friends!