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It was a bright sunny day in 1991.A year had passed since my car accident, and I had gone through the physical rehab necessary to get back on my feet. The psychological part though, that was still ongoing. I had also been through my first rehab school since then, called The Transit School, in Atlanta, Georgia. Having been closed now for over 20 years, if one were to do an internet search for it, they would have to look pretty hard as a cursory search brings up transportation and public schools in Georgia.
I was now attending The Davison School, another now defunct school (having closed its doors for good back in 1994). I was 12 at the time, and as one approaches their teenage years they inevitably reach the age of puberty. People start to think of different, more intimate things, ie women, more mature clothing etc. I admit I was more of the former, but much, much less of the latter. The school was another specialized education school, and while it did offer education for people with special difficulties (ie cerebral palsy, head injury and other problems) it also offered a boarding for some of these students, so the school also had dorm room mistresses. I went here for two years and had my ups and downs (due to my head injury, at times I would have huge outbursts and curse and yell, which would at times put me in detention or in school suspension). Luckily I managed to keep my head down and at the graduation ceremony of 1993 (which was train themed), I was given my passing to go to my next school, where I spent the next five years of my life as a student, going from 8th grade all the way up to graduation.

It was a bright sunny day in the third week of August, 1993. My new school, called The Howard School, was a huge two mansion building located very near the corner of Ponce De Leon Road and Briarcliff road in Atlanta Georgia. The school was set across from a park and while they had small class sizes, they offered no cafeteria. You had to bring your own lunch from home. It was here and this time that I met my first lady whom I thought looked really attractive (and hey, being 14 years old at the time, my hormones had slowly started to surge through my body, though I did my best to keep them under control, which as you read, would lead to many relationship downfalls in my life). Her name was Amy (out of respect for her and her privacy I choose to call her Amy). Whenever I saw her I would think of a  Courtney Thorne Smith (she was an actress who starred in Melrose Place and Revenge of the Nerds 2). She had lovely hair, and perfect jawline and lips and big eyes.
I remember one time in math class the teacher, a tall man, with the facial features of a young Elvis impersonator, had us do worksheets. One of the questions related to the temperature of the United States as an average, but due to a typing error, she misunderstood what it meant and asked, in her pretty voice, “What does ‘us’ mean?” The entire class started laughing at her, with some people myself included, calling her a fucking moron for not knowing that it was U. S., and not ‘us’. I don’t remember if it started then, but that evening at home, I would call her, and apologize for my rude behavior towards her and ask her for friendship. For the rest of the year it was like that, with us constantly squabbling back and forth at each other. It was never playful. Usually I was very mean to her, cursing and calling her names, though in retrospect, I never should have done that, or if I did, I should have been cute about it. But I had no one to talk to about these feelings I was having. I was afraid to talk with my teacher, because I didn’t know what to ask. Home was no better, as my father hails from a different culture altogether. So during that year, I would feign anger at her just to hear her voice and usually carry it too far. I know, its fucked up, why choose to be an asshole to a pretty girl. I really liked her, but my expression was never one of a loving person, but that of a vengeful, spiteful one. And it got much worse. 
After my first year was over, I would return as a freshman in their high school. I received a letter from the school listing everyone who would be returning for the fall. I found among others her name. I felt that this time things would be different, that I could be a better person than I was. That year started off well to my knowledge. I honestly can’t remember, it’s been many, many years. 

