"It wasn't about the sex."

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"Intimacy hits different. It’s more than a moment—it’s the way you vibe with someone, or even how you feel just staring at a piece of art. It’s trust, openness, no walls up. It's rare, and most people don’t get it."

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A MAN'S DESIRES

Ten walked out like it was just another day, another body. But something was different—maybe it was the way she moved, that Margot Robbie kind of allure. Or maybe it was the way his mind lingered on more than just her looks. For once, he wanted more than skin-deep.

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He wasn’t used to thinking like this. It wasn’t about whether anything was wrong down there. It was about what was missing up here. For the first time in a long time, Mr.10 felt himself wanting more than just skin-deep connections.

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Outside, the familiar roar of a Mercedes AMG-A45 pulled up as she slid into her Uber Lux, likely heading straight to work.

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Kevlar showed up a few minutes later, Five Guys in hand. “Yo, was that Margot Robbie out there? WOOO, MA N*GGA.” His voice cut through the quiet, full of energy, already going on about how he’d treat her “like an empress” - but you didn’t want to know what he really meant.

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"Ten picked at his fries, barely interested. 'Yeah, so what?' His tone flat. Kevlar sensed something was off but didn’t press.”

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“Stop frontin’. You’re not that special,” Kevlar shot back, but even he could tell something was off. Ten wasn’t playing along.

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“Yeah, well... neither was my night,” Mr. 10 replied, setting down his fries and leaning back into the couch, letting the moment linger.

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Kevlar paused, sensing the shift in the room. “Talk to me.”

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Just like that, they fell into their rhythm. This wasn’t one of those late-night talks; it was early, the kind of morning where sunlight cuts through the haze of a long night. It was time for a real man-to-man conversation, and the topic was clear: It’s never been about the sex.

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WHEN BRO SPEAKS, YOU MUST LISTEN.

“It’s never enough,”

Mr. 10 murmured, the words slipping out before he even realized. His mother’s voice echoed in his mind: “It ain’t about the biology of things; it’s about chemistry. Nothing works without a solid link.” That saying played on repeat, clinging to him like a stubborn shadow.

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Kevlar returned, rolling another big boy, taking his time, letting the silence settle. “See,” he said, licking the side of the wrap before sealing it, “you gotta get out your head. You’re in your feelings like you wearing some g-strings.”

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“I ain’t in my feelings, you bozo.”

Ten snapped, finally breaking the tension with a half-smile. “Matter of fact, I think I figured it out.”

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Kevlar burst into laughter, nearly dropping his blunt.

“Yo, you a corny ass n*gga, you know that? Since the corner store days, man. But since you got it all figured out, you better explain what you sayin’.”

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“N*gga, it’s elaborate,”

Ten corrected him, slapping Kevlar upside the head, half-joking but trying to keep a straight face.

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Kevlar’s burnt-up cone fell to the ground, but he wasn’t bothered. He grinned it off.

“Nah, for real—what’s up? What you figure out?”

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Ten leaned forward, feeling a shift inside, like he was about to drop the coldest truth hat would resonate just as much with him as with Kevlar.

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“I’m just tryna be real…”

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A NEAR FEELING

Kevlar, fully reclined, halfway through his second blunt, looked at Ten with a sudden gleam in his eye, like he was about to drop some life-changing wisdom. 

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“You ever get that feelin' when you’re just laid up with a chick, and you’re about to...?”

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Ten glanced over, unimpressed.

“About to what?”

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Kevlar dragged it out, milking the moment like he was narrating an epic.

“You know... about to...”

He waved his hand vaguely, as if that clarified everything.

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“N*gga, speak up. You’re killin' my vibe,”

Mr. 10 side-eyed him, already regretting asking.

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Kevlar exhaled a cloud of smoke, looking all too pleased with himself. “Bout to buss.”

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Ten raised a brow, a sarcastic sneer playing on his lips. “Strike 2.”

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Kevlar snickered, undeterred.

“Hey, I’m just out here tryna help.”

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“Yeah, real helpful.”

Ten shook his head, a grin sneaking through. But the weight of the moment hadn’t quite lifted.

