Before there was Twenty and Rahkell and apparently better grammar, I wrote a book when I was 20. Outside of my poetry, it was the first time many of my collegiate friends found out I wrote fiction. I grew up reading Omar Tyree, Sister Souljah, Zane, Ashley, and Jaquavis as well as my sister’s works and those were all of the authors I wanted to be like. Zo Diaries was my chance. It was my urban, fast-paced, elaborate fiction inspired by the authors I admired. As silly as I feel releasing it to the public, it feels good to finally call it finished and see even as an undeveloped author how my mind worked. For the past four years it has been a reference for all of my Zo fans. They would say, “Yeah, cool, you have this new book, but what about Zo?” and while I can’t promise a full explanation of what happens to Zo, I can promise an ending (finally).

So after 4 years, 2 months and 6 days; Zo Diaries.

I’ll be sixty."

"And you're aware that I'm in my early twenties."

"I am aware."

"What does this consist of? I'm not just going to drop everything when you call. I have a life, I have school, I have dreams." I protested but tried to keep my voice low. I was trying to protect every bit of myself that I had left and the small pieces I was gaining back.

"I understand all of those things. You think I saw someone dependent and needy marching into Louis Vuitton on Michigan Avenue with no man and no ring? I was born at night, but not last night, Rahkell."

"So why me? What do you want from me?"

"Look at you? A bold red lip, fitted black dress, everything a man could desire. Intelligent, educated, no children. You look like you need someone to take all of your stress away. In exchange for a minimal amount of pleasure."

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If I hadn’t been woken up by the sound of their lips on my skin, the sound of the rain would have done it with ease. The storm that convinced me to stay the night without an overnight bag was still going strong even three hours later. We had fallen asleep somewhere in between the fourth climax and they were waking up for our next session.

Mentally I was exhausted, every piece of me drained, but I couldn’t stop my body from responding as soon as they touched me. I was activated, beyond my control. Submissive, which I had never been, for anyone. Putting on a t-shirt was a senseless act of rebellion; their hands were under it and removing it in seconds. I arched my back so that my body pressed into theirs letting them know what they already knew, they could have me however they wanted. I felt their fingers creep up my shoulder to my mouth as they tapped twice on my bottom lip.