I became close with my classmate Kondo-kun by chance, and lately it's become routine to walk home from school together. We weren't particularly close before, but we somehow click now, and being together feels completely natural. Today, Kondo seemed especially cheerful. When I asked about his test scores, I was slightly surprised—his results weren't as good as I expected, yet he radiated this overwhelming happiness. What a ridiculous guy. The way he awkwardly laughs and desperately tries to play it cool is strangely endearing, and I realize I've grown to like him. Our talk about tests led to studying at Kondo's place. It was my first time at his house. Am I nervous? Not really—after all, he's just a male friend. I might feel tense if it were a girl from class, but the truth is, I'm still a virgin. With no experience, my fantasies run wild. I can't help but notice how Kondo's loungewear looks almost feminine, and I keep staring at his chest and legs. I want to touch him. I want to kiss him. And then, we actually kiss. Our desires spiral out of control. I climax from Kondo's handjob while pleasuring him orally. I want to know more. I want to be with him more. Our lust accelerates—rubbing our dicks together, mindlessly taking each other anally, shooting load after load. Though that moment has passed, the memory lingers deep inside. Are you doing well, Kondo? Sorry, back then I didn't know what I was doing—we rubbed so much it must've hurt your cock. Even as we laugh about it, the sweet, sweet graffiti of our youthful days as a generation exploring gender identity comes flooding back.