What’s a few pounds going to do to a guy who is sexy enough to turn lesbians straight? Not much. It’s going to take far more to deter the ladies than some chunk. I need to go deeper. This is no longer a pet project; this is a mission. Ben may have won the genetic lottery, but that doesn’t mean he has a free pass for questionable behavior. The guy clearly needs to see how the other 95 percent live. Furthermore, our relationship needs a security system to keep out intruders. This is, after all, a city with as many models as Jackson Hole, Wyoming, has people. I can’t continue to send him into this city of easy women looking like he does. It’s too dangerous. Thinking back on my nerdy youth, four distinct factors come to mind: clothes, hair, weight, and acne. I omit acne from my mission. It grosses me out to kiss someone with sores on their face. I am a hypocrite, but it’s the truth. Plus, crappy sebaceous glands are hormonally based and, therefore, impossible to cultivate. Hair, clothes, and weight, on the other hand, I can easily corrupt.
