Lindsey And Louise Pt 01

(The characters in this story are entirely fictional and have no connection with any persons living or dead.)

I had these lovebirds, two of them. They were the cutest things. Mostly green, with a spots of red on their heads.

I'd keep them out on the back patio on days when the temperature wasn't too hot or cold. They loved it out there. One day I looked out the back window to see a wild sparrow hawk sitting on top the cage. The lovebirds were going crazy. The hawk, I guess, had given up on getting inside, and was considering its options. When I went out the back door it flew away.

I didn't give that much more thought, until the fateful day I looked out to see a mass of feathers swooshing around inside the cage, which was out on the patio once more. I knew immediately that my lovebirds had gone to heaven. I rushed out to see the small hawk struggling to get out of the cage, but unable to. It was screeching to high heaven. So now I had lost two small birds, and gained a larger bird. No way I was going to release it!

That same day, a person came to my front door. I knew I had new neighbors, since the people across my back fence had sold their place and there was a different small SUV in the driveway. So this person introduced himself/herself as that neighbor, by the name of Lindsey, and apologized, because he/she had heard all the agonized hawk cries and wondered what was going on.

I say "he/she" because initially I couldn't tell what the person's sex was. Well, from now on I'll say "she" because her voice was a little higher in pitch than the usual male's and "she" was wearing tiny earrings. Now, one could say that many males would fit into that category too, but I went with "she" for the time being.

Her flannel shirt didn't reveal any telltale breasts underneath, but it was quite loose. I thought I detected a slight expansion of hips under her similarly loose trousers, but then I have an over-active imagination. There was some acne on her face, which seemed out of place at her age, which I pegged at 30 (I'm 38).

"Hi Lindsey, I'm Louise. It's so nice to meet a new neighbor! Well, what you heard was the sparrow hawk that got into my lovebird cage, devoured them, then couldn't make an exit."

"Oh, my gosh," she replied, showing genuine concern. "Is it injured?"

"No, just lost a few feathers. Of course, it's very jittery."

"So, what're you going to do with it, release it?" Lindsey was refreshingly enthusiastic and alert.

"Heck no! I'm keeping it ..... I've thought I'd build, or have somebody build, a walk-in cage. Have to find out what its diet is."

Lindsey at first started a lecture on how it's best to release wild animals back to the wild, then politely caught herself, and started on a new tack of what hawks like to eat. She said she was an avid birdwatcher and said she was familiar with all the hawks in the area. She asked if she could see the bird.

"Of course."

I showed her the way to the back door, and followed her lanky gait. Her hair was closely cropped around her head in a pleasing way.

"Oh, yes!" she said. "It's commonly called a sparrow hawk but we call it a kestrel. It's a beautiful bird, isn't it?"

"Sorry, I dislike it too much at the moment to appreciate it."

After a lot of banter about birds, I invited her inside for some coffee. I took a liking to her, I confess. With strangers, I usually decide whether I like or dislike them within a few minutes. But this one thing kept bugging me: was Lindsey a woman or man? I absolutely had to know.

So, we were talking. She was a physical ed teacher at a middle school in the next city over. I guess that explained her leanness and physical well-being. I started out a little search by asking if she lived alone, or ....

"Oh" -- she seemed a little flustered -- "my partner and I broke up a while back, and we were renting. I'd saved up enough to finally go home-hunting, and this new place was something I could afford."

No partner name was mentioned. I was recalling a woman phy-ed teacher I was acquainted with in the past who was mannish and a lesbian. Lindsey didn't seem overly mannish, but then she certainly wasn't girly-girly, either! So I was intrigued. A bit gender-neutral. Maybe she was one of these new people who identified as "they" -- of indeterminate sex.

Naturally, she was interested in where I was coming from. I related that my husband Frank had died from a military accident on a nearby air base. I told her about my working for a real estate title company.

"Oh, I'm so sorry to hear about the accident," Lindsey said, concerned. "Do you have any children?"

"Two. Both in college out of state. And you, any children?"

"Oh, no. I don't think I'll ever get into the children game. Wrong word! What I mean .... "

"Oh, I understand! It is kind of a game, to be sure. But yeah, I'd do it again. My kids turned out fine."

After more friendly banter, before leaving, Lindsey invited me to join her on a birdwatching trip sometime, with her group. I told her that sometimes I took photos of birds with my DSLR, so I would be interested.

A couple weeks later, my orange tree was producing buckets of nice, sweet oranges, and I took some around to the neighbors, including Lindsey. She was the last place I knocked at.

"Oh, hi, Louise! What's this?"

"You may have spotted the big orange tree in my back yard? They're coming ripe now, so I wondered if you wanted any."

"Oh, sure! Won't you come in?"

