New Neighbor

New Neighbor

New Neighbor

Part 01

Part 01

The Belsons moved out the day before yesterday. I never saw a real estate sign. Just a moving truck on Saturday. It was worryingIy sudden. The Belsons and I never spent a lot of time together, but Chet Belson and I had bonded over his car when I'd helped him with timing belt. They were mainly just a friendly older couple and we always waved hello and chatted briefly in passing. They had a mid-sized, long-haired, black and white, mixed breed rescue dog, and WE were really friendly. In fact, their dog introduced herself to me one day when I met them while walking the neighborhood. And she got a bone for her troubles. I would guess the couple was probably in their eighties. Hopefully they went into senior apartments or assisted living. Also hopefully they weren't dead in a horrendous car accident. I know the ropes; my father is in a senior apartment of his own at the moment.

A few days later, I rounded the corner onto my street from one of my morning two-mile walks, and an older Toyota pickup was in the driveway of their corner house. A youngish woman was just stepping out the front door. I smiled and waved. She looked speculatively at me and just nodded. And then turned away heading for the truck. Boxes were in the bed, lots of them.

I stopped at her front sidewalk. "New neighbor?"

"No, I'm a squatter," she snapped, and continued to the truck. She was quite tall, slender, not a lot of curves. Her hips were only slightly bigger than her waist. Whatever boobs she might have were lost in a baggy sweatshirt. But attractive. Sort of. Maybe thirty five. Dirty blonde hair down just below her chin, showing off a graceful neck. Sneakers without socks, and long muscular legs.

"Oookaaay. Well, welcome to the neighborhood." She didn't answer. Just gave me an irritated look, grabbed a box and turned back to the front door with it. Hmm. I shrugged. And then kept walking back up the street to my house.

When I headed back out to the grocery store a half hour later, the truck was gone.

I live four houses up the street from the Belsons. I'm fifty two and have been divorced for several years. My ex and I are more-or-less friendly with each other, but it's not like we hang out. At six foot five, I'm tall enough to have weathered endless "Did you play basketball?" or "Watch your head!" comments my whole life. I did, however high jump on the high school track team. I keep active, and exercise just enough to stay at my somewhat skinny two hundred ten pounds. No defined abs, but no gut yet either. With a history of dirt riding, hiking, racquetball, and other knee unfriendly hobbies, I have new knees. Both of them. The doc won't let me run anymore, but getting replacements was a huge eye opener. I hadn't realized how much bad knees curtail things. I still have most of my hair, which is mostly dirty blonde, with some gray coming in. I'd like to think that I'm ok to look at. I'm an engineer by trade, and of course have seemingly endless projects at home.

Late the next morning, I was coming back from yet another trip to the hardware store. I turned the corner, and her truck was back in the driveway, loaded with more stuff. After her reaction the day before, I figured,fuck her, she's just an angry young woman, and I kept going for fifty feet before I braked and muttered to myself, "Don't be an asshole dude."

So I backed up and pulled to the curb in front of her house. She might not appreciate some help but I was going to offer anyway. Being alone with a move sort of sucked. Most people get friends or family to help out. I got out just as she came out of the house. She obviously recognized me from the day before. And didn't seem pleased. At all.

"Would you like some help? Doesn't look like much fun moving in alone."

She stopped and stared at me. "I'm doing fine. And I certainly don't need any help from you."

I stared back. "Obviously. And I didn't need to offer, either. But now it appears that we're going to be neighbors, so I thought I would."

She threw me an exasperated look, then abruptly strode down the driveway, and held out her hand. We shook, firmly. Not really a friendly handshake

"I'm Amy. Amy Belson. I'm a lesbian. And I'm minding my own business." She gave me a challenging look.

"Is that so?" I countered. "Well good for you. I'm Ryan. Ryan Ericsson. I live four houses up the street in the red brick one. Oh, and I'm straight. And at the moment it looks likemybusiness is welcoming a newcomer to the neighborhood. But by all means, feel free to turn me down. I've got other, better stuff to do than deal with attitude."

Her wariness faded a little. She paused. "Well played, Ryan." She looked me up and down. "You serious? You really wanna help?"

"Actually, not really. Sort of seems like real work." I sighed. "I could be cleaning the toilet or vacuuming the living room. Or worse yet, sitting in front of a computer in a fucking Zoom meeting. Oops, it's Saturday. No Zoom meetings." She just snorted and a faint smile might have crossed her face.