I remember during this year also, there was a senior student (that’s grade 12 for those of you who don’t know) who looked really pretty. She had freckles on her cheeks, bright firey red hair, that she would sometimes wear either long and flowing, or as pigtails like Pippi Longstocking. Her name was Susan. This was also the year that Bon Jovi came out with his (now cliché😉 love sonnet, “Always.” While I stayed away from Amy and fell more and more into this lady, I kept a safe distance so that while she lived her life, I lived my life with her in my dreams. At years old, and having my hormones under some kind of control, my dreams manifested as me being a hero, saving this lady from an attacking army of aliens (again, I was at the time, and heavily into sci fi). In my dream that Bon Jovi song played out while I rescued her.
Then was the big school trip of the year. It was March 1995, and our school field trip, a weeklong one, would be to Key Largo in Florida. It was a nice trip, and I was pranked while I slept in the dorm rooms with another student applying toothpaste on my face. Needless to say it was a lovely trip. We each went out in a in different boats which would be our boats for to the week, and it was here I saw her, Susan, in a bathing suit. She looked really pretty, and I wanted to try to talk to her, but butterflies got the best of me and I froze. It was like that for the entire week.
Upon return to school two weeks following (the week after the trip was our spring break) things returned to normal, or as normal was for me. I was scared of women, and he only way I could respond to them was through cursing and swearing at them. I stayed my distance from Amy but dreamt about her, and me being a better person that she would like a whole lot. I called her at home in the evening, but would freeze or have trouble discussing a topic. Basically I just wanted to ask her friendship, which I did, to which she said ‘sure’ like she didn’t care. Then the next day we’d squabble and I’d call her in the evening. Then came the year end and the start of summer.
Fall came just as soon as summer began, and school started. I was in 10th grade. Here I still saw Amy but there was a new in school who was also really rude to her. But also, there was another who had joined our class who was very nice to her. I felt that comparison to the rude person would show me in a better light (I know my, thought process on winning her over was really fucked up). We still had squabbles, and I would call her at home in the evening to apologize. One English class I remember we had to make up a mythological story. Seeing as her favourite colour was pink, I based my myth on why the sea is blue, and started off with the opening lines, originally the seas were pink. Then I went into some bullshit story about heroics and posturing, about a hero’s love whose favourite colour was blue, and upon the death of the hero he had the gods change the colour of the seas from pink to blue. I couldn’t believe I had written a story like that. It was a huge Freudian slip showing my secret feelings for her. Luckily I think no one noticed. The year could not be complete without the usual squabbles back and forth over very petty things, like the pronunciations of certain words, to colours etc. Although I will admit that during this year, there were times where we were calm towards each other, nice and communicative even. I remember one art class we were outside the school doing a sketch of the building, and I calmly spoke with her, complementing her on her drawing, and she did mine in return. I asked how she was, trying to get a bit more personal, and she replied she was fine. Things were going well, I thought. I then dared and asked her the next question, those eight words which have eluded many a teenage man asking a woman…’would you like to go out with me’. She replied with a polite ‘we’ll see’, and I felt a bit happy then. But that happiness was only momentary. It’s really sad too, because what this taught me was that being nice, quiet, calm, and up front with women would get you results. I wish I had learned that, because the very next day we went back to squabbling. But this time she had a friend to talk with her.
Another day I remember was we had just been visited by two cheerleaders from Georgia Tech, who were there to promote the school walk-a-thon for the 1996 Olympic Summer games. I think the idea of this walk-a-thon was to raise for some cause. We all had numbers on our backs and we were walking around the school. My and number dropped off while I was walking, and Amy and her friend said within earshot of me, they’re not going to pick it up, and this made me honestly feel both a bit frustrated and hurt. It didn’t occur to me why they wouldn’t pick it up, it was because they were angry at how I treated her. This made me even more mad at them, so the next time I saw them I had nothing but hate for them both. But that hate was quashed in the evening when I decided to call her to apologize.
