|Verne, Mark, and a guy I don't remember|
I wasn't on a team -- being an athletic trainer didn't count -- so I had no choice but the only other option: date a Rock.
But most Rocks were very busy, having sex with eight or nine girls in various combinations every night, so they had little time or energy left for boys.
One day in November, a few weeks after my date with Todd's girlfriend, I was running around the indoor track, when I saw the preacher's son Verne (not his real name) playing one-on-one basketball in the gym be-low. Verne was a senior, so our paths rarely intersected. At school, I saw him only in the locker room after football practice, when he was anxious to get to the showers.
At church, he was always encased in a shell of fawning groupies. Practically our only contact came a couple of months ago, when I helped him Pray Through to Victory at an altar call.
As I ran, Verne finished his game. He guzzled Gatorade from a plastic bottle, then ripped off his t-shirt and collapsed, shimmering with sweat, onto the lap of a girl. He was hugely tall, with broad shoulders, hard thick biceps, short dark hair, and dark blue, almost purple eyes. And he was a Nazarene -- no sex allowed! He would be perfect.
The full story, with uncensored photos, is on Tales of West Hollywood