You were putty in my fucking hands.

When the old folks next door asked me to come over for afternoon tea—as if that was shit people still did—I fuckin’ went. Not because I wanted to, but because I suspected that if I didn’t, they’d be all up in my business. And that was the last fuckin’ thing I wanted.

Then I met you two: The Twins.

Honestly, I had my eye on you girls since I saw you walking home together in your fuckin’ school uniforms. Made my cock hard just watchin’ you. Always had a thing for the school girls, y’know? You were the kinda girls I got off on corruptin’ when I was your age. Sweet, wholesome girls. The beginnings of curves in all the right places. Perky tits. Innocent smiles. The ones who swore they were saving themselves, then a week later were on their knees taking my cock in their mouths because I so much as looked at someone else. Those girls wanted to be claimed. Wanted me to take what they’d held sacred in the backseat of a car and then right afterward, they’d pray to God that it meant something. It never did. They were the type of girls who married at eighteen and had three under three by the time they were twenty-one while their husbands got off on cheatin’ on ‘em. Occasionally, they’d be the one to stray. I was the kinda guy they strayed with. Not the one they fuckin’ married.

The day I drank iced tea and ate mini sandwiches was a Saturday. No uniforms. Still, you were both decent to look at. Pale skin, rosy cheeks, wild fucking curls good for grabbin’. I tried not to look as bored as you did and kept quiet about how your sister was fuckin’ me with her eyes. I almost took her up on the offer, then you stood, said you had homework to do. I cracked a lame joke about your smarts, and that’s when the old man spoke up. You were wicked smart. Kind of shy about it, too.

So adorable.

At the time, it didn’t mean anything.

But a few days later, I was going over my spreadsheets and realized something wasn’t adding up. I was street smart. My deals were based on handshakes and trust. Not numbers. I didn’t know shit about numbers. But you, the girl next door—sweet Andromeda—you did. That’s when I set the plan into play. It was almost too easy. I found your school based on your uniform and logistics, looked up the Mathlete academic calendar, and went to the right place at the right time.

Later, you’d tell me it was fate that we ran into each other.

It wasn’t.

It was five minutes on Google and a fifteen-minute drive.

I wasn’t just going to come out and ask you to work for me. Too many questions. Too much drama. Plus, I had your grandparents to contend with. You were only fifteen at the time, and I had to be mindful of that. You seemed pretty damn respectful the first and only time I met you. If it were your sister I was after—I’d treat her like I did those other girls her age. I’d screw her fucking brains out, have her screamin’ my name instead of God’s. Then I’d tell her I loved her.

But you... you were different.

The first time you were in my car, I tested the waters. Made a comment about how I found you somewhat attractive. See if you’d jump out of the moving car. All you did was blush. In a way, future me would come to love that blush.

So, I played it cool. Became the overly friendly and extremely helpful neighbor. It was so I could see you, get in your head a little. You were barely ever home. Always off cultivatin’ that mind of yours. Your sister, though? She made sure she was around whenever I was. Sometimes in a bikini covering her tiny tits. So sweet. Then one day the girl had the balls to mention the legal age of consensual sex. I nearly bust out a laugh. Fuck, she was entertaining, but she wasn’t the one I was interested in.

You were.

Come your sixteenth birthday, I had the next few steps planned out. I bought you a nice gift. Cost a pretty penny, too. Told you I thought you were beautiful, and then I kissed you.

You didn’t run away.

I left for work for a couple weeks, gave my phone number to Grandpa Reynor, and hoped you’d call. I hoped the tiny seed I planted in your mind would blossom while I was gone. I wanted to infiltrate your mind. Have you thinkin’ of me when I wasn’t around.

Eight fucking days I waited.

Jesus fuck, it drove me mad.

When you finally did call, I acted like you were a swamp and I was lost in the desert. I imagined you blushing, reaching for your inhaler like you did that day out in your yard.

I waited another eight days to call you back. See how you fuckin’ liked it. I told you I was desperate to see you. I was. Not in any other way, but I really needed to get the ball rolling. Needed your help. You told me to meet you in some dingy fucking parking lot as if you were ashamed of me or some shit. No matter, I still showed up. Bigger picture and all. I kissed you—all sweet like at the beginning—then I got over that shit real quick. I kissed you harder until you were rubbing on my stiff cock. You kept moanin’ and grindin’ and practically beggin’ for more.

So I gave you more.

I finger fucked your tight little pussy, and fuck me, you were so fuckin’ pure.

So wet.

So needy.

Even now, years later, I jerk off to the sounds you made when you came.

Afterward, I dropped you off at the bus stop around the corner from our houses.

I told you I wanted to see you the next day.

You smiled.

Blushed.

Said, “Okay.”

And that’s when I knew I had you.

Like putty in my fucking hands.