I want the neighbors to hear.
Let’s be the obnoxious lovers who can’t keep it down. I’m convinced that some headboards are meant to be gripped in masculine hands, meant to be used as leverage for forceful fucking. Fuck me so hard that the bedposts leave scratches and dents in the walls, always a reminder for how you split me open and pounded your hips. Fuck me like you want to fuck me right through the wall itself, with violent growls and deafening groans.
Because there is something terribly appealing about being heard, but not seen. It would be as liberating as it would be exciting, crying out at the top of my lungs and being absolutely vocal about how hard you make me cum. I want to scream that I’m yours, scream how good you make me feel, scream over and over that I belong to you. I want the world to hear us at our most primal, our most unhinged, our most passionate. I want the evidence of this to be left on the battered wall, there for whoever moves in after us.
The best part would be running into neighbors the following morning.
I’d probably just look them in the eye and smile.