The ceiling fan wobbled on its axis, clicking with each uneven rotation. From the couch, I scrolled through my phone, half-listening to the hum of the refrigerator and the distant chirp of crickets outside. The house was quiet–nearly. A muffled giggle, a sound so unmistakably human it sent a jolt through me, followed by the gasp. Then silence. I lowered my phone, ears straining. Then came the creak of bedsprings. Slow at first, then rhythmic.

I sat perfectly still, the phone screen dimming in my hand. There was no mistaking it now. The tempo increased, punctuated by a low, shuddering groan, unmistakably male, followed by a breathless laugh. A laugh I knew. My stomach twisted as I heard Drew’s laugh. I did not see who Mom came in with, but never did I think it would be my best friend Drew.

I should backtrack here a bit. A few months back, I walked in on a conversation between Mom and the lady who lives across the street. I overheard Mom talk about a man she had been having an affair with. Once Mom realized I had heard, she quieted down a bit, but continued to tell the neighbor about it in slightly fewer details. Later that day, Mom got me alone and explained to herself. She wanted to be completely honest with me and was. She told me about marital issues between her and Dad which are nothing exciting, just lost the spark and living more than a roommate than as lovers. She explained how she needed this extra something just to feel like she was still alive. She then asked me something I needed some time to consider doing.

I spent weeks thinking it over in my mind. Mom would occasionally check back with me, more and more eager to hear my answer. Finally, I thought I would help her out. I told Mom that I could keep watch for her on nights she was having a date night just in case Dad came home from work early. If Dad caught Mom in the act, it would hurt him and everyone involved. I agreed to do this. Tonight was the first time I had to, and I was nervous. I did not know what to expect, but I did not expect I could hear so much of the action through the walls. I did not expect the person joining her to be Drew.

The bedframe thumped against the wall, and I flinched. A voice, Mom’s voice, murmured something teasing. The words blurred, but the tone dripping with playful challenge.

The ceiling fan’s clicking faded beneath the sound of Drew’s moans, each one sharp as a needle in my ears.

I should have walked away. Should have stormed out, left them to get caught. Instead, I stepped closer to the wall, pressing my palm flat against the peeling paint, as if proximity could clarify the betrayal. A high whimper cut through the plaster, Moms, followed by Drew’s growl, rough and unfamiliar. “Fuck, yes…” he panted, the words thick with want. My stomach lurched.

Mom again, low and throaty. “You like that?” she teased, her voice syrup-slow. A thud, a muffled curse, then Drew’s ragged groan. “Christ, Lena”

Lena?? Usually, Drew would call Mom “Mrs. Anderson” but hearing Drew call Mom by her birth name was unnerving. “I do not even get to call her Lena,” I thought, half jealous, half sick to my stomach.

The bedsprings hit a fever pitch, each squeal louder than the last, a grotesque metronome counting down to something inevitable. My breath became shallow, my throat tight as if fingers were pressed there. The wall vibrated under my palm, alive with their movement.

Then, silence. Not the kind that settles, but the kind that waits. Heavy. Charged. I could picture them tangled in the sheets, sweat-slick and panting, Drew’s fingers tracing idle circles on Mom’s hip. The image seared behind my eyelids. That fact that I even imagined that in the first place seared even hotter.

A drawer slid open in their room, loud squeaking noise I have heard before but did not know what slept inside. Mom murmured something else, her voice drowsy with satisfaction. Drew chuckled, low and warm. I thought it was over.

A moment later, I hear the loud buzz of a vibrator. Mom’s vibrator? Or did Drew bring it with him? I assume it is Mom’s, but never would have guessed she owned one and one that sounds so powerful at that. I did not need my ear to the wall to hear this monster. The buzzing was insistent and mechanical where their noises had been organic, relentless and fluid. It droned beneath the creak of bedsprings, beneath Drew’s whispered, “Turn over,” beneath Mom’s breathy, “You first.”

“I told you it was strong,” Mom said and then snorted. “Oh please, you love it.” Drew replied.

The buzzing vibrator kicked up another notch, a sound like an angry hornet trapped in glass. Mom’s moan cracked into a high, shuddering wail. I turned my head toward the front window, where the streetlight cast long shadows of oak branches across the pavement.

Drew’s voice was rough, half-laughing, half-groaning. “Shit, you’re gonna…” Mom cut him off with a gasp, then a string of breathless, fractured words that didn’t cohere into anything except “want”. The bedframe hammered against the wall in time with the vibrator’s drone, a brutal, syncopated rhythm. I should’ve been disgusted. Should’ve been furious. But my fingers curled into the couch cushion, my pulse thudding in my throat as Mom’s cries climbed higher, sharper sounds I’d never heard her make, sounds that I should never hear her make.

Then a sharp, punched-out moan, Drew’s growl of “Yeah, like that!!” and the vibrator’s buzz stuttered to a stop. For a second, there was only heavy breathing, the wet sound of kissing, the rustle of sheets. I exhaled, not realizing I’d been holding my breath. The streetlight flickered outside.

