1 (Perfect Harmony)
For two months all she knew about Lean was her music. The music stoked her orgasms.
Guitar in the afternoon and the piano in the dark; the lilt of French songs, the soft wail of folk hymns, light, syncopated jazz and driving, pumping blues. She also heard snippets of a voice, low and husky, sometimes snarling, sometimes rising in a falsetto so plaintive it brought her to tears.
Lean is a tall woman, rangy. She sports short hair and has broad, swimmer's shoulders and trim waist and hips.
Lai has no idea of her neighbour's color or the shape of her face. She has no idea what expression matched the soft growls of desire as woman stripped for Lean.
All she had were shadows -- Lean's a constant, the others alternately curvy or boyish or plump.
Lia is a music freshman. Thinking herself shielded by her terrace palms, she'd sing along softly with Lean, closing her eyes to savor the way slow grind turned into a violent, roiling howl.
But always, she'd fall silent at some point, succumbing to pure sensation, lolling her neck this way and that, imagining a velvet caress, pressing thighs together and then opening them as she raised her hips to hands that were not there.
When the music stopped, she would go to her room and masturbate, sometimes with her hands, sometimes with a vibrator.
She could make herself cum twice, sometimes even thrice in a night. But it was never enough. Lia began to get scared of her runaway sex drive.
What she didn't know was that Lean also watched her shadow as it gyrated in the darkened bedroom.
The butch would see a shaft of light falling on the Lia's mons. She wondered what else, except for lust, the petite form held.
It was Lean who broke the ice.
Her bartender friend, Mandy, had called.
She said a young, lissome pixie with brown skin had been asking about the musician who lived on Santorini Street.
Aside from Lean's two-story, modernist house, only two garage flats faced that street. Lean's middle-aged male accountant lived on the far end. Lia lived next door.
Mandy also said Lia was a Friday night regular at the university town's lesbian bar.
She didn't date, was always with a group of friends. They seemed protective of the little one, Mandy said.
Lia ogled butches but routinely turned down overtures though she was always cheerful and polite.
A heartbreaker, the bartender said. And one who didn't even know it.
Mandy had told Lia the musician was a Wall Street investment banker who'd retired early with tons of money and then had written two best-selling books under a pseudonym.
Lia smothered a gasp at hearing the name. The author wrote erotica, lesbian erotica with a heavy touch of domination. Mandy quirked her brow and smiled as the young woman tried to project cool.
Lean's friend had chatted up Lia enough to know she liked basking in the afternoon sun.
The meadow fronting her flat was a quiet place. Hardly anybody ever passed the road. Lean always used her yard's rightmost corner. It was walled from the street. That was why they'd never met.
The writer watched through her 2nd-story studio windows until Lia settled down in the grass with a CD player. Lean nodded with approval. An Ipod would have shut out the sounds of rustling leaves.
Lean sauntered out of her house, hands in her pockets. She saw Lia before the younger woman spied her.
Lean paused by a tree and drew a deep breath. Lia wore short, blue-striped shorts. She had legs and arms spread as she sang the vocals to a slow blues arrangement of "Summertime".
It was a sensual sight, shoulders and hips softly gyrating. Lia's legs were tapered and golden and smooth. She wore a red tank top. No bra; her nipples rose with the breeze's caress.
Lean could see a face tanned a reddish gold but Lia's eyes were closed.
The older woman stopped in front of the young woman and cleared her throat.
Lia sat up. Lean's mouth went dry. The small woman was on her elbows, legs still splayed, almond eyes wide with surprise, mouth making a small "o."
Lean felt a tingle as Lia licked her upper lip before struggling to her knees.
"Uh, hi!" Lia winced as she heard the squeak.
She cleared her throat and tried again. "Hi."
Lean smiled at the dulcet tone. Brave girl, she thought, now boldly gazing at Lia.
"I live there," she pointed right.
"I know," Lia said and then blushed at the implication.
Lean chuckled. She walked towards Lia and halted a foot away, feeling the blow in the gut at the sight of the smooth globes separated by a deep cleavage.
The younger woman's upturned face flushed and she ducked her head to one side/
Lean dropped to her haunches and reached out a hand to cup Lia's chin. She heard a small gasp and gently forced the other woman's face up.
"You've been asking about me."
Lia met her eyes bravely. "I wondered who you were."
"Well, I'm here now," said Lean, a finger stroking her captive's jaw.
The two women stared at each other until Lean pulled Lia to her feet.
She turned and crossed the street, unlatching the small gate that led to her backyard. She didn't bother to check if Lia was following.
The Chinese-American from San Diego saw a long blue pool and divans in yellow and green scattered around the wide deck. Straight ahead, Lean's stark, white manse was all angles and glass. The light inside showed flashes of colors.
Lia took a deep breath and picked up her CD player. She walked in.
Lean leaned against a divan. The green canvas highlighted her amber eyes.
She lit and cigarette and lazily motioned with a hand at a nearby ottoman.
Lia perched on one side like a schoolgirl.
Lean laughed. She jackknifed; her feet landed on the deck without a sound.
The butch rested elbows on knees and studied Lia as she smoked. The young woman met her gaze calmly. But fingers twitched at her shorts' hemline.
"You're as small as your shadow."
Lai started, clasped a hand to her throat.
Lean's smile stretched from her tawny, golden-brown orbs to the wide mouth just below a smattering of fine freckles.
"Do you know there's a gap in your terrace palm grove?"
A flush swept through Lai's high cheekbones. But she tilted her face to one side and gazed at Lean's lips and drawled, "and?"
Lai hoped she looked fierce. She was really quaking in fear. But she was also determined to flirt with the author of her choice erotic tomes.
Lean stubbed out her cigarette and stood. She slid her hands down her thighs and then up and around, settling these in back pockets. She took an open-legged stance and cocked her head.
"I only see your hands."
Lai's moxie crumbled. She stared, horrified, at her neighbor.
Lean struggled not to laugh. She didn't want the younger woman running away. But she also wanted her on edge.
"My friends say you've been asking about me."
Lai swallowed, her throat dry with humiliation.
"I only wanted to know who made all that music."
Lean guessed an Asian just wouldn't knock on a stranger's door.
Especially if, she thought with a silent chuckle, she'd been masturbating to the stranger's music.
"Well, I'm here. I hear you're a musician yourself."
Lai nodded.
"Want to join me for coffee? Check out my collection?"
Etchings... Lai's mind screamed. Etchings.
She nodded, paused as Lean extended a hand with long, sturdy fingers and then slowly extended her little one to be clasped.'
The house was cool. Lean kicked off her sneakers and Lia also abandoned her espadrilles.
Lean looked up from the kitchen counter. She raised a brow.
"You didn't have to. I just like padding around barefoot."
