WallBanger (camren)

Chapter Two

Thump.
"Oh, God."
Thump Thump.
"Oh, God."

Unbelievable...

I woke up faster this time, because I knew what I was hearing. I sat up in bed, glaring behind me. The bed was still pulled safely away from the wall, so I felt no movement, but there was sure as hell something moving over there.

Then I heard...hissing?
I looked down at Clive, whose tail was at full puff. He arched his back and paced back and forth at the foot of the bed.

"Hey, mister. It's cool. We just got a noisy neighbor, that's all," I soothed, stretching my hand out to him. That's when I heard it.

"Meow."

I cocked my head sideways, listening more intently. I studied Clive, who looked back as if to say, "T'weren't me."

"Meow! Oh, God. Me-yow!"

The girl next door was meowing. What in the world was my neighbor packing to make that happen?
Clive, at this point, went utterly bonkers and launched himself at the wall. He was literally climbing it, trying to get to where the noise was coming from, and adding his own meows to the chorus.

"Oooh yes, just like that, Camila...Mmmm...meow, meow, meow!"

Sweet Lord, there were out-of-control pussies on both sides of this wall tonight. The woman had an accent, although I couldn't quite place it. Eastern European for sure. Czech? Polish? Was I seriously awake at, let's see, 1:16 a.m. and attempting to discern the national origin of the woman getting plowed next door?

I tried to get a hold of Clive and calm him down. No luck. He was neutered, but he was still a boy, and he wanted what was on the other side of that wall. He continued to caterwaul, his meows mixing with hers until it was all I could to do to not to cry at the hilarity of this moment. My life had become theater of the absurd with a cat chorus.

I pulled myself together because I could now hear Camila moaning. Her voice was low and thick, and while the woman and Clive continued to call to each other, I listened solely to her. She groaned, and the wall banging began. She was bringing it home.

The woman meowed louder and louder as she undoubtedly climbed toward her climax. Her meows turned into nonsensical screaming, and she finally yelled out, "Da! Da! Da!"

Ah. She was Russian. For the love of St. Petersburg.
One last thump, one last groan—and one last meow. Then all was blessedly silent. Except for Clive. He continued to pine for his lost love until 4 mother-loving a.m.

The cold war was back on...