So this was my 10th grade experience. During the summer of 1996 I had my first viewing of an R rated movie in the theatres, The Rock starring Nicholas Cage and Sean Connery. I also got to see the Olympics as they were in Atlanta, and developed a serious but passing crush on Kerri Strug (though it would be much later that I found out that her views were much, much different than mine).
The fall of that year brought a few new people into the high school fold. These people were seniors, and a few had shifted from other schools. One was a girl named Danielle, and I was smitten. I did find her pretty, and I guess my hormones were finally let loose, and I always tried to chat her up whenever I found her in the halls. While I did this I even tried calling her at home, and asking her simple questions, like ‘how are you doing’, ‘what did you think of today’s class’, etc. It was cute, in a weird sort of way. I even remember one time I was walking by the grade 12 English class, of which she was a part of, and she waved at me, then I waved back. Then she waved at me again, and I waved back. Then her class looked outside and started to laugh, especially the teacher (more about her is to come). I thought she liked me, and all the while I didn’t know I was being set up. We kept bumping into each other in the halls, and then one day the English teacher pulled me aside and had a talk with me. She told me to stop following Danielle, as it was making her nervous and scared. These words took me aback for a minute. Was I behaving in a stalking manner? I knew I wasn’t so I tried to fight back, starting off with the words, ‘now wait a minute’. I explained to her what was really happening, how whenever I walked around the corner I would see her. But it wasn’t enough of an explanation for her. The teacher was still set in her ways that I was the cause of her nervousness and if I didn’t stop trailing her there would have to be police intervention (and it shook me up so bad inside that despite feeling cheerful on the outside, inside I felt like a bomb had dropped on my emotions). It wasn’t until a few years later that I found out what happened, for why she became nervous. Apparently she had thought about actually going out on a date with me, but a guy who I thought was my high school chum sold me out, telling her not to as it would make me needy. So I finished the rest of the year in a sort of depressed mood. I could not call Danielle, whom I had liked. So I went back to bothering Amy. During the summer, I had attended summer school, and I met her (Danielle) there also, and I figured, seeing as she was no longer under the ‘protection’ of the English teacher I tried calling her again, though being very careful not to bring up the point about her nervousness, but after a while I just decided not to call her anymore. My hormones, being in full swing at this time, I decided to vent myself through pictures of women in bikinis and Sears catalogues (I know, it makes me look like a creep, a sicko, a perv, call me whatever you want).
Finally it had arrived, after 3 long and depressing years. I was a senior. It should command some sort of respect, but sadly none of the students respect their seniors. This year was special because it would be the last time I would ever see Amy, and I really did not want Amy to leave the school with a bad taste in her mouth for me. I really did. But for some reason, I couldn’t help myself. Having grown up bothering her, and calling her names, it was hard to change. I asked on the first day back if we could start over, clean slate, she said she’d like that and I said I’d like it too, but if you know my history with her so far, then you know that words and actions are two very different things. Immediately we started at each other’s throats, with name calling and squabbling turning more and more vociferous, usually on my end. I’d call her filthy names, like cunt, , etc, only to call her house that same evening asking for forgiveness. It’s pretty pathetic.
It was a day nearing Christmas, sometime in December 1997, I think the last day before Christmas break and we had all as a high school decided to go walking to the nearby stores, called Five Points Atlanta. It was a nice street, lined with stores ready for the Christmas season. Think Bloor Street Village. Before we left, I finally mustered up the courage to talk with my favourite teacher, a nice, quiet, calm lady, my math professor, about what to do to show Amy I have feelings for her. Her suggestion was simple; her a gift from the stores. Armed with this in mind, I went to the stores with that goal, to look for the perfect gift for her. Since she was a woman, my math teacher had suggested a little gift box and a Christmas card to let her know it was from me. I did just that, I found the perfect little box, good for storing things like necklaces and earrings and photos, and I bought it, and I also bought a card to go with it. Stupidly though, I forgot to sign the card, so when I saw her I gave her the gift box and card unsigned, wishing her a Merry Christmas. She thanked me for it and then went on her way home, as the semester was over. I did too. During Christmas I kept wishing for Amy to look past my rough exterior and see that I was a warm, loving person. I prayed with all my might,

