I apologize for all mistakes. I'll clean it up later.
It all started in Misaki's first year of high school.
He was seated next to a tall boy with brown eyes and Misaki thought he looked much older than a freshman. Misaki was pleased with the fact he had made a new friend, but now and then his 'friend' would stare at him for a very long time.
Sometimes his friend poked his cheek, then poking turned into touching with the back of his hand. Misaki, with cheeks redder than tomatoes, thought nothing of the situation until one day his classmate bit his ear gently and asked him if they should 'get it on' in the boys ' locker room.
Misaki thought he ment helping the janitor cleaning up after soccer practice and was utterly disappointed when his mate didn't show up.
The second time was when Misaki worked as a waiter for a very short time. It was a tough time for his brother, Takahiro, and they needed more money because of financial problems. In the end the youth was able to get a job as a waiter.
Misaki was around 15 or maybe 16, he couldn't quite remember, but one thing he remembered was when a handsome, dark-haired businessman had taken a sudden interest in Misaki. He came to the small cafè almost every day, at the same time and ordered the same thing.
At some point they both ended up having a conversation about work and future jobs, and Misaki told him about his passion for manga, and apparently the man told him he was originally from America and was in Japan for a business trip. And then he dropped the bomb.
"Japanese boys are really cute." He said as he took a sip of his coffee. Misaki stood there with his notepad clutched in his hand and tilted his head.
"I guess?" He said with big, olive green eyes looking at the man, confused.
The man brushed a strand of hair away from Misaki's face. "But I must say," The man smiled at Misaki, which caused him to blush a crimson-red color. "You are the cutest of them all."
Then he squeezed his ass gently, and Misaki kinda conisdered himself half a virgin.
At the age of seventeen he had gotten a part-time job at a bakery. He worked late nights with baking and decorating cakes.
One day his boss, mid-thirties and a few strands of grey hair by his ears said that he was convinced that 'Misaki must taste just as sweet as he looks'.
Still at age seventeen in the early mornings on the train it was a common thing for older men to feel younger school-boys up and down, since it was so crowded and no one dared to make a riot and just went with it. Because Misaki was a common victim, he slowly realised that men were physically attracted to him, and he had felt sorry for himself ever since.