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8 Stories About Roommates and Sex
I knocked on the door.“I knew you'd come,” he said.
by Nerve Readers
It was my second year of college, and I had just moved out of the dorms into a small off-campus apartment. The place was small and had thin walls, but it was cheap and well-maintained. The only downside was my neighbors, who gave me a strange vibe. I would hear them arguing at all hours of the night, speaking French (even though when I spoke to them they both had American accents).
One night, I was trying to fall asleep, when I heard them talking (in French). Since my bedroom shared a wall with their bathroom, I was curious as to why they were chatting in their bathroom, but I figured what the hell, to each their own. I soon realized, though, that they were doing much more in their bathroom than chatting, as the sounds of conversation morphed into the sounds of loud sex.
I got up to go watch TV until they had finished, but as I left the room I heard the voice of a third person join in... then a fourth... then a fifth! Soon enough, they were having a bona fide bathroom orgy, shouting things in French that I'm sure they don't print in phrase books. In retrospect, I regret not knocking on their door. What were they doing? Where were they doing it? In the tub? On the commode? So many unanswered questions.
My freshman year of college, I roomed with an uptight guy who constantly called his best friend from high school, a girl who was attending a different college. The biggest defining characteristic I remember about him was how he was oddly cut-off from pop culture: he’d never heard of half the music I played, which at the time, included a lot of “Weird Al" Yankovic, of all people.
One night, I caught the end of a phone call with his gal pal. She was dating someone, and though he said he was happy for her, I could see it was killing him. In a moment of brotherly compassion, I lent him a stack of Weird Al cassettes and left.
When I returned much later, the lights were off in our room. I snuck in, figuring he was asleep, but the hallway light fell on his bed, revealing furious motion at groin level and a photo of his lady friend thumb-tacked to the wall. The movement stopped and I slipped into my bed. It was embarrassing, but understandable; there were no judgments here. But then suddenly the movement started again. Loudly. He was panting. I cleared my throat audibly, but he just kept going. Moments later he said her name, groaned, then rolled over. A week later he quit college and took my Weird Al cassettes with him. That heartbroken, masturbating bastard.
I was reeling from a very brief and disastrous marriage, and I moved to Long Beach, CA to "work things out" with my ex. That didn't happen, but I did end up having a string of memorable roommates: a straight edge, rage-filled neo-Nazi; a pot-dealing indie record producer; an ecstasy-popping video-game salesman... the list went on. All would stay on a few months and then move along. Until the bisexual, Wiccan, bookstore clerk named Lynn came along.
I was drinking my sorrows away quite heavily at this point, Lynn and I sort of fell into a kinky S&M-style pseudo-relationship. There was no actual sex-having, no talking about feelings (or other "mushy" things), but a lot of biting, spanking, and mutual oral sex. She said she was incapable of achieving orgasm, and she smelled odd (kind of like turmeric root mixed with patchouli), but she lived five feet away and was game for weird shit.
Our “relationship” went on for a month or so, and then she brought a young, sexy co-worker named Maggie home so she could teach her how to knit. It just so happened I was home, and this girl and I hit it off fabulously. Maggie stayed up with me all night that first night: we watched a lunar eclipse on the beach and debated which Emily was better: Browning or Dickinson. She even, unbeknownst to me, asked for permission from Lynn to kiss me — permission which Lynn granted, albeit begrudgingly. Almost immediately, Maggie became our de-facto third roommate.
Lynn, for her part, was quietly seething with jealousy. It turned out she had stronger feelings towards me than she had let on, but she also bore strong feelings towards Maggie as well. But Maggie and I were quite enough for each other, sated by the exhilaration of falling as quickly and as preposterously in love as we did. After weeks of trying to awkwardly insert herself into our romantic and social lives with casual, awkward asides about our lovemaking and the "fun" we were having, one night, Lynn had finally had enough. She packed up all her stuff and left us a voicemail saying she was gone, over the course of a weekend when Maggie and I were away at her grandfather's funeral.
An aside: I continued to fall head-over-heels for Maggie, and ended up asking her to spend her life with me. We have a beautiful child together and have been together seven brilliant years. I never did see Lynn again.
My friend Lauren and her long-term boyfriend Jeremy were in the process of breaking up, and I was living in the other room of their two-bedroom apartment. One day, I was in my room with the door closed when they came in. They started arguing in the kitchen, and things began escalating. Flash forward about forty-five minutes, at which point things were truly, irrevocably over.
Lauren left the apartment, but Jeremy stayed behind and spent the next hour sobbing and wandering around the apartment, talking to himself about their relationship.
Neither of them knew I was there during this whole ordeal, and I'd waited too long to reveal myself, so I was stranded in my room, listening to his monologue of despair, unable to move or make any noise until he left.