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UNINTENTIONAL BONER PARTY

T he Past

Me: My grandmother emailed me to tell me that my father made sexual advances on me when I was younger.

Therapist: Do you have any memory of that?

Me: No. He would never have done that.

Therapist: Well then, don’t let your grandmother skew your memory. The thing with memories is that they’re very malleable. And if someone gets something like that into your head, you could start to believe it, even if it’s not at all true. In that sense, memories are very easily manipulated.

The Present

The ridiculous noise complaints from my neighbor keep coming.

The concierge knocks for the second time this week. I open the door, plastering on a polite smile.

“Sorry to bother you again,” he says, glancing nervously at the apartment behind me, noticing Timmy in the back corner. “But we’ve received another complaint. This time about… the TV volume.”

“We were just watching a TV show on my computer,” I explain, truly surprised by his visit. “The volume wasn’t even loud.”

“I understand,” the concierge says, lowering his voice as if trying not to set off a bomb. “But the building has quiet hours, and sound carries easily with the balcony doors open.”

I’m so frazzled by these complaints that by now, every time we watch TV, I’m on edge. The computer’s volume doesn’t even go up that high.

I nod, feeling weary but compliant. “Okay, sorry. We’ll turn it down.”

But before I can close the door, Timmy appears behind me. His eyes are dark with fury. He’s already bristling, ready to fight.

“This is fucking insane,” he snaps at the concierge. “She pays how much for this place? And now we can’t even watch TV without being harassed?”

I press my hand lightly against his chest, trying to steer him away from escalating the situation. “It’s fine, Timmy,” I say. “We’ll just turn it down.”

I don’t mind watching things at a lower volume, because we can still hear it if we try. But really, it is a bit ridiculous. Even though this apartment is new, they don’t seem to have done a great job with the soundproofing. And if the balcony door is open, noise travels. While it’s a bit over-the-top, I tend to be compliant and laid-back, and so I just figure we’ll turn the volume down a bit. No big deal.

Timmy, on the other hand, is furious.

He yanks the computer remote from the table and cranks the volume back up. “There. That’s what normal people do when they pay a ridiculous amount for rent—they watch TV however the fuck they want.”

“Timmy, look, just don’t worry about it. I don’t want to make this into a big deal.” I take the remote from him and he sighs as I turn the volume back down again.

He glares at me but doesn’t argue further, his jaw working as he silently fumes.

For the rest of the night, Timmy finds it impossible to relax.

His behavior is like a pressure cooker, hissing quietly just beneath the surface. He’s pacing the apartment, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.

Every time I hear someone walk past in the hallway, my stomach twists in knots, worried it’s going to be the concierge’s knock on the door with another complaint, and anticipating Timmy’s reaction.

The next day, Timmy is still restless, but he seems happier. We manage to have a quiet day with no complaints. In the evening, I watch him walk to the balcony, completely naked, his cock swinging in the breeze.

I don’t think much of it at first—we’re high up on the twenty-third floor, the balconies are partitioned enough that privacy isn’t usually a concern, and Timmy is just being Timmy, comfortable in his own skin. I’ve never seen someone do more helicopters with pure joy on their face—in fact, I don’t think I’d ever seen a guy do a helicopter until I met Timmy.

But then I see him peering around the edge of the balcony, craning his neck to where the leasing agent’s unit is located.

Suddenly, he’s having a conversation. “Ooh, hello,” I hear him say, his tone a little flirty.

“Timmy?” I call, uneasy. “What are you doing?”

He grins over his shoulder, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Saying hi.”

I inch closer, dread pooling in my stomach .

“Yeah, I’m buck naked out here right now,” I hear him say, his voice low and casual. “Enjoying my evening, just enjoying the breeze.”

What in the actual fuck?! How creepy.

I freeze, horrified. “Timmy,” I hiss. “Get in here!”

But he just laughs. “Wow, she’s really hot, your neighbor,” he mutters as he finally starts to head back inside, grinning like a kid who’s just gotten away with something naughty. “I think I’ve got a boner from looking at her.”

Because he is completely naked, after all, I can see he does not, in fact, have a boner. But the fact that he said it—out loud—makes my skin crawl. The words hang in the air, vulgar and disrespectful, both to me and the woman next door.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I hiss. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Get your ass inside. That is so gross of you to say! Why are you being like this?”

He finally steps inside, but not before shooting one last glance toward the neighbor’s unit. “We should go say hi,” he says, the grin still plastered across his face, making it sound like the neighbor hinted that she wanted late-night visitors.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, stop!” I plead. “Stop being disgusting!”

He rolls his eyes, but then he stops.

My heart feels heavy, sick with embarrassment and horrified by the fact my fiancé is perving at my next-door neighbor like some lecherous drunk standing on a street corner as underage girls walk past.

It makes me feel gross and unwanted, and then I feel silly for being jealous. She is pretty, but it doesn’t sit well with me that he was looking at her in that way, and then had the gall to tell me about it. Gross.

