
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 day long, I was also anguishing in a special circle of Hell, where my penis and I were at a constant state of war with each other. The argument went something like this:

















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