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There was a long pause, the weight of the conversation creeping back in. Mr. 10 stared off into the distance, his mind racing with thoughts he could barely string together. The words finally spilled out.

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TEN: It ain’t just about the moment,' Ten started slow. I want something real."

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Kevlar rolled his eyes.

"Here we go again."

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But Ten wasn’t joking this time.

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“Nah, K. For real. It’s deeper than that," Ten said, his voice losing the usual bravado, sounding almost tired. "I want more… something real. I’ve been livin’ like this for so long, I don’t even know what I’m hunting anymore. The parties, the money, the women... it’s all just noise now.”

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Kevlar leaned back, not quite sure where this was going.

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“I’m tired of the fluff talk, bro. I’m talking about real conversations, the kind that actually matter. Not this ‘what’s your favorite color?’ BS—like, who cares? Or how you take your coffee?” He scoffed, shaking his head. “I want someone I can connect with. No more of these naked conversations where you’re talkin’, but you’re really sayin’ nothin'.”

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He paused, struggling to articulate something that had been brewing inside for a long time.

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“Where’s the essence, man? I want to be able to talk about life, goals, the future. To be challenged mentally, not just entertained physically. I’m tired of the same old scenes, these false ambiances where it’s all smoke and mirrors. It’s empty.”

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Kevlar, sensing the weight of what Mr. 10 was laying down, stayed quiet, letting his boy get this out.

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“I want something that makes me think, makes me feel… beyond just the skin-deep stuff. I’m done with the show. I want the real.”

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Kevlar sat up, mocking Ten’s usual accent. “Emotional me bollicks. Do you see me moanin’?” He waved him off, unwilling to let it sink in. "Bro, you got big money and people’s “soulmates” sneaking out your crib every other day, and now you wanna talk about feelings? Stop crying like you got rich people problems.”

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He flicked ash off his blunt and leaned back, letting the silence hang.

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“N¨ggas like us don’t know no feelings.”

Kevlar stated while creating some O’s out of his excessive smoking. 

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Ten tilted his head, giving Kevlar a once-over. “Your accent’s getting better.”

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Kevlar grinned. “Yeah, you like that? Irishman from the Bronx, you heard? Had this redhead jawn the other day—

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Ten: “—Yeah you the man.”

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Kevlar slapped his chest, exaggerated. “Ma n*gga!”

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Ten: “—Your time is up goofy. Dip out my crib, I’ve got work to do.”

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Kevlar pretended to be offended, rising from the couch slowly, brushing off his jeans like he had all the time in the world.

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“You a hoe anyway. Still gonna be a hoe when I come back.” He grinned, playing it off, but there was a flicker of understanding in his eyes.

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Ten wasn’t just talking to talk.

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Ten nodded, smirking as he watched Kevlar grab his keys and head for the door.

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KEVLAR: “Something deep my ass. Called me a bozo.” Kevlar mocked as he left, shaking his head with an exaggerated sigh.

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As the door clicked shut behind Kevlar, the silence hit harder than expected. Ten stood there, his eyes tracing the skyline, but his mind was miles deeper, swimming through thoughts he hadn’t let surface in a long time. The blunt conversations, the distractions, the parade of faces—it all felt so distant now.

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He took a step toward the balcony, the city’s hum rising beneath him, but his gaze wasn’t on the view. It was inward, like he was staring down the version of himself he used to be. That version that only cared about the game—the hustle, the highs, the conquests, and the sex.

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But now, all that felt... hollow.

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Mr. 10 leaned against the cool rail, the weight of everything hitting him at once. The realness of it all—the connections, the people, the choices—were deeper than he’d ever let himself feel. And maybe, just maybe, it was time to stop running from that.

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TEN: “Yeah… time to get real.”

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The words left his lips softly, like a promise to himself. It wasn’t about the money, the sex, or the street cred anymore. It was about him. Becoming the man he always claimed to be—Mr. 10—fully and unapologetically. Not just in the eyes of others, but in his own.

ABOVE ALL THINGS

As Ten settled into the wooden pew, the scent of polished wood and incense wrapped around him like a familiar embrace. The preacher's voice resonated through the air—steady, comforting, and infused with a magnetic authority that drew the congregation closer. “Let the church rise up and hold hands together,” he urged, his words swirling in the quiet space.

