To Be Heard and Not Seen

My neighbor's alarm kept ringing one morning last week, which leads me to believe that he didn't come home that night before... that little slut. I'm actually a little 'alarmed' myself because I realized that if I could hear his alarm, then he could hear all of the naughty little things I do in my own apartment! Scandalous!

I don't do anything really bad when I'm home alone. It's not like I perform rituals for a winged worm-god. I'd never do that. Do you know how hard it is to get the smell of burned goat intestines out of a leather sofa?

My neighbor probably wouldn't be able to tell the difference between the sound of porn on my TV and the sound of my sexual ecstasy with some random bar boy I picked up during happy hour. But still, it really is a little embarrassing to know that people can hear the things I watch on television as well as my phone conversations. The floors in my apartment also creak, so I just know that people can hear me stomping around at odd hours of the night in search of the remote control because I need to watch more porn.

I'd always tiptoe around my apartment to reduce the amount of floor creaking, and I'd have the volume turned down really low so no one would hear my porn. I put a towel in between the headboard and the wall so that it wouldn't bang so much when I'm getting a good pounding.

All of this precaution stemmed from the horrific possibility of running into my neighbors in the hall and having them whisper and point at me as they discussed how I tromp around so much in my apartment that it sounds like Hannibal's army crossing the Alps on elephants and that it is virtually impossible for me to stop masturbating or entertaining strangers in my bed with that thing I do with my tongue.

It's bad enough that I have trouble picking what clothes to wear and how to do my hair so that people won't criticize the way I look. Now I have to worry about the way I sound? In my own apartment, no less? That's about as silly as my ex boyfriend trying to help me with my calculus homework in college. He was dumb, by the way.

What's also dumb is feeling like you have to please other people (who you can't see) in a place that's supposed to be your sanctuary. If I want to have men in my bed, then I will fucking have men in my bed - a bed with a headboard that slams up against the wall so much that it sounds like Mormons knocking on your door when they know you're home. If I want to watch a hardcore six-man punch fisting orgy film, I'm not going to turn the volume down so low that I'd have to imagine the slurpy sound when they pull the fist out. If I want to get to the other end of my apartment, I will do the Can-Can, the Lindy Hop, and even the Tango: Maureen to get to the other goddamn end of my own apartment. I am not going to tiptoe just because I'm afraid someone might hear.

Forget about being caught at a dance club wearing the same outfit as someone else who looks cuter in it than you... being unseen and not heard is one of the most tragic things that can ever happen to a gay man. Don't let it happen to you!