H
Literature
How My Neighbor Aunt Turned Me Into Her Foot Puppy She moved in a year ago.
I remember the exact day because my mom had dragged me outside to "meet the new neighbor," and the second I saw her, my brain short-circuited.
Aunt Clara.
That’s what she told me to call her—not because we were related, but because she was close to my mom’s age. Except… she didn’t look it. At all.
She was unbelievably hot.
Long, wavy auburn hair, sun-kissed skin, and curves that could kill. Her lips were always painted a deep red, matching her nails, and she had this smirk—like she knew exactly what I was thinking every time she caught me staring.
And I stared. A lot.
She dressed like she was in her 20s—tight sundresses that hugged her hips, short shorts that showed off her toned legs, and always, always sandals that left her feet bare.
Perfect feet.
Smooth, high arches, toes painted in crimson or black, always glistening under the sun.
She had this habit of crossing her legs when she sat, letting one sandal dangle, teasing me with every slow