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With a soft flourish, the pianist played a few soulful chords, the jazz fingers dancing across the keys, evoking a sense of unity and warmth. Yet, despite the comfort of the moment, a knot of unease tightened in Ten’s stomach as he prepared to listen, ready to receive the guidance and reassurance that the prayer would bring.

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"Our Father in heaven and on Earth..."

The God - fearing preacher’s voice broke through the silence, reverberating through the walls of the old church like a drumbeat to the heart. His words were slow at first, deliberate, as though each syllable carried the weight of a thousand prayers.

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‍"Yahweh, Jehovah, Adonai..."

The words hung in the air, a moment of collective breathlessness before the choir began to hum, their voices rising in harmony, soft but powerful. Ten could feel it—the air was shifting. The energy in the room thickened, palpable, as hands started to rise. A woman in the front row let out a whispered “Yes, Lord,” as the preacher’s voice grew stronger.

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"Hear our hearts cry... we come together, ready to be touched by Your presence..."

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The preacher paced slowly in front of the altar, his hand lifted toward the ceiling. The choir picked up their tempo, the keys growing louder. The congregation swayed, shoulders rocking, hands stretching towards the heavens, ready to receive. There was a charge in the air, something electric.

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Ten felt his chest tighten as if the weight of the entire room was pressing in on him. The preacher’s words hit deeper. "We’ve been running... chasin' the things that fade, Lord. But right now, we’re here, seeking something real. Something eternal!" His voice thundered now, each word sharper, cutting through the crowd like a blade of truth.

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The choir’s voices rose higher, and higher still. The pianist’s fingers danced over the keys with renewed vigor, the notes swirling through the air, lifting the spirits of those gathered. Bodies began to move—slowly at first—rocking back and forth as the Spirit started to pour into the room like a rushing wave.

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"Without You, nothing works, Father!" The preacher's voice boomed now, louder than before, his arms raised as he stepped forward, eyes wide with the fire of his faith. "Without You, we are lost!"

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People began to shout, “Yes, Lord!” echoing his words. A woman near the back dropped to her knees, tears streaming down her face. “Hallelujah!” a man cried out, his arms trembling in the air. The Spirit was moving through the room, fast and hot, igniting hearts and lifting souls.

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Mr. 10 felt the weight of the moment pressing on him, the preacher’s voice washing over him like a tidal wave, shaking him to his core. His heart pounded, racing against the rhythm of the music, the choir now singing at full force, voices blending into a sound that was almost otherworldly.

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"We want that intimacy, Lord. That real connection!" The preacher’s voice shook with emotion as he stood at the edge of the pulpit, his gaze piercing through the congregation, as if he could see straight into their souls. "Let Your Spirit fill this place. Let Your love be the foundation, the rock upon which we stand!"

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The room exploded into sound—the choir belted out their praises, the congregation cried out in response, hands lifted to the heavens, bodies shaking as the Holy Spirit took hold. The preacher’s voice roared over it all, "Let us be transformed by Your love! Let us leave here changed!"

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Mr. 10 could feel the shift inside himself, a stirring, something deeper awakening within him. He wasn’t just here for the motions. He was ready—ready for something more, something real. He bowed his head as the preacher’s voice boomed one last time, "In the mighty name of Jesus, we pray!"

The choir hit their final crescendo, voices soaring, as the entire room seemed to rise together, united in one final moment of praise.

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"Amen!" The word echoed through the church, lingering in the air, the power of it settling into every soul present. Mr. 10 sat back, feeling lighter, yet more grounded, like for the first time in a long time, he was exactly where he was meant to be.

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LOVE LOST OR LOST LOVE

At the end of the powerful service in the local Christian church, Ten finally made his way out the large brown doors and into the new world he was determined to conquer. Life didn’t shift overnight, but the steady rhythm of days, weeks, and months began shaping him into someone new. Habits were broken, and discipline took root in places where fleeting thrills once dominated his life.

