“Ah, Arthur. I feel so good. I love you!”

“I love you too, baby!”

At this moment, in the corridor, an elderly couple passes by accompanied by an employee.

The employee of this glorious hotel is pushing a cart in which are the couple’s heavy suitcases.

“Do these whispers of sexual love always happen here in this hotel?” Mrs Friedman asked the employee in a plaintive tone.

“No, ma’am. But yes, these whispers always happen here, once or even twice a week. But they don’t take long, just an hour and a half to three hours. The guy with her doesn’t have much oomph.”

“As much as my husband and I spend two weeks here, these whispers of sex are annoying. Is not true?”

The employee, a young man in his twenties, answers convincingly:

“No, ma’am. These whispers won’t bother you at all. You must imagine them as if they were a child’s cry. Surely you would not complain if it were a child who was crying. Right?”

Mrs Celia Friedman, a 70-year-old woman, also well dressed, looks at her husband’s face.

Her 75-year-old husband, Mr Rodrigo Friedman, keeps a straight face and says nothing.

The employee pushing the bags on the cart persists, a metre or two from them.

The old couple, holding hands, continue to follow.

“Here’s room 344, gentlemen!” said the kind employee, looking at the couple’s faces.

The whispers of the couple making love in the neighbouring room, a few metres away, persist with fervour.

The rich and feisty old woman exclaims:

“Oh, listen to me, young man! My husband and I would like to be accommodated in another room! Here beside the whispers of sex, no!”

“It’s okay. As you wish, ma’am! In that case, I propose that we return to the reception. My colleague, Mr Edgar, will solve this, please!”

“On the other hand, I don’t know why, this room is on the third floor!” she added angrily.

The young employee replies gently:

“Here, in our hotel, the hotel rooms are numbered with three numbers: the first number indicates the floor and the following numbers indicate the room number. That’s why this room, 344, is here on the third floor.”

Celia Friedman, beautiful woman of 70 years, arrogant, self-important, gets furious and starts to speak with much more anger:

“No! I prefer a room on the first floor! I suffer from dizziness and go crazy, a feeling of twirling and loss of balance, especially looking down from a great height, or looking out the window! Is it clear to you?”

“Okay. So, you better go to room 122, which is on the first floor. But let’s talk to my colleague Mr Edgar first.”

“We are returning from the Caribbean Islands and there the rooms are numbered differently and, above all, there are no whispers from prostitutes and we are highly respected throughout our stay!” she said even more furiously.

The husband is silent, does not speak and has said nothing about this aspect.

The couple and the employee pushing the cart full of bags back to the elevator.

The elevator goes down to the reception.

The 70-year-old active woman and her husband approach the reception.

“Yes please, ma’am!” suggested a man with kindness and seriousness.

Mrs Friedman begins to speak with euphoria:

“We would like to have another room. Upstairs, on the third floor, there are annoying whispers from people having sex!”

“We apologise, please, ma’am. We are sorry that this must happen in your presence. But we, here at our hotel, accept the attitudes of our visitors and we may not be able to intervene. You already have another room. Don’t worry, ma’am.”

“Another room, yes. But only on the first floor. I suffer from vertigo. I hate altitudes and the whispers of prostitutes!”

“That’s correct, ma’am. We also have your opinion and you receive all our support. Here we have two free rooms, on the first floor. The 111 that is next to the corner, but is only 14 square metres and the 131 is bigger and is on the right side. But it is 25% cheaper compared to room 344, which is on the third floor, on the quiet side of the garden.”

“Cheaper?”

“Yeah!”

“Then why cheaper?”

“For being on the first floor and on the side where sometimes fast cars pass and some people walking barking dogs. And, we still have to say that sometimes a group of idolaters of metallic music and drunks pass by the windows.”

Mrs Friedman looks up angrily and says:

“I would like to speak to the hotel manager as soon as possible!”

“We would like to apologise, Mrs Friedman. The manager, Mr Perlitonto, is unable to attend due to his divorce. His wife is putting a lot of dicks in his legs and that in addition to legislative costs and financial disputes. He lost his head, except for the last suicide attempt last Saturday. And therefore, he is not. Today, just today, I am in his place. My name is Edgar, George Edgar.”

“It’s! Fuck!” shouted the 70-year-old woman angrily.

The husband persists beside her as if he were her bodyguard, in silence.

Upstairs, on the third floor, exactly in room 339, the couple in love persists in the sexual game.

And above all the woman’s whispers under the deep sexual pleasures continue aloud.