I plunged on. "So, why not? And who can resist helping a fair lesbian maiden who's working her skinny ass off all alone?" Then I got serious. "Are they ok? The Belsons?"

She let out another snort. "I'm going to give you a pass on the skinny ass comment. And only because you've got one too."

We took a few moments give each other the once over. She had on a tank top now, and I could see that she was sporting what I'd call perky breasts. B+ sized, maybe a little bigger. Strong shoulders. Amazing expressive green eyes. I'll bet she was six feet tall. I don't know any women that tall, so I couldn't begin to guess her weight. She was skinnyish, yet had muscles too.

"My grandparents. They just moved into a senior apartment complex a few miles from here. Gramps was slowing down, and the whole house and yard,.. and not a moment too soon. So here I fucking am, your new neighbor. Happy now?"

Amy must have seen my puzzlement. "I just needed a place to live sort of right away. Gramps and Grammy moving was serendipitous for me. And they moved most of their stuff into their new place."

"Sounds like perfect timing."

"Bright side of a bad situation. I got kicked out. Bad roommate."

"Sorry 'bout that. But not a bad reason to be snippy with strangers. At least you weren't just pulling my leg to just fend off potential pervs."

Amy sighed. "Mostly not. Anyway, if you really want to help, the boxes are marked. These houses all look similar, so you can probably figure out what rooms to put them in."

"What happened to Bernice?" I grunted, hefting a box marked 'kitchen' out of the back of the truck.

She stared at me for a moment. "You know Bernice?" She finally smiled for real. "She's mine now, and I couldn't be happier!" I followed Amy into the house and was greeted by Bernice, who whined a welcome and followed me into the kitchen. I bent down and scratched her ears and butt as she wriggled against my legs.

Amy came in and looked down at me. "She likes you, huh? She's not usually good with any men but Grandpa. She didn't even growl."

"We know each other pretty well. I'm always the soft touch with a dog bone in my pocket. And I was friendly with your grandparents. I helped Chet with his car a couple of times. Can I give her a bone? She sort of knows what's coming, but I need to ask."

"Absolutely. So, you're part of the reason she's looking a little chunky," Amy challenged.

I stood up and looked her in the eyes. "Guilty as charged. So, did you play basketball in school?" I smirked.

"Oh, for fuck's sake. You're really going there??" She looked for a reaction to her crude comment. Got none.

I grinned. "I've suffered comments like that my whole life. I just thought I'd pay if forward."

She flashed a quick smile. "Asshole. And of course not."

"My guess is you're a shade over six feet. Close?" She rolled her eyes and gave me a puh-leeeze look.

"And a half inch, if you must know. Are we done with that now??" I nodded.

She and I spent the next half hour unloading the truck, putting boxes in their respective rooms. She stayed mostly monosyllabic when I tried to chat. But I did learn that she reallywasby herself. Her only relatives in town were her grandparents. She didn't mention her parents. I didn't ask.

After we finished up, we popped open some canned iced tea from her fridge and surveyed our progress.

"How many more trips you have to make?"

"I'm done for the day, gonna unpack some now. But probably one more tomorrow before the work week. More boxes and some small furniture. Why? Are you offering to help again?"

"I'm considering it."

She looked at me appraisingly. "I've got a question for you, Ryan. Since superficially you seem to be an okay person. At least at the moment."

"Uh, thank you, I think. Okay. Shoot."

"Can I just call you Ry instead of Ryan? See, as neighbors or acquaintances, I sort of need to know. I, I really can't call you Ryan."

"Ry would be just fine. It's simple. It's easy to get used to." Wow. Someone bad in her past.

I got a sincere sounding "Thanks," from her and let it go.

"What time tomorrow are you going to get started?"

"Is it okay if I just come up and knock on the door? Red brick, same side?"

"Yup. The house number is 3251. I might be working for a while, but not too much on a Sunday. One of the perks of working from home half the time is flexibility. I'll see you then."

I drove up the street to my place and pulled my car into the garage. I needed to relax, and now seemed like a perfect time for a ride up the canyon before it got too hot. So I pulled my Yamaha out and went inside to gear up.

Coffee at my favorite café in the mountains about 25 miles up a twisty canyon road sounded just about perfect. When I rode by, Amy the lesbian was walking up her sidewalk, and looked over. But with my full face helmet and riding gear, no way could she recognize me. I didn't wave.