VineetHonkan 7 May 5
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part 2 (because some fucknut who maintains this site doesn't know jack shit about giving instructions on how to post long documents)...

as television movies had shown, that at every Christmas the downtrodden kid always got his wish answered. Sadly it never happened.
I don’t remember when, but it was probably around this point that I had started paying attention to a TV show that had become a hit on TV, Buffy The Vampire Slayer.
There was an actress on the show, a young Sarah Michelle Gellar, whom I had a recent crush on and went so far as to try and contact through her agency. I wrote a sob story, about not having many friends or some shit, so she’d take pity on me and come visit me. It would have been a great gift. Sadly, my mind never learned the difference between fantasy and reality, that a woman like her would be too sophisticated for a guy like me. I received a reply on a picture postcard I thought was from her, though now thinking back on it with a more mature mind I realize it was through her agency, not her personally. I kept looking at the photo, to see some reply from her personally, and even when I was at school showing the teachers the card they were telling me that the signature looks authentic, suggesting she personally could have signed it, though I think now they were just trying to allay me. While I didn’t have much of a tiff with Amy this year, I still felt there was a distance between me and her, a distance I wish hadn’t been there, but was there because of how I behaved to her.
After 4 long and drawn out years, it was graduation day. Our high school graduation ceremony was much shorter than a regular high school based on the fact that our class, ne’ our school, was so small (our school at the time had a total of 40 students, and my graduating class consisted of only 5 people!) Amy was supposed to sit beside me for graduation, but she had found her friend much more enjoyable so she sat beside him. I appeared to not mind but it was another knock against my already feeble self. Looking back on it, it seemed that I had a humiliation fetish, I wanted her to humiliate me so bad by yelling at me, calling me names, basically turn me into her submissive.
Upon graduation, having never had the love of a woman, I turned to the computer’s dark corridors for release. It started off simple, with just pictures of nude women. It was a real turn on for me. My dreams became more intense, with me having many wet dreams, sometimes about pretty women, other times with sexy men, and sometimes threesomes, either with two women or bisexual. There were times when I dreamt about Amy, but they were never like my sexual dreams, just me and her meeting and having a nice dinner in a Manhattan restaurant, overlooking Central Park.
I had joined the local community college in the summer of 1998 and had finished the fall semester with good marks in English. Upon seeing this I decided to call Amy to tell her the good news and wish her a merry Christmas. A TV show was on, I think it was The Jamie Foxx Show. It was dark outside, and I was alone at home. I picked up the phone during a break of the show, and dialed her number. A gruff voice answered. It was her father. I asked if I could speak with Amy, and he told me to not call again because the calls were harassing to Amy, and if I didn’t stop, there would have to be police intervention. The second time it happened. I said I don’t want trouble, but just to wish them a merry Christmas. He accepted and then we hung up, me having felt lost.
That call basically ended my relationship with women period. I had no idea how to talk to women, and having never learned I decided to forget about it. Things that should be viewed with interest and experiences I just viewed as mandatory, with no emotion or effort. My college years bore the brunt of this in the US, with me still not learning how to talk with women. There were pretty women, but they already had boyfriends etc and were only interested in putting me in the friend zone. So that became my routine, school, home. School, home. Eat, shit, sleep.
I graduated four years later, in 2002, and then I and my dad left for Canada and we went to a city called Mississauga, just west of Toronto, but still part of the GTA. I felt down still. I was 23 years old and felt that at this time of my life I should be out and on my own, but I was living with my father at the time, and I watched helplessly as my dreams of independence and big responsibilities were dashed. I stayed at home, which was in the Kaneff towers by Square One, just feeling depressed, with only the sounds of the television to keep me company. My dad felt sad that I was alone, and it stayed like this until the summer of 2004 I had to make a scene in front of public about getting a gym membership at the gym at City Hall Mississauga. He caved in and got me the membership, which I used a lot. Being at City Hall, a lot of the clientele were middle aged, with some in their 40s and above. This was a point in my life that I thought would benefit me, as I had found going to the gym and doing fitness exercises to be fun and challenging as well as rewarding. Later that year I went to the community centre and worked out there. It was interesting as the clientele was more my age at the time, with some being as young as 17 or 18 to much, much older, like in their 60s and 70s or higher. But they were still doing their exercises. I passed a lot of sexy women working out, usually doing the step master improperly, on their tip toes instead of full foot. One day, I think it was very near Valentine’s Day of 2005, I was working out on the stairclimber, and I saw a couple climb the stairs to the mezzanine to go workout on the machines opposite me. As I watched them certain feelings began to emerge in my mind, mostly of jealousy and depression. Jealousy because of how the two melded together, and depression because it was so hard for me to accomplish. I stopped after a short while, and still under the pressure of depression, I just walked out, and started thinking things about myself, how I was broken, a loser, and it hurt so much that I sat out by the reception, head down in my arms. I was vulnerable, crying silently.

