Susan and I had only been asleep for an hour when the squeals from the out door -hot tube below traveled through our opened windows. Although annoying, we really couldn’t complain being that it was only 9:45PM on a Saturday night. We were staying at a Bed and Breakfast at the foothills of the North Georgia Mountains, for the night. Our escapade to the little town of Dahlonega, GA. was designed as a post, and pre holiday romantic getaway. However, our idea of romance was tuned out by the teeth grinding, wall banging sounds we heard later on in the night.
We are your typical middle-aged Lesbian couple; we eat dinner early enough to choose where we eat based on which establishment opens their doors the earliest, and we turn in for blue-hair bedtime, before the evening news. We as women know nothing makes a woman happier than a good meal and a solid nights sleep. (Men, the best time to have sex with a woman is either first thing in the morning or in the afternoon before a nap.) By 8:45PM we had said our goodnights, and shared our “church lady,” affections (a peck and, “I hope you sleep with the angels.), and were off to sleep, digesting our wine, red meat, and chocolates-bliss.
We fell asleep intertwined, always the same, face up with her left thigh draped over my right, her left hand, locked around my right, until one of us moves. It’s usually me when I roll to my left side and shove my butt up against hers, however this time she started squirming and twitching. I had just fallen asleep listening to the sound of nothingness, with the crisp mountain air breezing in our room. I sighed and rolled over at the loss of my comfort.
We were on the second floor of the new addition to the main house of the B&B. The heat was cranked beyond disco inferno without the independence to turn it off, nor could I get the air conditioner to work. Opening the windows and turning on the ceiling fan became our only option. Susan calls me a polar bear she says, “You like sleeping in cave conditions,” which is true, I don’t well sleeping with heat. It’s a constant battle, she’s cold at first and upset, I argue, “The experts say 67 degrees is the optimal temperature for sleep, which I interpret as, 63 degrees or cooler under a down blanket is equal to the adequate temperature my body needs before sleep occurs.
Finally, we’re both asleep until we hear the voice of man and giggles from a woman. We realize at once the sounds are coming from the hot tube stationed behind the building. It was covered, however a sign read, “Open, please ask staff to remove the cover,” so of course some couple had to crawl inside the cesspool- disguised as a public bath-as an excuse to bump up against each other’s goodies. (Who likes underwater sex anyway? Water doesn’t necessarily equal wetness in every case.) In any event, this little private aqua aerobics event ended up disturbing our “Little House on The Prairie” peace.
Susan got up and closed the window, immediately I started sweating and was up looking for cooler options. We agreed to close the window closest to the slip and slide performance, and left the other window open, which ended up being an even louder disaster. We didn’t know it at the time, but it was right next to our neighbor’s window and they opened theirs as well.
We went back to bed and fell asleep for a brief period until commotion in the hall, doors opening and closing, disturbed our sleep. We drifted uninterrupted for a spell until a man moaned, and my bladder called. I went to the bathroom and thought for sure our neighbor was constipated, and on his relieving-throne as well. As I sat feeling the chill of the- middle of the night-toilet, I could hear him as if he were in the room with me, it made my nipples hard, but not in a good way.
I got back in bed and tucked myself next to Susan. I could still hear grunts through the walls, but then I heard a woman’s voice as well. I was somewhat still asleep and thought it was the people next door getting ready for bed. I was lucid and semi-sleeping when the sounds started to become rhythmic. The strained groaning became a paced moaning. The male grumble was then followed by a high pitched, “oh,” from a woman. Susan and I sat straight up as the stickiness of the situation stuck to us like taffy on dentures. We looked at each other just as the bed next door started to pump, and the low, ape breaths competed with the labor and delivery, in and out’s, of his mates; monkey sex was on and about to hit peak. I snapped, “What the fuck?” I jumped out of bed and stomped the floor. Susan said, “They’re not below us, they’re next door.” I bounced on the bed and started banging my flat-palmed hands on the wall. Now I was in on the primate action.
