Scarlet Yearnings | Short Story Collection | Contemporary/Literary Fiction
The First Time I Met Your Mother
It was the summer of ‘69, and she caught me without armor.
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The front door swung open, and every conversation came to a jarring stop like a needle yanked off a spinning record. She stepped into the fété. Her massive afro, a halo of dark, wild power, seemed to catch and trap the dim light of the room.
My mind raced to categorize her and came up with the word, Goddess. Even the way she held her cowrie-beaded clutch — casual but commanding — made it clear she belonged anywhere she chose to be. A barely-there red mini-dress clung to her curves, skimming her shoulders, teasing the small swell of her chest, and stopping just shy of scandal. It hugged her in a way that felt like it broke every rule — and made my nineteen-year-old self glad it did.
Something flared in me, sharp and undeniable, tearing through defenses I hadn’t even known were there. It hit like a rogue wave, leaving me stripped and exposed, raw in a way that was equal parts thrill and terror. My chest tightened, heat blooming low and fast, and I suddenly felt like I’d been caught without…