We put on a movie, but I can’t shake the nausea swirling in my gut. I eventually fall asleep, curled into myself, trying to make sense of the man lying beside me—the man who oscillates between sweet and unsettling at the drop of a hat, still sick to my stomach about the interaction.

The next day, he’s making breakfast.

I feel the need to address the situation. “Dude, you literally went outside naked and told my neighbor you were naked.”

“No, that’s not what happened.” He shakes his head and goes back to cooking.

“Yes, yes, it is. And then you came inside and announced to me that she was hot and was giving you a boner. That made me feel weird. I didn’t like it.”

“That’s totally not what happened. I just went outside, and we had a conversation. That’s all.” I feel dismissed, and breakfast is ready.

I’m distracted by his fascinating meal of eggs benedict with a curdled hollandaise creation that’s strangely delicious.

A little later, I’m at my computer when my phone buzzes. It’s the property management company calling, and my stomach lurches. I have a feeling I know what’s coming, and I reluctantly answer.

“This is Trinity, the property manager for this building,” the woman on the other end says, her tone sharp. “We’ve received some complaints about things happening in your apartment.” My stomach sinks further.

“Oh really? Like what?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady as my heart thumps in my chest.

“Well, it was reported that someone was howling at the moon like a wolf from your balcony at about three in the morning.”

I blink, confused. “I’m sorry, but I was here all night, and I didn’t hear anyone doing that.” It’s true, but as the words come out of my mouth, I can’t help but think it sounds like something Timmy would do, given his obsession with wolves and other creatures. It’s possible he did it once I’d fallen asleep, but I would have thought a loud wolf howl would have woken me up.

And despite me seeing his interaction with my neighbor, I feel defensive of Timmy. I’m sick of being picked on at this place. I feel like the concierges are used as some weird 24/7 babysitters to make sure adults make no noise at all across the building.

“Well, that’s not all,” she adds, her voice stiff with disapproval. “Your, uh… male guest… conducted himself in a lewd manner toward one of your neighbors, who is one of our employees.” She sounds pissed and defensive right back at me.

My stomach lurches, my heart racing faster. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” I stammer, mortified. “I’ll make sure that never happens again.”

I think of all the employees I’ve protected in my previous HR roles, and how it feels to have to deal with a situation like this. And now a guest in my apartment—my fiancé—is who the complaint is about. How ironic and awful.

I hang up the phone, my cheeks flaming, and I look at Timmy, whose relaxed demeanor shifts the moment he sees my face.

“Who was that?” He looks concerned. “What did they say? You look upset.”

“The property manager,” I say, folding my arms. “They said you stood on the balcony and howled at the moon like a wolf at three in the morning.”

“What?” he scoffs. “No I didn’t! That’s so stupid. Man, they’re really coming after us.”

“Well, I told them you didn’t, because I don’t remember hearing you do that.”

He nods, seemingly satisfied that I came to his defense. “Good. It must have been someone else.”

I frown. “They also said you behaved in a lewd way.”

Timmy’s expression darkens instantly. “What? That’s bullshit! I didn’t do anything like that. I did not act in a lewd way !”

“Well, you did go out there naked and tell her you were.” I gesture in the direction of the apartment next door.

“No I didn’t!” He shakes his head, adamant.

“Well, you were naked out on the balcony,” I remind him carefully. “And you did say you were naked—loudly. I mentioned it right before breakfast, remember? ”

“That’s not what happened!” he snaps. His face suddenly contorts with rage, his voice rising. “Don’t twist things around. I said hello, and told her to have a nice night. That’s it.”

I furrow my brow. “Yeah… you did…” I say. “And then you loudly said looking at her gave you a boner. We had a little argument about it.”

“That’s not what happened!” he says. “No! No! No! Don’t rewrite history.” He shakes his head with vigor, his mouth twisted in a scowl. “That’s not what happened. There’s no way she could have seen my penis, and I didn’t talk about it at all. I just said hello and I hope she’s having a nice night.”

I shake my head, the memory clear in my mind. I don’t know why he’s so adamantly denying the truth. “No, Timmy. I was right there. You said you were naked. And you said… you said she gave you a boner. I remember, because your comment upset me, and we had an argument about it.”

His eyes blaze with fury, his breath quickening. “No! No, I didn’t! Stop saying that!” His voice turns sharp. “You’re remembering it wrong.”

I flinch away, my body curling inside itself, the intensity of his anger hitting me like a wave.

“Listen, I don’t think you went and poked your penis through the bars to her balcony or anything. But I’m telling you what I saw and heard. You did tell her you were naked. And you did make a comment about her giving you a boner, which I remember because the comment really upset me. It made me feel sick. It still is.”

“Nope, you’re wrong!” he says, his voice raising, his face twisting into a deeper scowl. “I would never have done that! This place is crazy. They’re trying to come after you with all the noise complaints, and now they’re making things up. Don’t you add to it by believing their stories and making things up yourself. You were just drunk, and you don’t remember shit.”