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Gone were the nights of chasing temporary highs; instead, Ten embraced a routine that built the foundation for his next chapter—his rise to power, focus, and clarity. He didn’t wait for motivation anymore; he created it through consistency, letting his actions speak louder than anything else.

His days were now marked by a clear sense of purpose:

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• 5:00 AM – He woke up early, a habit he had resisted for years, and began each day with hydration to fuel his body.
• 5:15 AM – The cold shower was a shock to the system, but it grounded him, reminding him that control begins with the mind.
• 5:30 AM – Meditation followed, a space to center his thoughts and set his intentions, aligning himself with his newfound purpose.
• 6:00 AM – Exercise became non-negotiable. Whether through HIIT or strength training, his body was a reflection of the discipline his mind had gained.
• 7:00 AM – A high-protein breakfast set him up for the day, fueling both body and ambition.
• 7:30 AM – By now, the rest of the world was still waking up, but Ten was already in a deep work session, focusing on top-priority tasks. This was the time when real progress was made, uninterrupted by distractions.
• 12:00 PM – A healthy lunch accompanied active learning, as Ten fed both his body and mind, keeping sharp and curious.
• 2:00 PM – The afternoon was reserved for creative work or strategic planning—tasks that required vision and foresight, where his mind’s clarity could cut through complexities.
• 6:00 PM – In the evening, he took time to wind down, spending personal moments with family or friends, balancing his hunger for success with the intimacy that grounded him.
• 9:30 PM – And before sleep claimed him by 10 PM, he journaled, reflecting on the day's victories and challenges, always sharpening his focus for the next day.

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The man who now stood before the mirror was no longer driven by chaos. Ten had evolved into someone led by clarity, moving not through the whims of indulgence, but by the purpose that fired his every step.

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But then, she entered his world.

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A twist that neither discipline nor focus could have predicted. They met at an art exhibit downtown, a place filled with modern masterpieces and ambient jazz that hummed softly in the background. She was the kind of woman who caught your attention with quiet confidence. Her aura felt different—an effortless blend of elegance and depth that spoke volumes without words.

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They found themselves standing side by side, both captivated by a Rothko painting, its abstract layers mirroring the layers of their conversation that unfolded after.

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Their connection blossomed over a mutual love for art and culture.

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Museums turned into intimate afternoons spent discussing life, emotions, and the beauty of creativity. She introduced him to classical music, and he took her to luxurious dinners, where the wine was as rich as their conversations. It wasn’t about the luxury itself, but the intimacy they shared in those moments—the connection was like fine art, deep, textured, and constantly revealing something new.

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There were evenings they spent lounging on a sleek, velvet couch, listening to Rick Ross, wrapped in the warmth of each other's presence. He had never felt this level of closeness before—physical attraction was there, but it paled in comparison to the bond they formed through shared intellect and emotions.

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Then, one morning, it all vanished. She was gone, leaving nothing but a simple note on the kitchen counter. Her family had returned to Africa to care for her ailing parents, and she had no choice but to go with them. No contact, no explanation beyond that brief message. Just gone.

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For the first time in a long while, Ten felt the kind of hollow pain he thought he had left behind—the connection ripped away just as it had fully bloomed. Would he ever feel that kind of intimacy again? Or had it been a fleeting masterpiece in his life, something beautiful but forever lost? The fear of never experiencing such closeness again gnawed at him, leaving him questioning everything.

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And as he stood there, staring at the note, the man who had once controlled everything was left with something he couldn't master—an open, aching heart.

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WHAT WAS IT ALL FOR?

Intimacy is more than closeness—it's trust, shared silences, and deep understanding. It’s found in the moments that reveal our true selves, where vulnerability and presence intertwine. For Ten, it wasn’t the grand gestures that marked their bond but the quiet moments: exploring art galleries, late-night conversations, and the simple act of showing up.

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Now, she was gone. With just a note left behind, she had returned to Africa to care for her family, leaving him in the echo of their shared experiences. Intimacy, once woven, doesn't disappear—it lingers, shaping us.

The question now wasn’t about intimacy itself, but whether Ten could risk losing it again.

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LADIES AND GENTLEMAN,

THIS IS INTIMACY REDEFINED.

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#10OUT

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