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.
In the white tee shirt and gym shorts she was wearing, her body looked tasty, too. Compact at about 5'4" and around 120 pounds, she was thin but had curves. Her skin was olive brown, with ever-so-smooth arms and legs. Firm, braless B cups pressed dark nipples against the cotton tee, and the wide-legged gym shorts displayed the bottoms of her dark, poochy buns and positively invited one to seek an angle for viewing possibly more.
She showed me the bedroom in their apartment where the furniture would be going and gave me a quick tour. The place was tastefully furnished and decorated. The mirror image of mine, it was a two-bedroom, but they'd made one bedroom into a den. I had to use the bathroom, and, of course, while in there I checked the shower for sex toys. None. Then I checked the cabinet under the sink. Aha—the strap-on dildo with a leather harness. Crusty and dry as a bone, it had apparently not been used recently, but it did have the faint odor of pussy. This must have been the tool that I'd heard her roomie using on her. If she liked a lifeless rubber cock, wonder if she'd like a hot throbbing hard real one? Mine, for example.
Knowing she and I would never be able to lift those two pieces of furniture up the tall, steep staircase, I gathered the throw rugs from around her place, put them on the bare-wood steps, turned the pieces upside down, and slid them up.
Even using this method, I pushing from below and she pulling from above, it was all we could do to get them up the stairs, and we had to turn them up on end to make the sharp bend through the doorway into the bedroom. She was, in fact, stronger than she looked and very coordinated, but even so, I did 80% of the work. No problem—looking at the eye candy that she was made it worth the effort.
It was a blistering hot and humid August day, and we were soaked in sweat, which just made her boobs and puffy dark nipples that much more visible. When struggling with the dresser on the staircase, with each step that she'd pull upward as I pushed from below, I had a perfect view of her crotch up the wide-legged gym shorts. Though she did have on some light-colored panties, they were damp from perspiration also, and did not completely cover her very thick black bush, so I could just barely make out her pussy lips. All this helped motivate me up the steep incline.
