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Ain't it cute how the fly honeys never know they fly. All putting their perfect noses in books like they wanna keep those fine angles from the world, just waiting for somebody to say, Hey there, sweetness. Let's make some magic. Now, I know all about Magic. Easter Dave got a crop up last Sunday and we toasted the good Lord 'till he had grill lines, but there's no high like a hot nerd grinding on your business in the locker room like he's sharpening pencils. So I know what I'm about, and I am about Rei Ryugazaki and his fine little track ass. Trouble is, honey didn't start off knowing he was playing my game. But everybody's playing my game.I'm Nagisa fuckin' Hazuki.So I played it smooth, sent him some dick pix on the sly along with a couple rocks I pulled from the back of a truck parked by the cooler, then sidled up during the tentacle porn festival like the finest of fine operators. Hottie looked like the last bus just left him at the stop, so I whispered something sweet in his ear like, "Baby, I would win you that plushy dildo if I thought it'd make you smile," and I could tell he just about melted into butter, cause his cheeks turned the color of my sparklin' eyes. Real shame that the swim dicks turned up just then with some drama about the Great White, because this deal was about to be signed, sealed and delivered.So then my Hottie was off playing Sherlock to try to keep Jaws away from the Reacharound Twins, and I had to content myself with texting him 'bout how I was hounding after his Baskerville with one hand while I stuffed my face with a sweet ass rice cake with the other. All I can say is that Makoto fuckin' owes me for keeping his boyfriend's side snatch on the DL when I could have been showing Rei the thermodynamics of my folks' jacuzzi, if you know what I'm saying. Anyway, night was done, I sold some rock to some preteens who don't know it's cut with sugar, and then I started to walk my honey home. And he was going on about deductions and equations and elementations or some kind of Matlock shit, and that was when I grabbed him by his butterfly sleeve and pulled him into the alley, My Alley, the alley reserved for Nagisa's Ho's Only, and straight up told him he was dancing around with my heart like the world's worst salsa and I was about to die without some of his particular brand of sweetness. Then just when he started opening and shutting his perfect little mouth like a fish with glasses and hair the color of slushies and my take of the night really kicked in, I stick my tongue down his throat and my hand up his bargain-bin yukata.Now, there are different brands of novice pieces. Some, they get all huffy after you go for broke like you just called their family shrine a pet rock collection and you got no chance. Others start twitching and heating up and you got to spend ten minutes talking about their families before you can even take another run at first base. Tell the truth, I was thinking my track honey would be in the daddy-told-me-to-play-sports camp.So imagine my surprise when his first little jump suddenly turned into all hands on deck and he was pushing my ass into a very familiar brick wall while making sounds like he was drowning. It'd be cute, how into it he was, if I wasn't distracted by those damn Spiderman-type muscles getting all up in my business. Call me Mary Jane and smoke me, but I am hooked on this sweet thing.You want to know the full run down, you come back with publishing rights, but suffice to say I woke up barely sober drooling on sculpted abs with his glasses crooked on my drug mule teddy bear, so. Long story short, that's why he's my emergency contact. But if it's bail money you want, prob'ly still start with Dave.