This time of year, many of us
are adjusting to the presence of new roommates, new neighbors, new
surroundings. While this comes with a host of changes, one of the most
unwelcome accompaniments is this: silent sex.
When we think of silent sex, most
of us conjure an image of an ex who lay in bed like a loaf of bread. That’s not
what I’m talking about here. I’m talking about hot, passionate, desirable
sexual activity that needs to be muzzled like a disobedient German shepherd.
On a decibel level, I’d say I fall
in the midrange of sexual volume, in what I expect both of myself and of my
partners. Mute women doubling as mattress pads can be discarded just as easily.
Yet the screamers on the other end of the spectrum annoy me with their
histrionic performances, which seem less sincere than self-serving. But if we
need to take others into consideration, we should all adjust our volume knobs a
tiny bit.
Surely we’ve all heard the stories
of the girl in the building whose orgasmic cries were mistaken for a brutal
murder. Or we’ve had to confront our orgasmically unruly roommates in order to
sleep through the night. Or, worse, we’ve had a note slipped under our door by
a neighbor begging for a reprieve from our disruptive trysts.
Personally, I think it exhibits
brazen rudeness or a general lack of self-awareness to simply release your
orgasmic wails without regard for the person on the other side of the wall, a
person who you will most likely bump into at the coffee pot. Most people don’t
want to hear you having sex unless they’re paying for it. But we also cannot be
expected to completely alter our sexual urges to suit the whims of an intrusive
roomie or ever-present housemate.
I thought for sure my friend would
have some advice in the silent-sex department, since she lives with her invalid
grandmother. But all she had to say was “She’s deaf.” Another friend is making
the best of it, having recently welcomed a new male roommate. “Of course no
one’s going to argue that unbridled sexual energy is the best kind,” she said.
“But, failing that, you’ve got to work with what you’ve got.”
So I’m trying to explore silent sex
as a divergent treat for our other senses. It’s like a Charlie Chaplin film,
without the thick mustache. When we don’t have our normal aural cues to rely
on, we have to focus on other things, like the pace of someone’s breathing, a
wincing of the face, the stiffening of limbs. Playing with the deprivation of
sound can actually be quite fun. Haven’t we all experienced the hilarity of
trying to get off while riding atop a bed that sounds as if it were designed to
produce a soundtrack for Looney Tunes? Part of the fun of that experience is the hushed
allure — moving slower to accommodate the springs, inhibiting your usual
spastic movements, perhaps even inadvertently enjoying a much longer road to
climax.
Silent sex can teach you that
pillow biting isn’t simply for gay men bracing for the pain. It’s also for
straight girls and lesbians who need to stifle their sound with a mouthful of
goose down. And if you want to push that one step farther, you’re inching
slowly toward the world of gags, which have a host of applications even outside
the bedroom.
Essentially, by depriving yourself
one sexual pleasure in the way of sound, you are inviting new techniques and
pushing the boundaries of what each of you can withstand without releasing an
ear-piercing shriek that will make for an awkward elevator ride with the new
tenants.
Or maybe this is all bullshit.
Maybe I’m simply coming up with ways to adjust to my surroundings rather than
adjusting my surroundings to suit me. Maybe I am
a screamer, dammit, but I’ve never
broken from my crowded Back Bay accommodations to allow myself that unbridled
vocal freedom. I fear I’ll be the Susan Boyle of sexuality — finally
discovering my vocal talents when I’m too old and homely for anyone to truly
care.
Instead of reaching that
frightening conclusion, I remain content to explore the joys of silent sex
while avoiding the subject of cohabitation. On that topic, I’m perfectly happy
to hold my tongue.
— Jeannie Greeley
Jeannie Greeley is a freelance writer
who wants to hear people speak up about this subject. She can be reached at
jeannieg@comcast.net.