I met one of the trainers, a nice guy named Jared, and I asked him basic questions about physiology and exercises. Then I asked him where he got his education from and he said “Humber college.” That made me think, if I went to Humber college, maybe this could be right up my alley, as I loved working out and physical activity. So I joined the 2005 program at Humber and felt that here, since I have similar interests like the people here, I could get a lady. I was so wrong. While I did do the program, I gave no time for myself, no true college experience. It was the same routine. Eat, shit, sleep, school, home. Nothing had changed. They did look beautiful, coming from different backgrounds and cultures, but they were all sophisticated, and my social skills were at the level of an 8 year old. I wanted a girlfriend, but no woman wanted to talk with me. They formed their cliques, and I was left alone to wallow in my self pity. So I went back to the computer and home, and this time I went a bit more daring, to instead of just pictures, actual movies on sex. Each time I watched one of those videos, I told myself that really that is not how one would treat a lady, there is no such thing as sex up front.
My dad tried to help through his Indian background connections. He wanted to set me up with a nice Indian woman, but having grown up western, it is near to impossible to find a Liberal, open minded Indian woman. For these reasons I stayed away from the idea of having him set me up, because he does not know what interests me. So we distanced ourselves from that topic. The summer of 2007 we went to India and it was here that I met the manager of one of the fitness facilities who would be a good friend of mine, Ravi. He was built like a tank…6 foot 4, muscled etc. His interest was in learning more about fitness and health. So I helped him. I worked out at his gym for the summer, and when I returned he called saying he was going to visit the Can Fit Pro fitness expo in Toronto that year. I gave him invite at our house, and when we went to the expo I worked as a volunteer while he went as an attendee. He got in contact with a few of the fitness ladies there who were really attractive, and he asked for my phone because he had no phone with him. I gave him my phone and then every night he would be getting a phone call or several from the same ladies. It made me feel mad, how it is so easy for him to get ladies to swoon for him while it has been such a struggle for me to get even one. While I slept, I got depressed and just wanted to end my life.
I graduated in 2008 with a diploma in Fitness and Health Promotion, also earning an award for hard work in the program. It boosted my spirit somewhat, making me think that I could do anything if I just put my mind to it. I joined the local rowing club as a rec rower and our coach was a very beautiful young lady named Natalie. She had beautiful eyes, long, auburn hair, and an athletic body. My body, having long been trashed for love felt revitalized seeing her. Immediately I thought about asking her out, and one of my fellow rowers saw my attraction and tried to help me, to no luck. She left later that year to join the navy, and I left for India.
I spent some time there working at my friend’s gym as a volunteer trainer for a bit helping a client lose weight. I also went on a few trips, one to a temple in the hills and the other to Goa. In Goa I met this lovely Spanish chick and so I tried talking to her, but seeing as my life lacks substance, we could only go up to “hi, how are you doing?” And then one of our company talked with her, and like magic she was enthralled with him. She asked what he did, where he’s from, all the important questions. I will admit I became very jealous. Am I fucking chopped liver here? You see me trying to hold a conversation with you, and you don’t even have the time of day to tell me your fucking name? So I just walked away from them.
I returned to Brampton in the spring of 2009, and I renewed my membership with the rowing Club and started rowing. It was fun and it kept me busy. Then I was introduced to Sheridan College and their Exercise Science program. It really interested me, as I wanted to learn more about the program and its offerings. So I met with the prof (who would later turn out to be the biggest fucking asshole I have ever met) and discussed with him about the program. Then I applied.