I walked into her living room, and then into her kitchen. There were still a few packing boxes around the place, unopened. Obviously she wasn't one to accomplish things in one fell swoop. In fact, there was a general feeling of disorganization. Mismatched furniture. A rug she'd bought, but hadn't rolled out yet. Piled-up dishes in her sink. A partly finished bottle of beer. Her TV was on to a soccer game. There were a few photos around showing her with a mix of men and women.

As for Lindsey herself, she had on a bright yellow T-shirt (loose, of course), and cargo shorts, revealing well-toned legs with visible unshaved hair. I thought I detected just the slightest hint of breasts underneath the shirt, with associated nipples, and obviously no bra. I myself was wearing a bra. I always do during the daytime, even when I'm at home alone. It makes me feel, for some reason, more whole. For the first time I noticed just a trace of facial hair on Lindsey; just the faintest trace of a mustache.

"Oh, forgive me," said Lindsey, with her fairly deep voice (not from smoking), noticing my searching gaze. "This place is still a shambles. I've just been too busy, or admittedly too lazy, to get this place into shape."

Not surprisingly, I had never noticed the slightest touch of makeup on her. No lipstick or eye makeup, nada. No attempt to cover her acne. Then there was that coiled snake tattooed on her arm.

I confess that I fantasized several times about having sex with her. There was something ultra appealing about her indeterminate gender; such a beguiling mix of muscles and strength and pleasant personality. Her immediacy. Then there were her full lips, which I found so sensual. She could've been male or female.

I hadn't had any sex with anyone since Frank died. Playing with myself, sure, but I hadn't seen or felt the need to have a sexual partner. I had plenty of friends.

Finally -- after I'd been wondering if her earlier invite was heartfelt -- she did invite me on a birdwatching expedition. I drove her to a parking lot out in the rolling hills five miles out of town. During the ride, Lindsey had been rather quiet. I tried to learn more about her, asking if she still maintained contact with her former partner.

"Only by looking at each other's Facebook pages," she answered. "Susan is actually down in Mexico now doing some archeological research. She's a really smart one, got her Ph.D."

"Do you miss her?"

"Well, we were together for three years, but I knew it wasn't going to last. We were just too different. Sure, I miss her a little. She was a great organizer and planner, which I'm not."

Our bird watch hike was rather boring, to tell the truth. The others could see and hear birds that I simply couldn't! I got a few pictures of hawks soaring overhead, but very few of birds in trees and bushes. Lindsey seemed right at home with the group, walking effortlessly up hillsides while I inevitably slowed down. She was wearing her cargo shorts and a man's long-sleeved shirt.

On the way home, I told her about my late husband Frank, who died on a naval base when a jet engine he was working on blew up. I admitted I missed him a lot, and every year on his birthday I went into a deep funk.

"When he passed," I said, "my whole world went upside down. Raising two girls while working was pretty tough. But I did it."

Before we parted, I insisted she come over for dinner in a week, and she agreed, remembering to ask if she could bring anything. I said no, because there was so much in my freezer to use, plus things from my veggie garden.

When the day and time arrived, she was only 15 minutes late, and she asked if I wanted to share a doobie. I said sure, and I must say that was powerful stuff. I hadn't smoked it in 15 years. I asked if weed had become more potent over the years, and she said, "certainly."

This time, Lindsey was wearing some tan, outdoorsy trousers which had kind of a sheen to them, and tons of pockets (one of which had held her doobie). Her top was a clingy, long-sleeved T-shirt with a wider neck than usual. It was synthetic, not cotton, and it had a slight sheen as well. I could make out some protrusions which for a woman would be some tiny tits, or for a man would be quite-big nipples.

Despite my being rather bombed from the weed, I managed to pull together the meal of spaghetti and meatballs, and a tossed salad. I asked if she wanted some red wine to accompany the tomato sauce on the spaghetti, and she said, in her tenor-toned voice, "Just a little bit, please."

At my little kitchen table, we sat close enough so that her feet touched mine several times. I don't know if it was me that pulled quickly away, or her.

We talked.

She was telling me about some of the students at her school, and some of the star athletes (she was a soccer and golf coach for both boys' and girls' teams). Sometimes she looked directly into my eyes, and other times she absentmindedly drew imaginary circles on the table. Her hands were definitely not soft and delicate; they were tanned and well defined, with some prominent veins just like a guy's.

She easily devoured the meal, and asked for seconds on the pasta.

At one point (now we were both a little stoned on both wine and weed) she asked, "Don't you get lonely here, without your husband and children? I mean, there's this big house ...."

"Yeah, it can get lonely sometimes, but I get out and walk with friends, take part in church activities, belong to a reading club, and so on. I have several close women friends. But yeah, this all doesn't take the place of my husband."