We heard the couple laugh. Susan said, “The nasty fucker is laughing.” I was fuming. I tried turning on the bathroom fan but the white noise also came with a bright light. I stood on the bed to adjust the ceiling fan and it started rattling like a chain gang. I plopped down on the bed, pissed. I looked around for a landline, a number to call, anything to silence the fucker’s, literally, the fucker’s next door. No such luck, all I found was Gideon’s bible. (Insert tune to the Beatle’s song, “Rocky Raccoon.”
I’m serious, I was irate and there wasn’t a single functionary “nightstand, room card with emergency information,” to be found. I called the reservations line from my cell phone only to be greeted by- none other than- a perky voicemail message. I left a hysterical, as in crazy, rant about the uncomfortable room temperature, the angry ceiling fan, and the business going on next door-heard through filo-dough thin walls.
I think the man was getting close, as the action peaked. (Thank the lord.) At this point Susan was trying to calm me by taking the opposite emotion. I think she was a little frightened by my outburst. She stayed on her side of the bed and convinced me to give up and try going to sleep. I put a pillow on my head and my hand over the pillow. The man finally came and the couple went to sleep. Later on I awoke to the sound of snoring. I thought, “That couldn’t be Susan, could it?” I reached for her but something didn’t feel right. I pushed my hand around the blankets until I found what I felt like her leg. I sat up and noticed that her head was now at the foot of the bed. She opened her eyes and said,” Nasty man started snoring.” I rearranged myself next her and replaced the sound barrier over my head. I could still hear his Gorilla like nose bubbles, but I was able to hibernate for the night.
A murder of chatty crows scattered about on the vacant pines woke me at dawn. I stayed in bed until my temples pulsed for caffeine. The wildlife in the walls stirred as well. I could hear sleep-apnea man clearing the sandman’s mucous from his throat and nasal passages. The glorious sounds of morning woke Susan as well. I told her, “ Wait here, I’ll go get coffee from downstairs.” I checked the proximity of my neighbor’s door as I left our room. I noticed the familiar pitch of the woman’s voice coming (No pun intended.) through the sheet-rock. I hurried away, afraid of what I’d say if I ran into them.
I poured the coffee, grabbed the condiments and made my way, like a spy, back to the room. Susan and I sipped our coffee in contempt and disgust at the entertainment housed next door. I saw them as animals in heat, infringing on my turf. I would’ve peed and marked my spot if I could’ve.
Their movements increased and we heard their door open, their footsteps going down the stairs and then the backdoor to the house opened. Susan scrambled to the window and I followed. She saw a blonde woman get into a Volvo station wagon and we both saw the back of a balding, hairy looking man get into a Subaru wagon. They were in separate cars, and this was curious, but I also noticed that their license plates were the same. They weren’t Georgia plates, which is why they stood out.
Susan and I theorized about the nature of their rendezvous: it could’ve been a one-night stand, or a working gal and a paying man, or they could’ve just been a couple headed home after the Thanksgiving Holiday, but why two cars? I guess we’ll never know.
Either way, their mating-sounds grossed me out, like gag me with a Twinkie, and made me feel as uncomfortable as choking on one. I didn’t like sharing my polar bear den with a couple of red-assed, tail-popping, baboons. Their coupling in and around my personal space sent my fight instincts to a primal place. My reaction to their behavior was just as embarrassing as their vocals. I was beating on the walls and jumping up and down, stomping the floor, like a crazed animal trying to escape my cage.
Before we left the B&B, the clerk at the front desk (who gave us a 40% discount for our, “Troubles.”) told us the couple left early because the guy said they were trying to make it to New Orleans by nightfall. This new piece of evidence only confused us more, although we were grateful, if not down right indignant about our hush money- our compensation for their raucous sex heard through our complaint of, “Paper-thin walls.”
As we were loading the car I noticed our open window, and low and behold, next to it, as in side, by side, was our neighbors’ window wide open too. I guess it was the window after all that allowed sound to travel into our sacred territory, and not the walls of the B&B. Who knows, I guess next time I’ll be more careful as to which Pandora’s window I open.