GOOD NEIGHBORS

Mercy Loomis

 

 

 

 

 

 

The bored clerk behind the desk handed me my key and my receipt without once actually making eye contact, his gaze riveted to the computer screen in front of him. I supposed his obliviousness could be a sort of backhanded professional courtesy, since the sign at the desk clearly stated the going rates in half-hour increments. I amused myself with this thought as I made my way down the dingy hallway.

I let myself into my room, pleased to find it was not appreciably different from any other place I’d stayed, despite the “no-tell motel” atmosphere. All I wanted was some sleep, thank you, and an early start in the morning. With a sigh, I dropped my duffel on the dresser and dug out my toiletries bag and my nightgown before heading off to the shower.

Half an hour later, I settled gratefully between the sheets, the bedspread kicked off into an untidy puddle on the floor. I set the alarm, snuggled into the flat hard pillow and started to doze off.

The wall behind my headboard vibrated as the hallway door in the next room slammed shut. A wordless murmuring followed, punctuated by the occasional laugh.

Neighbors, I through to myself. I shouldn’t have been surprised, really, but I’d hoped…

Things got quiet again, and I’d just begun to drift off when I distinctly heard a woman moan.

Their bed must’ve been right up against the wall, as mine was. The slatted headboard did nothing to block the sound as the woman next door made her pleasure known.

I rolled over, disgruntled and getting more awake as the sound got louder, annoyed at being disturbed, which only woke me up more. I tried to ignore her, but the harder I tried not to listen, the worse it got.

Why can I only hear her? I wondered irreverently, punching my pillow and trying to get comfortable again. I was fairly sure I’d heard a masculine voice when they’d first come in. Of course, my imagination immediately tried to answer that idle question. A vision swam before my eyes: a woman writhing on a bed in a room the mirror to mine, her legs spread wide, her back arching as a man buried his face between her thighs. I saw his hands gripping her generous hips as she squirmed under his ministrations, watched her mouth open to produce the rising cries that drifted through the walls.

I rolled onto my back and pushed the sheet off me. When had it gotten so hot in here?

The woman was speaking now. I strained to hear her without even meaning to, but I couldn’t quite make out the words through the wall. The tone said enough: begging, pleading, making promises that might or might not be entirely of the moment. I stared at the backs of my eyelids, holding my breath, trying to give meaningful shapes to the sounds I heard. Please, oh, please, don’t stop, god, yes, don’t stop, baby, I’ll do anything you want…

I’d forgotten I was holding my breath. The air rushed out of me in a surprised burst that sounded suspiciously like a moan.

My hands, lying lightly on my stomach, twitched restlessly, fingers playing over the smooth surface of my silk nightie. What were her hands doing, right now? Were they tangled in her lover’s hair, urging him on? Were they tightly gripping fistfuls of the bedclothes, or maybe wrapped white knuckled and straining around the slats of the headboard? I shifted, as restless as my hands, and felt the soft material rasp over my nipples.

My breath caught in my throat. I envisioned her kneading desperately at her breasts, fingers digging in hard as the man really got down to business. Almost without realizing it, I mimicked her, but softer, rolling my hard nipples between my fingers through the fabric, caressing the swell of my breast where it met my ribs.

And then, unmistakable, she shrieked, “Yes! Oh, yes!”

I let my hands fall back to my sides, half smiling at her exuberance, half disappointed that it was all over so soon. But only moments later, they were at it again. A rhythmic thump thump shook the wall, accompanied by a deep grunting bass.

His turn, I thought, having no trouble identifying the sound of their headboard smacking into the plaster. Obvious… but what position? I bit my lip, stifling a giggle as I contemplated it. Had his rod taken the place of his tongue, with the woman not even having to move? Or had they traded places, him on his back, her riding him, hands clasped around the top rail as she dug her hips into him, giving him as hard a pounding as his mouth had given her?

I pressed one hand against the wall.

Or had he rolled her over? I remembered his hands on her hips, imagined him flipping her, boneless and sated, onto her stomach. She would, of course, brace herself against the headboard as he shoved into her. I turned over, lifting my ass in the air, rubbing my aching breasts against the mattress. My nightgown was wet and clung to the backs of my thighs. Straightening up, I tore it over my head and let it fall to the floor.

I was facing the wall, facing them, in a sense. He was still going, the impact making my own headboard jump. I shuffled forward on my knees until I could feel the top rail banging against my ribs. My nipples brushed against the rough paint over the drywall.

The man groaned. The thumping began to come a little faster.

That last position really stuck in my mind. I imagined the wall was gone, that I was facing the man over the back of his lover, her face level with my crotch as I knelt before them; how her hands would run up my thighs, stroking and exploring me even as he fucked her. I spread my legs for her, my fingers finding my clit, pretending they were her fingers. I pressed forward against the wall, against her, her mouth, her hands; feeling him watching me, my ardor turning him on, making him thrust even harder, the whole wall vibrating against me as I ground myself against her, rubbing for all I was worth, savoring each thud as they came faster, and faster, and suddenly it was on me, the orgasm taking me by surprise with its intensity, a rippling and rolling wave that made the muscles in my legs quake and shiver. Without meaning to, I cried out against the plaster.

There was a startled noise from the other room and then silence.

I waited, breathless and weak from the afterglow, but to my disappointment the fucking did not resume. After a moment or two, I slithered back down onto the bed, pulling the sheet up to my chin.

In the next room, a door slammed shut. The distant sounds of quick footsteps retreating down the hallway faded into stillness.

Curled up in a happy humming ball, I laughed quietly. At least now I’d be able to get some sleep.