"Have you tried finding a new partner? I mean, with all the computer dating services around these days, it's not all that difficult."

I wondered why she was taking this tack -- like, was she coming on to me in some way?

"I thought about it," I said. "I even considered looking for a female partner, because I'm coming to realize, at this stage in my life, that I'm probably bisexual."

Why did I come up with that? My god, I have NEVER given much thought about being bisexual, NEVER! Now, I thought, in a roundabout way, that I was coming on to her. I've lobbed a tennis ball into her side of the court.

She didn't blink an eye. "Yes," she said, "people can certainly expand their horizons. As for me -- I haven't mentioned this before -- I had several male lovers, and even lived with one for a while, before I met Susan, and developed a big crush on her. I never thought I'd go in that direction, but there I was. It took some adjustments on my part, for sure."

"What do you mean, adjustments?"

"Ahh," Lindsey threw her head back and sighed, " ..... It's hard to put into words. With men, there were such clearly defined roles. I was the girl, and they were the guy. I cooked, and they mowed the lawn. I dressed more girly back then, and my hair was long, and I played the role the way the way I thought I should. Then I met Susan, who was a very traditional young woman, a girly girl with a very curvy figure, and I learned to, so to speak, wear the pants in the family. I stopped shaving my legs. This was Susan's second relationship with a woman."

So, I was finally able to pigeonhole Lindsey.

She continued, "So I morphed over into a more male role, which I kind of liked. It suited me, to make a bad pun."

So, there I was, listening to all this, seeing her somewhat mannish physical presence, while enjoying her feminine touches and way of speaking, albeit with a deeper tone. I knew about butch women, having met several, and I couldn't call her butch.

"You like to wear men's clothes," I added.

She laughed a little. "Certainly. That's me. I probably only have one dress to my name, in case I have to go to a wedding or something. I like the outdoorsy look. I like unadorned, thick clothing. But as you might have noticed, I do need my tiny earrings! I do often wear a necklace."

I wondered what sort of underwear she wore, but wasn't about to ask.

Soon, we were both getting sleepy, and as she left, we hugged briefly and vowed to get together again. I almost kissed her cheek, but held back. In the hug, I could feel (I thought) her muscular and toned body, a little like a coiled spring, and I was instantly turned on.

That night in bed, I fantasized about making it with her. I would undress her, and then she, me. As I fingered myself laying there, I pictured her coiling onto me in bed (like the tattoo on her arm), and aggressively kissing me and then rubbing my cunt with her thigh. I would feel her muscles and the little hairs on her face.

The next time we got together, she came over to help me build a walk-in cage for my hawk. She was a natural with a saw, hammer and nails. I had bought all of the materials and drew out a little plan, and she went to work. I stood by, mostly, and admired her muscles and energy. She was in a good humor and very direct and decisive when she put her mind to something. After three hours, the whole thing was built. I was totally impressed.

Afterwards, I thanked her with another dinner. She went home to shower, and returned, wearing sexy patterned leggings that nicely displayed her buns, and a looser turtleneck top. We shared another joint. I thanked her for the smoke and the job.

She liked my home-made vegetarian pizza and salad, and then asked if I'd ever seen the TV crime show, "Top Dog."

I would've agreed to watch anything with her, so we made ourselves comfortable on my sofa as I streamed it. She'd already seen the early episodes, so we tuned into season 1, episode 7. The lead character was a wise-cracking woman, know-it-all detective with a male go-fer sidekick who made her coffee and contributed to her ego. I could see how Lindsey identified with the detective.

We were sitting there enjoying the show and from time to time I looked over at her so intently watching the screen. Honestly, I wanted her to make a move on me. I was ready and willing. I ached for her to make a move. But she didn't. She was just very pleasant, and laughed at the right places and during commercials drank some wine I supplied.

Afterward, when it was dark outside, we talked for a while. I asked her if she wanted some help organizing her house and getting everything set up. At this point I just wanted more time with her. To maybe accidentally touch her!

"Oh," she said, "thank you so much. I know I'm slow at doing those things. But it's me that's gotta do it, you know."

"I had meant to mention," I said, "how much I like your leggings. They're kind of sexy. Where'd'you get them?"

"Susan got them for me. She liked them too. They're a little revealing don't you think? ... and I don't think I'd ever wear them out in public, but here, yes."

"Well, you have such a nice figure, and they do you well!"

"Thanks so much, Louise." She reached over and ever so briefly touched my shoulder.

As she left that evening, we hugged again. This time the hug was longer and a little more demonstrative, and I put my head alongside hers and kissed her ear. She just hugged me a little tighter and then she kissed my ear too. And then she looked directly into my eyes and smiled broadly and said, "Louise, you smell nice. I love your perfume."

I wasn't wearing any perfume!

(To be continued)