Banging Down The House

I was sitting at Starbuck on a Monday afternoon, regurgitating my futile attempts at downloading the non-Malaysian commercial junk music on a bad P2P connection. Sicken with non-progressing music theft, I logged on to my yahoo account and notice an interesting email request from a friend. She works with a local magazine and was writing an article on the topic of how some couples these days living with their parents have sex without waking the household. An interesting topic. I wondered how it never came up in any conversations before. Anyway, for those of you who may be fortunate enough to have a place of your own, you may be wondering why on earth would anybody still live with their parents after marriage. A good question. Well as a 30 years old failure at relationships, I for one still live with my parents and know many who still do. It is interesting to know that there are still some non-MTV generation people out there.

I have had many conversations with friends about living out and being independent and to each his/her own. I have however, come to a conclusion that in majority the driving force is sex and nothing more. Yes, I hear the “I need my independence and privacy”, “I cannot stand sharing my house with other people”, “I need my space” and “I have to show that I can stand on my own two feet” excuses, but it always and most certainly ends with “it’s easier when I need a place to bang” and “to bang” being the operative street term for “after party sex with people I can choose not to remember the next morning”. It seems that in our growing Neo-Roma society, one night stands is an “in-thing”, it’s trendy to have sex with different partners and decide who you’d like to go steady with later. At one point in time, in my adolescent mind, I thought that it was a “guy-thing” to have one-nighters but in recent years it has come to my attention that it is ever more common with women. It used to be just guys having a black book, now women have red books, and it’s an even longer list than the what the guys have that some have discarded the book altogether. Since the “burning of bra” in the sixties, the female liberation has gone far beyond equal pay checks and job opportunities. It now includes equal sexual opportunities and it’s evermore blatant when you take a walk down Bangsar, Hatramas, or Sultan Ismail on a weekend night. Most of the time I can’t tell the difference between a hot chick on a prowl and a prostitute; actually I can – the prostitute is not as hot or sexy. Then there is the long term one night stands; a form of interview to see if you can have sex with this person on a long term basis. Need we explore this?

So, when you come right down to it; living it out is simply a sexual drive. So what happens after fifty, sixty sexual partners, when one does meet the right person and settles down?

Well it starts off with fancy dinner dates. Then not-so-fancy dinnerdates. “The-tarik”. Party at a friend’s place. First night of passionate love making. More passionate love making. Sex on the weekends. Her shag-shack becomes redundant; she gives-up her place and move in. Sex every night. Contraceptive awareness. Two years later, the question is popped and the shag-shack is no more. It is now a home to be. Six months later is the expensive wedding ceremony, inviting people you don’t like but are related to, colleagues you don’t care about who can gossip about how great your wedding was, and some friends; the irony of a celebration. Then it’s of to a wonderful honeymoon in some faraway common holiday destination that everyone in your office have been wishing to go to and all fully paid by Mr. Brand New Husband; there goes the independence and equal-opportunity seminar. A week later it’s “welcome home to reality”. The bills start to pour in and Mr. Brand New Husband is getting stressed out evaluating his financial situation. It’s overwhelming. We need to rent out that house we just purchased in Kiara Mas just to pay off the wedding. So where do we live?...

Mum? Dad?

Yes, we fall back on the one couple that can and should never turn their backs on us in our time of need; should they want to see a grandchild. I have actually witnessed mothers asking their daughters when they would see a progeny of their daughter and fathers asking their sons if they plan on continuing the family bloodline. Yes, and there my friend is the key to having sex at home, with your parents next

door. Now, I am certain that you are asking yourself, “How could anyone possibly have sex with their parents in the next room?”

Well, think about it. Several months after the honeymoon, no sex, you can’t go out for a one night stand, no shag-shack, parental pressure for an offspring, friends questioning your fertility, the wife is planting baby pictures everywhere and asking if she is still desirable to you, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. It is just a matter of time before the idea that mum might have her ear on the base of a glass over the adjoining wall become as important as faecal matter. Some six months down the road, this hogwash goes down the drain and the decision is made to jump the wife and have wild sex. The pressure is on. Now it’s just a matter of timing – when should Mr Husband do it and what is the excuse? You don’t want to come off desperate but you are and you don’t want it to look like it’s a matter of reputation cause it is. The answer - Valentine’s day, the greatest excuse ever created to buy roses at ten times its value only to watch it die three days later and having consenting sex after an overpriced dinner. Valentine’s Day is the mating season for Homo sapiens and a money maker for fine dining restaurants the world over. The only time of the year when you can actually feel the sexual heat while sitting alone in your apartment twenty floors from ground zero, watching reruns of “Sleepless in Seattle”.

So hubby calls the local florist and sends an extravagant bouquet to the eagerly anticipating wife at home. He reconfirms the restaurant reservations he made last week. He calls home and asks his darling to dress up for a surprise. Mr Husband leaves work early to beat the traffic and fetch his wife who is half way across town only to drive back into town to that fancy fine-dining restaurant. They arrive at the restaurant at half past seven. He is looking smart and melancholy. She is looking divine and perky. The waiters are scurrying all over the place. The maitre d' is extra polite. The couple have a lovely candlelight dinner for two as soft jazzy music channels through the speakers. He has a conservative well-done sirloin while she selects the fresh Scandinavian Salmon Steak Tarragon, the most expensive dish on the menu tonight. He glances over the wine list and selects a 2003 Pinot Noir – fruity, floral, lightly spicy, a little dry but most importantly, affordable. After dinner they have casual conversation, she does most of the talking while he compliments her through the night and agrees on everything she has to say. At half past nine he calls for the bill, a slight shock hits him but then he remembers the credit card. By ten they are at a bar, having more wine and adding dance to the night’s escapade. As eleven passes through, she whispers into his ear that she is tired and would like to go home. A soft lingering kiss on his cheek tells him that he has done well and a reward is well on its way. They head home with a passionate revival in their relationship. He enters the house with a slight clumsiness and she signals him to be quiet and another kiss hits his lips. They make their way as quietly as possible to their room upstairs. They take their turns in the washroom; her first then him. The heat is on. He starts off with soft nothings like how he loves her and how beautiful she is then he tells her how much he desires her. He kisses her gently on her lips, she kisses back. His hands start to slide down her back for the first time since the honeymoon and she lifts her body over towards him in surrender.

That night you’d have the best sex you have ever had – passionate, soft and mostly silent. Mum and dad heard nothing but the creaking bed and the two a.m. shower. You'd think they didn’t know, but mum passed down the hallway an hour ago and noticed the candlelight flickering through the door of your room. The next morning, honeybuns is up early and cooking breakfast for you. Your body is aching but you are still raunchy from last night. Mum notices the smile on her face and gives her a nudge; you try not to notice, half-finishing your breakfast you dash out with a flush on your face. That night you come home and find your wife waiting over dinner, you get control of the TV remote, a bath is drawn, she give you a rubdown in the bedroom, and it’s round two. By the forth day, you have gotten used to mum’s flamboyant remarks and dad’s nonchalant manly advice. It’s now acceptable. You are a healthy, proactive, productive couple on your way to family-hood. By the end of the week, you are both exhausted and together you decide to slowdown. Let’s do it on the weekends. Then it goes down every fortnight and eventually only once a month. You and your wife master the art of quick and silent sex, but mum and dad are not stupid. The unscheduled three minutes wash an hour after you had gone to bed is a dead giveaway.

And there you have it – sex next to your parent’s bedroom. It’s all about getting past the first night from shear desperation, being nonchalant to the idea the mum and dad are next door and remembering that the passport is the grandchildren.