A couple hours later, I arrived back home, somehow relaxed and jittery at the same time from a very large, strong coffee. And a croissant. Life was good.

Late the next afternoon, I was again enjoying a late cup of coffee while I puttered around the garage, and I saw her poke her head out from the front of the house.

"Oh, hi. I rang the doorbell, but...," Amy stood unsurely on the driveway, riveted in place.

"Hey! Sorry. Didn't hear it." Held up my cup. "Want coffee?"

Then she noticed my bikes in the garage and her mood brightened as she walked up. "Sure. Black?"

"Perfect."

I headed towards the side door of the house. "Come on in if you want."

"I'm good. I'll just look at your bikes."

"Suit yourself."

When I came back with my refill and hers, I asked her, "What do you think?"

She grinned at me. "That was you on the motorcycle yesterday afternoon! Nice. I ride too. I love the Yamaha. Really tall, though. Even I'd be on tippy toe stopped."

"I had to set it up a little to accommodate my height. I've only had it for less than a year. I'm finally starting to like it myself."

She looked at me over her coffee. Can I confess something to you?"

"What, that you're maybe not totally into women?"

She gaped at me. "The fuck?! How'd you know? You're scary, dude."

"Very bad man in your past named Ryan. It's ok. I don't read minds. I just pay attention."

She just stared at me. "Any other newsflashes about me?" she challenged, slurping another gulp of coffee.

"Yeah, I do have one."

Amy smirked. "Do tell."

"You're going to want me to help you get your bike, or maybe bikes, back to your new place. I didn't see any in your garage."

She stood there, staring at me for a long moment. Then, "Yeah I am, Ry. You are good. Are you sure it's ok to call you Ry?"

"Absolutely, Amy. My mom did. Occasionally. Want to tell me about my namesake?"

Her face darkened immediately. "Hard pass. Maybe sometime though. Or not."

"And you don't have to take time out of your day. I've got a truck."

"You got a ramp?"

Her face fell.

"I'd loan you mine, but I don't really know you that well. Plus, you don't seem like a bad person. I'm still volunteering since I'm not sure how much value a ramp would have by yourself."

Amy gave me a hard stare. "Thank you. I accept."

"Cool. One more guess about you before we get to work on unloading your truck." Now I was starting to have impure thoughts about Amy. She did say sometime. Didn't that mean we'd be seeing each other?

"All right. One more."

"You've got two bikes, one dirt or dual sport. And a street bike."

She just stood here shaking her head, looking at me. "Yup. Spot on. Maybe you can see them this coming weekend." Marge, oh, that's my ex. She gave me a deadline of next Sunday night.

I got it. Her situation, anyway. "I'm in. Do you trust me enough to let me give you my cell number?"

Amy thought about that, then shook her head at me. "You're one step ahead, aren't you?"

"I didn't want you to suddenly realize that I had your number as soon as you texted me, and think I might be a pervert that would call you at three in the morning to breathe heavily into the phone. Or, god forbid, send you dick pics."

"Shut up, Ry." She pulled out her phone. "Okay, give."

I gave her my landline and my cell numbers. "If you want to talk, use my landline. If text, my cell."

Then we meandered down the street to unload her truck. It wasn't bad. A dozen more boxes and a couple of chairs, some other small furniture. We were done in less than hour after she finally decided which side of her grandparent's king bed the night stand would go on.

"We're done!" she declared and gave me a high five. Thank you, thank you, Ry!"

She continued. "I have a personal question for you, if you don't mind. Is that okay?" and she stared down at her feet.

"I don't have to answer, do I?"

She shook her head. She was blushing. "Do you masturbate?"

My jaw dropped, but I laughed after the initial shock from her question wore off. "I sure didn't see that one coming. You know we just met, right? And certainly not standing with you in your bedroom next to your king sized bed. But yes, Amy. I do. Quite a bit, actually. Now you," I challenged.

"If anything, her blush deepened. Still looking at her feet. Guess it was her telltale for awkward moments, even of her own making. "Yeah, I do too. A lot. Sorry for asking. It was stupid. Sometimes my filter disappears and I just seem crazy. My mouth always seems to get me in trouble. So, sorry again."

I trailed her out to the front door. I turned to her. "I should go now." She nodded, then stepped in and threw her arms around me in a tight hug. I responded by hugging back. We separated. Not a word was said until I hit the street. I turned. She was still at the screen door. "I like you anyway, crazy Amy."

