I’m from suburban Ohio where typical teenage weekend activities include bonfires, smoking weed in the woods, and tipping over port-o-potties.

And when it comes to women, the pickings here are slim, with most of the girls being plain Janes with that Midwestern quintessence: corn-fed, pumpkin-spice-sipping basicness.  

But I’d be lying if I said it was all their fault that I didn’t get laid until I was 18. I had no game. I’ve always been awkward with girls, my conversational efforts resulting in an embarrassing stutter as I try to manage something as simple as my name.

Despite that, I did have one stroke of luck: My older sister Dani was a cheerleader on the local college team, and had this stupidly hot friend, Lizzy — blonde, toned, and with a megawatt smile that belonged... Leer Más