I lived in a building on the 2nd floor in an apartment next door to a lesbian couple. For the life of me, I cannot remember their names, as they were just ordinary, common names.
Though we'd never been in each other's apartments, we got acquainted by virtue of our 2nd-story back porches being only a few feet apart. No offense to lesbian ladies, but these two were your stereotypical lesbian duo, the rather stern, very short-haired, somewhat masculine and aggressive blonde and the passive, longer-haired, pretty and feminine brunette.
They worked at the same place, but on different shifts, so I didn't see them together very often, but I did hear them together once in a while.
You see, we shared a wall between the apartments, and I once heard them going at it, but just barely because it was an historic building back when they made walls thick. My trusty stethoscope helped overcome that little inconvenience.
Due to the juxtaposition of the two apartments, however, the only two rooms that shared the common wall were part of the halls and the bathrooms, so the only time I could overhear anything was when they were walking down the hall or in the shower together. When I'd hear the water start running, I'd run to my bathroom, grab the stethoscope from the medicine cabinet, and stick it in my ears.
I'd place the business end of it up high above the tile in my shower, but it was still hard to hear, as their shower was usually on, making a terrible racket and almost drowning out everything. On infrequent occasions, though, they'd turn off the water as it began to run cold, which allowed me to hear almost as well as being in the shower with them. For once, a small water heater was a good thing!
Dyke to Pretty Thing, "Yeah, you like to suck my big cock, don't you? You suck it nice now, you hear, and maybe I'll fuck your pussy with it." And so on. Apparently, dyke had a strap-on that pretty thing was sucking. Hmmmm. I put that in my mental filing cabinet under Sex/Lesbians/Neighbors/Follow-Up.
On a Summer Saturday afternoon a few months later I was walking back from playing some street ball when I saw Pretty Thing with a frustrated expression standing on the front porch with some antique furniture--a chest and a dresser--big, heavy pieces.
"Hey, nice stuff," I commented. "Thanks. Got it at an estate sale. The guy trucked it over here before I got home from work, but just left it on the porch. Now I got to get it up the stairs. Roomie's working a double and won't be home until tomorrow morning. You think you could give me a hand?"
I went up the porch steps and lifted one end of the dresser. Sombitch must have weighed a ton, even with the drawers out that she had already carried upstairs. "Sure, I'll help, but we need another pretty strong dude," I suggested, looking up the narrow, 22-step staircase. "Oh, I'm gonna do my part," she said, "I'm a lot stronger than I look."
Well, she didn't look that strong, but she did look good, real good. About 30 and of Italian descent, she had thick, nearly black, shoulder-length hair surrounding a face featuring a high forehead; thick, arched brows over big, dark, wide open eyes. Large, brilliant teeth flashed from her extremely wide, full-lipped mouth. Her face radiated happiness.
