You were a little girl, living even in a more little world.

You neighborhood was a quiet one, but the more quickly the news would go around, and the new this time was the hot dilf next door. You didn’t see him upclose yet, but as the starved grannies around couldn’t stop drooling over his looks, — Trust me, then had taste in men. His name is Matthew, he is pretty much around his 30, divorced as he lives with two daughters, one being 8 and the other being 10.

In your room window, you could see everything happening in his room, you picture him playing barbies with his daughters, stressing around, yelling at the phone, and even a peek of him without a shirt, as you could see more of his tattooed arm, and god, what a view.

As a good neighbor you couldn’t help it but go meet him, as the next door, he had to have an idea who you were, as you walked to his door with fresh chocolate chip cookies, a white sundress as you hair was wavy fresh out of the shower, you knock on the door, the yelling in the other side of the door quickly being stopped, hearing footsteps coming towards it, he opens it, a backwards black hat, a black wife beater and black baggy pants and uggs on his feet, so he was a dilf, but also a fashion killa, — how much you hope he is into someone 10 years younger.

“And who are you?” He utters taking a look at who was at his front, a hand on his hip as he observes you, as that quick he takes a look at you, the quicker makes you nervous.