Dear the bloke upstairs,
It’s your disgruntled neighbour downstairs, and I’m writing to inform you that I don’t believe you’re as good at sex as your partner’s noises would suggest.
Ever since I moved into the property, I’ve had to listen to your girlfriend’s enthusiastic moans of pleasure.
Sometimes twice a week! Kinky bastards.
However, after careful consideration, I’ve reached a firm conclusion that she’s faking it. Performing. Putting on an act similar to one she’s seen in a porno.
According to her moans, you’re Casanova reincarnated. Which is weird, because in the street you look like a lost supply teacher with rickets.
Your previous girlfriend was like a one-woman percussion band; stomping around at 6am and then screaming like she’d found Jesus at 11pm. Basically, she had zero consideration for my sleeping habits.
Naturally, I was thrilled when you broke up.
But you seemed to be single for the whole of five minutes.
Suddenly, you’ve got a new girlfriend, and she too cannot believe what an absolute stallion you are.
But there’s been a new bizarre sound appearing…
A vibration.
But you and this new lady have only just met. What sort of devil-may-care attitude do you have toward the planet and money if you’re willing to buy sex toys for such a new relationship?
What if it doesn’t last?
Will you just bin the toys? Use them for the next lady? Sell them on Vinted?
I don’t know if you can hear me in my bedroom.
(Not that there’s anything to hear apart from me laughing in the middle of your sessions, and then clapping once you’ve finished.)
But I can hear EVERYTHING you’re doing.
Sometimes I think you’ve finished, but then you keep going even after I’ve stopped clapping, like some sort of sexy encore.
I don’t like encores. Either you’re finished or you’re not.
You may be an amazing shag muffin, full of vigour and sperm, but you seem to do it with all the romance of a dustbin.
Allow me to explain.
When you’ve finished having sex, you do not just lie there and enjoy post coital cuddles. There’s no quiet sobbing into her hair as you cry about your mummy issues.
No. It’s bish bash bosh. Shag done. Time for the toilet and then get back to whatever it was you were doing.
I don’t know much about men’s anatomy, but do you need to urinate straight away?
Surely you can hold it for a couple of minutes to make your current girlfriend feel like she’s not just a lump of flesh, only here for your pleasure?
(Though I only ever hear her pleasure. You appear to be a mute.)
Anyway, I’m writing to ask if I can have a go.
Clearly looks are deceiving and you’re actually a real fuckmaster. Therefore, I am willing to pause my lesbian subscription and come upstairs and experience it for myself.
Don’t worry, I’ll bring my teddy with me (I like a cuddle after).
I’ve taken a hundred birth control pills, bought 12 condoms, 8 morning-after pills and had 9 IUDs implanted. Just in case any of your swimmers even thinks of fertilising one of my lezzie eggs.
I’ll be up shortly.
Yours sincerely,
The woman who claps when you cum
P.S. Please keep your expectations low, I literally just like to lie there.