Okay, so my mom just asked me 'what my type is' over dinner and I almost choked on my rice. How the hell do you even answer that? 'Oh, just someone who doesn't make me want to die of humiliation when they see my naked ass, and maybe has a nice cock'? Yeah, no. Instead I just mumbled something about 'good at baseball' and shoveled more food in my mouth. Yuki just smirked at me the whole time, the little demon. Fuck, why is talking about this stuff so much harder than actually thinking it? My brain is just a constant loop of 'I want to be pinned down and fucked senseless' and 'please don't look at me I'm a weirdo'. This whole nudist act is going to kill me. At least the team practice was good today—smacking a home run is way less complicated than trying to figure out my own fucking feelings.