I didn't see her or hear from her all week until Sunday morning.

My landline rang. The screen stated 'unknown caller.' I was about to let it go to voicemail when I remembered Amy and her motorcycles.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Ry. It's Amy."

"Hey, you! It's good to hear your voice. How was your week?"

"You know, work. It keeps me busy. Sorry again about Tuesday afternoon. The more I thought of it, the worse I felt. Sometimes I just blurt out whatever I'm thinking about without considering the consequences. And I've been horny lately."

There was a very long pause.

"Amy, are you there?"

"Fuck. So stupid. Sorry again." She sighed. "I gotta go."

And she hung up.

It was Sunday. And she was given an ultimatum by her ex-roommate, or lover. Whoever. I texted her.

"Amy, we can leave to pick up your bikes whenever you're ready, ok?"

It was a good fifteen minutes before I got a reply.

"Ry, you don't have to help me, I just hope that you're not so disgusted that you're done with me. I feel really stupid."

"Amy, stop it. What time?? I'll drive us."

Nothing. An hour went by. Fuck it. I threw my riding gear in the back seat and drove down the block. Her pickup was evidently in the garage, so I pulled into her driveway. I saw her through the window as I walked up to her porch and knocked.

"Go away!"

"Amy, I'm not mad at you. Please open up. Don't ruin everything. I'm only leaving if you tell me that you never want to see me again."

I stood there patiently. We had plenty of time. After a couple of minutes, I knocked again.

"Amy, don't make me look stupid out here. Let me in."

Finally, the deadbolt clicked and she opened the door. I let myself in as she went and threw herself down on the far end of the couch. I sat down on the opposite end.

"Are you horny now?"

"Fuck you, Ry. Of course not. I'm ashamed and stupid and ugly and I feel worthless. Happy?!"

"Actually, I am. You let me in, and you're talking to me. So, it's all good."

"Every time I get to know someone, I fuck it up, just like I fucked this up. You can go now."

"What if I don't want to? What if you talking about masturbating and being horny doesn't bother me? Huh?"

"But it bothers me!! Now I feel like a slut. All because I can't keep my lips zipped. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Would it help if I asked you a completely inappropriate follow up question? Okay, how about this?? Do you cum when you masturbate?" There was a long silence. I think she was holding her breath.

"Sometimes," in a new little girl voice. "Do you?"

"Almost always. Now let's stop this silliness and go get your bikes. Where's your gear?"

"On the table. You don't want to just blow me off? Leave the crazy, slutty bitch alone with her problems?"

"No." I stood up, walked over to her and held out my hands. She let me pull her up. I leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. "I think you and I will be just fine. Get your stuff. I'll be in the car."

She came out a minute later, looking quite uneasy and contrite. But she threw her helmet and riding jacket in the back seat, hopped in and gave me the address. And then gave me an exasperated look and sighed heavily.

"What was that for?" I'd already learned not to try to guess what was going on in her head.

"I saw your gear in the back seat. I didn't say you could ride my bike."

"I know. But I thought I'd be prepared, just in case."

She stared at me and then turned away and stared out the window.

We drove. Very little else was said during the 20 minutes it took to get there.

"I think we're here." I pulled up at a duplex.

"Circle around to the alley, okay? Maybe park on the street close by. I don't particularly want to deal with Margaret right now, and the garage opens onto the alley."

"Okay." I pulled around and parked at the end of the block. Moments later we were crunching down a gravel alley with motorcycle jackets and helmets in our arms. Weird. My whole life the last week or so has been a little weird since I met Amy.

She pointed out the garage, then opened a gate and disappeared with a parting "Hang on."

Then the garage door started slowly grinding up, making a few alarmingly loud shrieking noises on the way.

And there were her bikes. Both were Suzukis. The SV650 was probably an '06, and the DR-Z400 was a similar vintage.

She sighed. "You know no one's ever ridden my bikes but me."

"I figured. I'm fine with whatever you want to do, Amy. I'll certainly run you back for the other one, if that's what you want."

"Goddam it. Everything's fucking changing," she muttered half to herself. "Fine. Can you ride the 400?" I nodded silently and pulled my jacket on, threw on my helmet, and wheeled it into the alley. Followed by Amy with the SV a few moments later. She ran back into the garage, and reappeared through the gate just as the ancient door finally creaked shut.