It started Spring of 2001. I was21-years-old and spent my free time on the computer reading messageboards or playing games. I had no skill with women, and the ones Iknew either used me for my brain to tutor them or as an emotionaltampon to feel better about the guys who didn’t take their shit. Iremember thinking how stupid these other guys were to make suchpretty, nice girls upset. Don’t they realize these girls willprobably stop talking to them? My friends were unsuccessful withwomen too, so we all reinforced our lack of skill during all-nightgames of Risk or poker. I wanted to get out of this cycle but felt Ihad little control to make a change.

I observed other guys and concluded that success with women was a skill you were born with. Then therewas one girl I started to like in my organic chemistry class. She wasPersian, same age as me, with long, curly hair and olive skin. Wewould study together in groups and I could swear she was giving meextra attention. I analyzed the situation with my nice guy friendsand we all concluded that she did like me as more than a friend.After a couple weeks of hesitation, I finally asked her out on acasual date to the movies. She said she couldn’t because she wasvery busy. Weeks later I’d see her around campus holding hands withanother guy. Instead of listening to lame love songs like I usuallydid, for the first time I got angry. A lifetime of frustration andnot getting what I wanted became focused on this one girl. I wasbitter that I, a nice guy, was getting passed over for guys who Ithought were losers. So I started to ignore her. If I did end uptalking to her, I would cut our conversation short. When she wouldask me to study I’d lie and say I was studying alone, only for herto find my study group up late at night in the library. I startedfeeling good for treating her poorly. I hated her and everything shestood for, which was my failure with women. But then something