A Night in the Tenderloin

(Every word of this is 100% true.)

Last night I was about to go to bed. Before I did so, I went to the windows one last time to look down disdainfully upon the hoodlums that destroy the quietude of my elegant, upscale neighborhood. After shaking my head a few times, I directed my gaze to the horizon, or at least where the horizon would be but for the various apartments and hotels in my field of view.

After a quick survey, I see that most people have their curtains closed and are no fun. Alot of boring TV watchers, and one person standing on a balcony, but that's about it.

But wait!

A flurry of movement through the fourth floor window of a hotel directly in front of me. Two people, a man and a woman, in their 30s if I had to guess. Their hotel is not close enough to make out enough details of their faces so as to identify them, but it is close enough to clearly observe their activities. This particular couple has their curtains wide open to the world, and their bed is literally adjacent to the window.

They lay down on the bed and embrace. Are they about to turn in for the night, just like me? Surely they will close their curtains should they proceed to develop amorous inclinations, for this is America and our Puritan forebears instilled in us a solid work ethic and the requirement that our blinds be closed at night.

A few moments pass before it becomes clear that this couple is different. This couple is a breath of fresh air, a rebellious pair of souls standing strong against the masses of stultifyingly boring citizens occupying the various nooks and crannies that surround them. I smile broadly as it becomes clear that these two shining stars of humanity have begun embracing in a rhythmic manner that portends a popcorn-worthy night of steamy voyeurism.

At one point both of them look out the window, then promptly return to their activities without so much as bringing their curtains an inch closer together. The stage is thusly set, the cast has decided to delight their invisible audience tonight. From across the street, I telepath my appreciation to them as I settle into my chair for the show.

The woman has a voluminous quantity of light brown permed hair; throughout the ensuing drama, this beautiful headdress will indicate to me the pace of the action as it unfolds. The man is wearing a white dress shirt, the woman a silver dress. Their embrace, with the man on top, gradually evolves into a foreboding of what the man would like to accomplish: as his hips gyrate ever so rhythmically into her, I watch the woman's hair vibrate against the window.

In what will become a theme of the night, the man clearly is of the mind that his woman should put in the hard work first. Or perhaps he is inebriated, it is hard to tell. What comes next is quite evident however: the man rolls over, his head lolling towards the window, contemplating the outside world as his partner departs out of view, presumably to the bathroom.

A minute passes. Then two. My heart sinks... this can't end now...

Three minutes. A flutter of shiny silver in the window, then atop the bed. The woman returns to the man's embrace and engages him in a deep kiss for a moment, before slowly making her way down his torso. She unzips his pants and pulls out his manhood, which I cannot glimpse, presumably not because it is small, but because of the distance that separates us. I can however clearly see the woman's head moving up and down his shaft, her hair splayed out every which way. Even despite her occasionally feverish pace, the man intervenes with a few violent thrusts of her head downwards so as to improve her performance.

Entranced, I can't believe how perfect my timing was for this show, and I wonder who else is in the audience...

A few minutes pass before the scene changes. With the man still on his back, the woman moves towards him for another deep kiss, then positions her hips above his waist. A moment or two of fumbling before she has him inside of her, and then she's off! With that perfect fluid motion manifested only in biologically inspired actions such as this, the silver-clad woman rides her man in full view of the world. Now that she is up and in the air, her outline takes up the entirety of the window frame. Alternatingly fast and slow, that wild hair is electric in its reaches towards the walls that surround them. Occasionally she bends down for a kiss, then breaks away to resume her wild ride.

After some time, the woman dismounts and collapses on the bed next to her man. They resume the passionate embrace that initially inspired them to these heights, and two thoughts cross my mind.

The first is one of admiration: this appears to be no quick fling, no one-night stand, no transactional exchange. This is quite clearly a loving couple judging by the duration and variety of their love-making.

My second thought is one of disappointment. Although I didn't pay to see this show, I feel entitled to see it end properly. My first gripe is that at no point has the woman removed her dress. That dress is indeed majestic, but it doesn't need to remain on after Act II. Secondly, why has the man failed to take charge of the situation even once? He can't be completely drunk, given how long the woman just rode him.

After voicing these thoughts to myself, I tell myself to quiet down and simply wait, hoping for a third act.

As it turns out, my first complaint will never be satisfactorily addressed. The dress never is removed, and for the record I think that's a travesty.

But my patience is rewarded, for there is indeed an Act III in the works. I watch as the man rises, works the buttons on his dress shirt, then throws it aside. The woman's voluminous head mane has returned to its place against the window... her legs... are they rising? In fact they are - I can see only her left leg, but as the man's head lowers and that long left leg is draped over his shoulder, it is evident that the long-awaited crescendo is here.

At first the hair vibrates ever so slightly against the window, the man's introductory thrusts doing little to disturb it. Gradually this changes, and soon her legs are moving in staccato fashion in time with her hair as the man thrusts quickly into her. I swallow the urge to complain about my lack of auditory privileges and opt to simply remain mesmerized...

The man has the woman's legs up in the air for a good ten minutes. I can't believe my good luck. Pervertedly I wish for a pair of binoculars, and I curse the idiots who take them out of this country just to see a lion on safari when they could be putting them to great use here. My own imagination kicks in as I watch the woman's legs and hair keep in time with the beat...

Eventually the man collapses off to one side; that familiar totem filling me with the sad recognition that the party is over. The couple embraces once more, exhaustion no doubt compelling them to remain where they are. If a soundtrack could be associated with this metaphorical closing of curtains, it would consist solely of the cooing of doves.

After some time, the man, now completely naked, stands and walks across the room, his bare ass cheeks imperturbably stock still in tight coordination. He leaves his lover on the bed, presumably heading for the bathroom. The woman crawls under the sheets, and it is now that I expect them to extinguish the lights and fall asleep.

But what is this? Her man returns, fully clothed and with a suitcase! He begins to shuffle things around in it and seems to exhort the woman to get up. She does so rather dramatically, tossing clothes around in what appears to be frustration before leaving the room. She returns soon thereafter, wearing not the magnificent dress but a sweatshirt and sweatpants. Soon they depart and turn the light out behind them, almost certainly leaving their hotel for a late-night trip to In N' Out Burger so as to replenish all the calories they just burned.

Lest the ending to this story strike one as mundane, I would just point out the profundity of the scene we have just witnessed "en totale". Two people implicitly shared a moment of their jointly united lives in a way that unites us all. How many billions of times has the same scene played out, be it privately or to invisible audiences, in the preceding centuries? We live but for a moment, ourselves and the people that surround us will all die and our existence will completely forgotten - but so long as there are couples as brazenly exhibitionist as the one we have just applauded, each of our souls will live on in the slick, feverish thrusts exchanged between those who are blessed to come after us.