the phantom phockers

Ever since I moved into this building about 18 months ago, I've been intermittently aware of a couple nearby who like to engage in energetically vocal sex, usually, though not always, on a Saturday night. I call them the phantom phockers, because I've never been able to work out who they are and where their serenade comes from. Well, not any more. This Saturday night just past, they engaged in a truly extraordinary session - not being an aural voyeur, or auyeur, I won't go into detail - which in the end I simply could not switch off from and ignore, as previously I usually have managed to do. I had to get up, make myself a cup of chamomile tea and read a chapter of George Bataille's Blue of Noon, just to calm down. I ended up leaning on the window sill staring up at the night sky, and it was then I realised that they were not, as I had always imagined, in the next door building but in this one! From there, it wasn't hard to work out who exactly these two are. I must say I was surprised, but there you go, people are surprising. I'm not going to say any more about them, that would be indiscreet. But ... I know.