DEAR KEN & ARIEL: My dormmate has been dating this guy for four months. I made the mistake of saying I wouldn't mind if he slept over a couple nights a week, but a couple nights has become seven, and, worse, we have bunkbeds, and guess who's on the bottom bunk? At first they tried to keep their spring-straining to a minimum, but now they don't seem to give a shit, and I'm endangered of getting crushed by a mattress. Should I kill them or just talk it out?

ARIEL SAYS: Here are some suitable options for dealing with your exibitchonist roomie and her gymnastic-spastic boyfriend:

1. Install a Web cam. Why should you have all the fun? Share the joy and excitement of watching mating mammals in action with a few billion other Web surfers.

2. Open your room to the general public. Imagine how their frantic gyrations would score with a live studio audience. And it doesn't hurt to charge admission, either.

3. Change positions. Insist that due to increasing claustrophobia you must have the top bunk. Then, invite a defensive linebacker over for some late-night nookie.

4. Warm water. Remember that cool trick you learned in summer camp? After the dancing buffaloes have collapsed from exhaustion, stick her hand in a nice big bowl of warm water. He'll be out of there faster than you can say, "Depends."

5. Get a new room. Tell Horny Hannah that if they don't move their humping to another locale, you'll move out and that East German female wrestler with a black belt in Kung Fu will move in.

KEN SAYS: Assuming that you're just kidding about the murder comment, I think the first step is might be to try to shame them into silence--or at least getting a motel room. Toss out something really subtle like, "My god, what are you two doing up there? I hear you moaning but he hardly makes a sound," and your roomie will suddenly wonder if she really wants to have her lovemaking techniques critiqued on a nightly basis.

Another option may be to make the room as inhospitable to their amorous ways as possible. Tell 'em you've got a killer exam to study for and do some banging of your own--on the keyboard--'till around 3am. Invite some friends over to watch the late, late, late show and keep 'em hopped up on caffeine and vodka (which, admittedly, creates its own set of problems). Or grab a willing partner of your own (shouldn't be too hard to find one in a college dorm) and stage a sort of shag-o-lympics. Once the folks in the top bunk find themselves outdone by the young upstarts, they may seek a new playing field.

One final consideration may be to wait for a morning she's at class, then separate the beds, rearrange the room, and make up a "love barrier" behind which they can work their magic and you can--with the help of a Walkman or a pair of earmuffs, enjoy some peace without the threat of being impaled by a king coil.

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