Mom’s voice, wrecked and laughing: “You’re insatiable!” Drew’s responding chuckle was smug. “You love it.” A pause. Then, softer: “You okay?” The tenderness in his voice made my chest ache. Mom murmured something I couldn’t catch, but the tone was warm, satiated. A quiet rustle, someone shifting, settling. Drew sighed, content. “Should I…?” Mom’s reply was immediate, teasing: “Stay.” It gets quiet in their room. I look out the window when I see the lights.

I see headlights moving closer down the street. They look familiar, and I think they are the headlights of Dad’s truck. The vehicle slows down as it approaches our driveway. It is Dad! The headlights swept across the driveway, painting the garage door in stark yellow. My throat tightened. I lunged off the couch, knocking my knee against the coffee table. The pain barely registered, and I stumbled to Mom’s door. I raised my fist, hesitated, then knocked twice, sharp and urgent. From inside, a wet, rhythmic sound, “slurp, slurp, slurp” pulsed against the wood. My stomach flipped.

“Mom…” I hissed, knocking again, harder. No answer. The car’s engine cut off outside. “Shit.” I think to myself, knowing what I am going to have to do. I grabbed the doorknob, twisted, and shoved the door wide open.

The room was bright, unforgiving. Mom kneeled between Drew’s spread legs, her fingers gripping his thighs as she bobbed over him, lips stretched around his cock, which is thicker and much longer than I would have guessed, glistening with her spit. Drew’s head was thrown back, his mouth slack, one hand tangled in Mom’s hair. They froze mid-motion as the door hit the wall with a crack.

“Dad’s home!” I choked out.

Drew’s eyes snapped open. Mom jerked back with a wet *pop*, wiping her mouth with the back of her wrist. Her lips were swollen, her mascara smudged. Drew scrambled to cover himself, yanking the sheet over his hips. Too late. Drew’s discarded jeans lie on the floor. As he stumbles out of the room, he reaches down and grabs them. Mom’s lace bra dangling from the bedpost is the last thing I see as I leave the room.

Drew’s elbow jabbed into my ribs as we made our way into my bedroom, his breathing still ragged, his erection tenting the sheet he’d wrapped around his waist like some half-assed toga. He kicked the door shut behind us with his heel, then immediately laughed. I stared at him. The hallway floorboards creaked under Dad’s footsteps, slow and methodical. The buzz of Mom’s vibrator kicked up again, a low, insistent thrum through the wall and Drew’s throat bobbed. “Oh, fuck!” he whispered. “Your mom can’t get enough tonight!” He laughed as he got closer to the wall to hear.

Dad’s voice, muffled but clear: “The boys are in the other room, you know. I hope you’re being quiet.” Mom’s breathy, exaggerated moan, the kind she’d use in bad community theater, followed by the vibrator’s pitch climbing higher. Drew clapped a hand over his mouth, his shoulders shaking. “She’s cumming again!” he mouthed, eyes bright with disbelief. The vibrator’s hum stuttered into silence. For three agonizing seconds, the only sound was Dad’s distant rummaging in the kitchen. Then Mom’s voice, honey-thick with satisfaction: “Mmm, that’s better.”

Drew finished getting dressed quickly, shoving his feet into his sneakers without untying them, his phone already buzzing with a text. He paused at my door, glancing back at me with a smirk. “Don’t be weird about it, yeah? It’s just sex.” And then he was gone, the front door clicking shut behind him with a finality that left the house eerily quiet.

I flopped onto my bed, my phone screen lighting up with a message from my girlfriend, Lily. “You alive?” she’d sent, followed by a string of question marks. I typed back, “Barely” We chat while I look for something to watch on tv.

Then a knock at the door. Three soft raps, followed by the door creaking open. Mom peered in, her hair still tousled, her lips faintly swollen. She’d changed into a robe, but the collar gaped just enough to reveal the edge of a fresh hickey on her collarbone. “Hey” she said, her voice warm but hesitant. She leaned against the doorframe, her fingers twisting the robe’s belt absently. “I just… wanted to thank you,” she said, quieter now. “For keeping watch.” The words hung between us, loaded. “For what? Letting her fuck my best friend while I sat by listening? Right.” But those words stayed in my head and I just nodded.

Mom stepped closer, the robe whispering against her thighs. Her smile was small, almost shy. “It means a lot to me,” she murmured. “That you…” She paused, her gaze flicking to the wall we shared with her room, where the vibrator had buzzed against the plaster not twenty minutes ago. “That you understand.”

I didn’t. Not really. But her hand settled on my shoulder, her thumb brushing the fabric of my shirt, and for a second, she looked younger. Not like my mom, but like Lena, the woman Drew had groaned for. Then she squeezed, her touch firm, and grinned. “Oh, and Happy birthday!”

Yes, today was my birthday. What a great way to celebrate…