He wakes up with a start. That sound, it’s happening again, he thinks. It’s getting to be nightly, almost. He glances at the clock on the nightstand. “Shit, three-seventeen,” he mumbles.

He lies still, facing his nightstand, and continues to listen to the unmistakable sounds of sex. He hears a familiar feminine voice. “I want your cock. I want it… I want it… Want it.”

A deep masculine growl follows..

“Yes," she responds. "That’s it. Fuck me with your big cock. Oh my God. Ohhhhhhhhhhhh. Fuck me, haarrrrdd.”

“Take it, woman, take it all,” says the growling voice.

“Yes, I want it all. Fuck me! Just fucking fuck me!”

Does she have to be so goddamn excited? the listener wonders. Again, there's the growl.

She responds. “Fill me, give me your cum. Ohhhhhhhh, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes! So good.”

“I’m cumming,” moans the deep voice.

“Fill me.”

“Shhhhiiiit! I can feel you squeezing my cock. So tight.”

“My cunt wants your cock.”

“It’s all yours, Baby. Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!”

“Yes. That’s it. Fill me. Fill me up.”

Her groaning and heavy breathing gradually subside.

“You cum?” the deep, masculine voice eventually asks.

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Good?”

“Yes.”

“How about I clean you?” says the growling voice.

“Yes, pleeease.”

The talking pauses for a long moment.

“Yes, that's it. Eat me.”

Again, a deep growl.

“Lick it out. Suck my clit, just like I suck your cock.”

“Growl.”

“Oh shit, that’s good! Do it. Keep fucking doing it!”

“I want to finger fuck you.”

“Yesssssssss.”

“Two fingers. You like?”

“Fuck! Yes! I’m cumming.”

“Cum for me, baby.”

“Yesssssssssssss. Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh shit! So good.”

He continues to listen as her moaning and heavy breathing subside.

Then, silence.

The listener slowly rolls onto his back and turns his head in her direction, his eyes sheened with tears. She lies on her side at the edge of the bed, alone, her back facing him.

Her hair seems darker in the low light, he thinks. She begins to snore softly. My cock’s so fucking hard. I want it up against her. Oh, god! I want to touch her and hold her, but she swats me away if I wake her. She hates that..

He reaches his hand over, palm on her pillow, trembling fingertips touching the ends of her hair, stroking it carefully.

She won’t remember a thing in the morning. When I told her what I heard and saw, about all of her words, how she groaned and thrust, she felt so embarrassed and appalled. She worried that she was losing her mind, that she might have dementia. She was afraid to fall asleep for days.

A tear gathers and makes its solitary way to his pillow.

Better for her that I continue to say nothing.

His thoughts stop for a moment as his feelings fill the space inside him, and his eyes squeeze shut.