the cheese stands alone

Memories of Thighs Past

The youngster downstairs (shall we name her? How about a contest?) isn't my first time of having Love For Sale neighbors. When I lived in Hawaii, I saw how the pros do it.
I lived in military housing in Hawaii, before the recent privatization wave. Our housing was out in the boonies, at Barber's Point, a closed Air Naval base. The living quarters weren't apartments per se, they were semi-detached houses. Not very old, good sized yards, and full of madness. Apparently due to drive time to the base from there, this was not the popular housing, and those who wound up in it were either insane, disreputable, or didn't really care.
(Coming from the hours-long traffic jams of San Diego, we didn't really care. My lack of sanity and rep have never really been in question, have they?)
I met my best friend Tonya while I lived there, and spent a lot of time over at her house, since she had two daughters and liked to stay nearby so they could play around the neighborhood. They were allowed to go almost anywhere, it was that safe... except near the house across the street.
We never did figure out when The Sisters moved in across the street. Technically, of course, it would have been one of them and a spouse. But Spouse was off on deployment, and Sister One must have moved Sister Two in to keep her company.
We discovered that was "Company" as in "open for business".
Our first clue was the day that six motorcycles roared up and parked on the front lawn of The Sisters' place. If you went to central casting and asked for the stereoptypical biker, these guys would have shown up. Almost immediately, the noise level started climbing and the stereo beat out any planes that would have ever been on the runway down the street. Almost as immediately was the appearance of the base police, as the one thing our military housing was excellent at was idiot and noise control.
The decibels dropped, the cops left, and The Sisters must have decided the party was best left to continue elsewhere. So they left with the bikers, dressed to impress. I think the definition of "impress" here is "display the sale items."
All the times we ever saw The Sisters, they dressed identical, like twins, and they looked enough alike that they could have been so. This time they wore those short-shorts that are cut high enough to leave a lot of cheek exposed, and hang low enough that their thongs looped high and proud up over their pelvic bones. They wore tiny bikini tops, triangles no bigger than a nipple, strung together with the thinnest of ribbons. They wore the entire makeup counter of a drugstore, complete with 2 inch dragon lady nails.
Now, to be fair, we could say they were just wearing their bikinis to take the party down to the beach... except it's a rare thing to wear over-the-thigh spike-heeled fuck-me boots in the sand.
They scampered up on the back of a motorcycle each and vroomed off.
Tonya and I then made a mistake... we told the horndogs men about it.
Tonya's house was the gathering place for our group of friends, and every weekend there would be 3 or 4 couples and their kids there. (Btw, I realize now that Tonya was a saint.) At the next gathering after we'd seen The Sisters in action, we told the group, and the party decamped to the living room to keep watch... after all, it was the weekend.
Sure enough, a few hours later, several motorcycles and a car or two came calling, and out ran The Sisters, wearing tiny lycra dresses and, as we found when they climbed up on the bikes, going commando.
We started a pool for the next customer count. Tim usually won, damn him.
And Tonya added an extra bottle of Windex to her grocery list, to take care of the smushed-up-against-the-glass nose prints from all the guys.
Unfortunately for us, we never got to see the excitement that would have happened if Husband of Sister had returned from deployment and walked in on commerce. As mysteriously as they appeared, one day The Sisters were gone, leaving a tire-tracked front yard, a broken screen door, and (as we heard later), a backyard full of condoms thrown used from the upstairs bedroom window.