Ayana:

I’m seventy-eight, twice-widowed, still wear red lipstick, and I haven’t been touched like I matter since Obama’s first term. But the moment Mateo moved in across the street, all tan skin, tattooed arms, and a chain begging to be yanked, I knew I was done for.

He’s eighteen. I should’ve stayed seated on my porch swing and minded my arthritis.

Instead, I let him kneel for me. Lick until I saw stars. Worship every wrinkle like it was gospel.

Now we’re married in a CVS. And I ride him like my life depends on it. Because it does.

Mateo:

I thought I was just moving into a quiet neighborhood to get my life together. What I found was Ayana.

Sharp tongue. Soft thighs. A stare that strips me bare.

She doesn’t ask. She claims. She uses my face like a throne and my body like it’s her second chance at living. And I give it. Over and over.

Everyone says she’s too old. That I’m too young.

They don’t understand.

She’s the addiction. I’m the offering.

And we’ve made CVS our church.

Come for the scandal. Stay for the counter-bending, throat-sobbing, shameless devotion.

This isn’t love. It’s obsession in orthopedic shoes.

And you’re gonna feel every second of it. 😈💍