A lot of the women in my class were very young, from ages as young as 18 to their early 20s. I felt scared again, as the routine that I had followed during my collegiate years would sneak up and strike again. I was scared to talk with them, me being about 8 to 12 years older than them. What could we talk about? So every night when I went home I would sit in front of the computer and click on nude pics of women. There was one lady in my class, named Hailey, who was of Philipina background. I tried to talk with her about anything, just a hello or something in passing, and she had her friends so what she did to me was bark and growl at me whenever she talked with me. She didn’t like me, and it hurt. One day during one of my classes I made a mistake, and then another woman, smaller in stature, started laughing, and I lost it, and yelled at her in front of class. And then I stepped out to not return for the rest of the day.
I spoke with my professor a lot during my years there and his advice was just to take classes to better improve myself. Having learned not a damned thing from any of those teachers I graduated with my degree in hand in 2013. I was a graduate, no practical experience at my fingertips to use to get a good job as a personal trainer, I decided to volunteer my time as a volunteer physiotherapist assistant at a nearby athletic clinic. It went well. Then my dad decided we both go to India where I can get better experience, so we left in Dec of 2013 and I was posted with Deenanath Hospital in Pune. Here the work was much, much worse than volunteering as a physio assistant back in Canada. All I could do was watch the physiotherapists as they work with their patients. At least in Canada I had the ability to design exercise programs to take the clients through. When I returned, I needed some time to myself. I bought a ticket to Halifax, Nova Scotia, as my friend who is in the navy lives there, I figured I could meet up with her and hang out for a bit. I did that, and she was a great person. I didn’t even care that she had a boyfriend. It was fun just being with her. Yes there is a part of me that wishes she was single and liked me, but that is not what happened. I returned after several days, a bit happier than before. I felt like I could get a job, and went out and applied for a position as a security guard for the 2015 Pan Am Games, which I got but due to a sports related injury I had to quit the job. Having no job in hand, we decided to pack up because me and my father were moving to India for good. We left in May 2015, and I resumed my volunteering with Deenanath as a physio assistant/observer. The more I did it, the more I thought about being an athletic therapist. So after a big failure of not getting a job we returned in August of 2015 and I started in earnest to look for a job, any job and also at agencies. I also continued my computer viewing habits and for the first time successfully masturbated to full ejaculation at the age of 36.
I have had many mature fantasies about sex, usually with me in either a dominant or submissive role; sometimes it would be in a fitness setting…I would be a trainer, and my client would be a beautiful athletic woman. Other times it would be in a dinner setting…I would be out on a date with a beautiful woman who is doing her master’s in astrophysics. She’d be atheist, like me, and would be willing to try new things in a sexual relationship. We’d be in the city, in an apartment by the lake facing the city, standing on the balcony, I’d take off my jacket, put it around her shoulders, she’d say thanks and we’d both go into the apartment and have wild, beautiful sex.
It’s sad really, I would like to blame my inability to make good contact with women on my head injury, but a strong part of me wants not to because my head injury happened in 1990, and I had my first crush in 1993.


too long to read here. wish you luck


Thank you for sharing.. hopefully as you get older your "rough exterior " will smooth out enough you can find someone.

hippydog Level 8 May 5, 2019

this is only half of the story...


This was posted in previously .

Cast1es Level 9 May 5, 2019

You ARE aware that this is a site to discuss intimacy issues? This whole document lists my single life, why I have trouble meeting women, and the like. But, if you want me to remove it, I will.


I skimmed the seems to be a reminisce - sorry that you "prayed with all your might" at the do know why you're on, I assume? do realize that that was half of the story?

@VineetHonkan Your writing style is tedious.

It's hard to read.

If you write more concisely, You'll have more readers...more folk interested.

Maybe it's me.

But what's your point?

Are you asking us for opinions - or just musing about your life?

@Robecology ...I am posting this as a way of introducing myself to this group.

@VineetHonkan Please don't take offense; but you'll get far more readers if you be much more concise.

Try to make your points in fewer words.

Those who are impressed by what you say will become "followers". Some will click on your "biography" page.

You'll make more friends quicker that way.

Good luck....

You know what? You're entitled to your opinion.

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