The force of his denial is unsettling, like he’s not just lying to me—he’s rewriting the truth in his own mind, convinced that his version is the only one that exists. I know what I saw, but the force of his conviction makes me second-guess myself. Maybe I am remembering it wrong… I did have a couple of drinks before it happened…

I decide not to push it further. It’s just not worth it. He already seems elevated about the whole noise complaint situation, which really is quite ridiculous, and this seems like a bridge too far. Maybe, when he’s calm and this situation has been resolved, we’ll talk about it again.

“Okay,” I say softly. “Let’s just forget about it, alright? How about we go take a shower and go and enjoy the rest of our day.”

He nods, but his body stays tense, his mind still clearly spinning with anger.

His words needle at me, even though the events remain clear in my mind. I remember the tone of his voice, the angle of his dick as he stood on the balcony. Very specific memories. It’s like he’s trying to rewrite history, to fog my mind with allegations that, because I’d had a few drinks, I was imagining things that weren’t favorable to him.

But deep down, I saw what I saw. And I very much remember how the interaction made me feel. Sick, and like maybe I don’t really know who Timmy is the way I thought I did. The way he values and thinks about women. The way he values and thinks about me .

As the day progresses, he can’t stop ruminating on the phone call I received.

He turns toward the wall that separates our apartment from the leasing agent’s, pressing his ear against it as if listening for movement. His breathing becomes heavy, and then, slowly, he drags his fingertips along the wall.

His intensity is unsettling, and my body starts to tingle uncomfortably.

“She’s going to pay for this,” he growls. His voice is low and menacing, a dangerous undertone rippling through his words.

Over the course of the day, he just can’t seem to stop thinking about it. I try to distract him with TV and movies and food, but he keeps coming back to it.

“I’ll climb the fucking building if I have to,” he seethes at one point. “One balcony at a time. I’ve done it before. I don’t care that we’re twenty-three floors up, I’ll be like fucking Spiderman. And when I get to her, I’ll drag her across the room with one hand, and slit her fucking throat, and enjoy the sight of her writhing in pain for what she’s done. That bitch is going to bleed out.”

A shiver runs down my spine. Surely he’s not serious. He’s just venting. Right?

“Timmy, please,” I whisper. “This isn’t worth it. We can just like… move or something.”

He glances at the wall between my apartment and the leasing agent’s again, his breath ragged. “That bitch is going to get what’s coming to her,” he fumes, his mouth pinched into a tight scowl.

Again, I try to distract him. But his eyes continue to be locked on the wall, his lips curled into a grimace. “She has to pay,” he mutters. “For everything she’s done to you. To us.”

Later, he rages, his upper arms once again pressed against the wall, his ear cupped against it listening for life on the other side. His breath is ragged. “She will not do this to you! I will kill the dumb bitch!”

I shiver. Surely he’s joking, not that it’s at all funny. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen someone so angry, except for in a horror movie or some kind of true crime documentary. Talk about dramatic. This seems like something that can be fixed without what sounds like parkour and murder.

“Uh, thank you for being protective of me but that’s a bit over the top.”

“For all that she’s done to you…” He’s speaking slower than usual, deeper. “Done to us .”

“Babe, calm down,” I plead, my voice soft. “Seriously. Let’s just move. Find somewhere else with better soundproofing. Clearly this building sucks, and we can find something else where people don’t complain at the smallest thing. ”

“She has to pay for what she’s done.” His voice is low, guttural.

“Can you please calm down? I’m upset too, but we can’t do anything about it right now,”

“Look at what she’s done, though,” he seethes. “You’ve moved all the way over here, up and changed your life. And she’s set you up. She’s put you in the apartment next to hers, and she’s making noise complaints against you for laughing ?”

He has a point. That is pretty shitty of her. I don’t know what she’s playing at. But it’s nothing worth causing violence over.

In a twisted way, it feels nice to have this kind of alpha male protection, even if it’s also terrifying at the same time.

A more hinged individual would surely recommend complaining to her manager or the parent company. But I feel like, because of his inappropriate behavior the previous night, they now have legitimate cause for complaint. He’s so angry, though, it’s not the time to bring that up. That it’s now his fault we can’t rectify the situation properly. I get why he’s mad, to a point, but now he’s put us on the back foot, weakening our position by dangling his cock in her direction and telling her he was.

“Come on, baby, let’s just watch a movie,” I try to distract him, to change the topic. “Just… relax for a bit, okay?”

Movies generally seem to distract him, as long as they’re ones he likes.

He exhales sharply, and the fire in his eyes dims slightly. “Fine,” he mutters. “But we’re not done with this.”

He collapses onto the bed, the remote in hand, his expression still tight with anger. As he flips through the channels, I sit beside him, my mind racing. I try to steady my breath, to tamp down the fear crawling up my throat. His anger seems so over-the-top, so disproportionate with what’s happened.

His words, his threats—they hang heavy in the air. I want to believe he didn’t mean them. That he’s just blowing off steam. But the way he said it, so cold and deliberate, leaves me with a knot of unease in my stomach that refuses to unravel .

And as we sit here, watching the screen flicker with the beginning of another movie, I can’t help but feel like a fuse has been lit. And I have no idea when—or if—it will burn out.