Memoir: hearing my parents having sex

(originally posted 12/19/2012)

I think everybody has a story similar to this. The uncomfortable memory of overhearing your parents having sex.

I was about ten at the time. I remember it all very vividly. We lived in Nebraska at the time, in a small house at the end of a cul-de-sac. Our little development was surrounded by farms… soy beans and corn I recall. It was an overcast morning in spring and my younger brother and I were watching cartoons. This was back before there were hundred channels and kids use to look forward to weekend mornings because that’s when you could see Scooby Doo and such.

It started with just a few creaking noises that, at first, I chose to ignore. When they persisted both my brother and I started to look around for their source. After some minutes we realized that the noises were coming from above. The family room sat right over my parent’s bedroom.

My brother and I looked at each other and wondered what they could be up to. He was only eight at the time so he had no idea but I was starting to figure it out. I can still feel the hairs on my arm start to stand straight up at the thought.

Well the creaking persisted and was later joined by a low thumping noise. “Jesus Dad, let her catch her breath” I remember thinking to myself. That’s when the TV got all fuzzy for a second and then went dead.

“Just great.”

Now there would be nothing to drown out whatever was going on upstairs. I felt this dull pressure in my ears that soon became a far-off roar. The window began to rattle ever so slightly.

“Shit…Dad is an animal!”

Somewhere deep inside me I found a new respect for my father starting to take root.

My brother started to look worried so I took his hand and led him to the kitchen where we huddled under the big oak dining table.

The walls seemed to vibrate as if made of cardboard and the roar became louder in our ears. Mom was clearly getting the pounding of a lifetime.

It seemed as if every piece of wood that made up our house began to groan at once. Suddenly a window exploded inward in a shower of glass fragments. The curtains were immediately sucked out and the roar became deafening. A cacophony in tribute to my Dad’s prowess.

One by one the windows blew out and the house was filled with fierce winds and debris. It felt as if the very floor was going to be ripped out from under us. My brother was crying but all I could was smile.

I tried to stand, grabbing the heavy legs of the table for support. I felt the sting of twigs and shards of broken glass cutting my arms and face as I finally was able to get to my feet in the middle of the maelstrom.

Our furniture was sliding wildly around the room and the smaller pieces were being hungrily sucked out of the house through gaping holes that had once been windows. Everything around me was shadows and violence.

I threw my head back and yelled “Get her Dad! Tear that shit up!”

I heard a terrible and glorious wrenching noise that could only be our roof being torn off and flung hundreds of yards away. It felt like my head was surely going to explode… and then just as quickly as it began the roar began to fade and the winds began to lose their grip on the various objects flying around my house and I watched as they tumbled to the ground.

“So that was lovemaking” I thought to myself. “Holy moly”.

Soon after my parents came crashing down the stairs to make sure we were alright. I gave my Dad a knowing wink, which he pretended not to understand, and went outside to see the damage that his glorious manhood had wreaked on the surrounding neighborhood.

Needless to say, this memory has stayed with me my whole life. Obviously this has put a tremendous amount of pressure on me to perform at the same level of my father, but I do feel I have this type of effort within me.

One time I was able to knock over a glass of water on the table next to the bed.