Thursday, September 28, 2006

Are you going to come quietly, or do I have to use earplugs?” - Spike Milligan

On eastbound Highway 7 in Minnetonka, Minnesota there is a sign that says “Warning: Noise Laws Enforced.” I have seen similar signs in other places, and I always wonder how these laws actually read. I imagine they refer to ordinances whose purpose is to prevent the ground-shaking stereos that some young men have in their cars, but perhaps they refer to another earth-moving event: that is, Loud Sex.

Right off the bat, I have to make clear that this entry is about women who are loud to varying degrees when they reach orgasm. I have no idea if men are ever loud themselves at this point or not. I’ve only had sex with one man – me – and I am not so loud, at least not that I’m aware of. I do talk dirty, but that is just to provide ambiance and does not occur at any sort of intense volume at all. Now that I think more about this, I find that I don’t care if there are loud men, so don’t bother telling me. This is about you ladies. Also, I should state that I’m not talking about peripheral noise here: banging headboards, squeaky springs and diesel-powered marital aids don’t count. We’re talking oral sounds only.

Now that we’ve established the ground rules, I would propose that there are four categories of women: the silent ones, the whimperers, the moaners and the screamers.

In my experience, the silent ones are often mothers with small children. I know this because I once lived in a household stocked with children. In fact, the conjugal bed abutted the TV room where the kids mostly hung out. This was admittedly poor planning on our part. As a consequence, my wife and I never really felt comfortable with drowning out the Nickelodeon Channel with screams of passion, so we worked really hard at having good sex quietly. This is because we understood the Parental Sex Rule: there is not a child alive who wants to know that his or her parents ever had sex. I include myself in this: as far as I’m concerned, the stork brought me. The alternatives don’t bear thinking about.

The whimperers are exactly who you think they are. You can pick whimperers out of a crowded room without ever having had sex with them. These women are typically the least enthusiastic partners of the four types, and tend to be the worst lovers. For some reason, the whimperers all seem to want to marry you and turn into silent ones. Go figure.

The moaners are probably the largest category of women. Perhaps this is because I use the term “moaner” loosely. For me, moaning can consist of nearly any noise, from a bleat to a growl to impassioned pleading to noises that I can only describe as unearthly. In other words, moaning is any sound that isn’t screaming, as this would put the woman in question into the last category.

If an orgasm is to be faked, this is most often accompanied by moaning. Silence means the woman has to have the skills of an experienced mime to indicate that the false orgasm has occurred in a satisfactory fashion; whimpering is ruled out because it isn’t believable enough; and screaming is seldom an option because few women have the acting talent to pull this one off. Guys, if you ever find a woman who can fake a screaming orgasm, keep her. She cares enough about you to fake the very best.

The screamers are, in my experience, a mixed blessing. Sure, your male ego inflates with pride as plaster is falling from the ceiling, but the disadvantages often outweigh the advantages. Lease violations, 911 calls by concerned Protestant women a couple blocks away, and chronic hearing loss are only the tip of the iceberg. Hooking up with a screamer means you can never have sex when you’re at your parents’ house for Christmas. Having a screamer as a partner means that you have to keep your gym socks washed at all times, because when you stick one in her mouth you want it to be a clean one. I found this out the hard way, to my chagrin and subsequent hospitalization.

Having said that, the best thing about a screamer for guys is that there is absolutely no doubt in anyone’s mind, yours, hers or the neighbors’, that the orgasm you worked so hard for has been achieved at last. As soon as the noise subsides to the level of a four-alarm fire at a hand grenade factory, you can hop on her and jam away with no residual guilt whatsoever. Which is, of course, why we bothered in the first place.

- Hulles

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