I turned eighteen a month into my senior year of high school. Skinny, shy, good at math; I was last pick for the basketball team and last pick for the opposite sex. But by Christmas, I had gone from being terrified of girls to living the cliché as the official “sexually non-threatening platonic guy friend” of the five hottest chicks in school. As nice as it was to have popular friends and beautiful women to look at all da...