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Confessions Of A Former Power-Juicing, Pill-Popping Male Stripper

In my case, however, there was no such caution; Angel wanted me harder in a hurry. I had nice lines from the navel up, but below it I had made the blunder of slacking my quads. He put me on a monster course of lunges and hack squats, upped my calorie load with a midnight meal, and prescribed a two-week blowout of “catch-up juice” to maximize my protein burn. Comprising daily bumps of Deca and test cyp and twenty-mil tabs of Anadrol, the cocktail did its dirty work, turning me into a rabid thing. Ravenous and speedy, I’d sleep four fitful hours, then bound out of bed at six a.m. like a tiger smelling a warthog in the brush. I’d run a fast mile to the Four Brothers Diner, wolf a five-egg omelet clotted with bacon, then do pull-ups and push-ups in Riverside Park before waking up Kate around eight. She lent herself drowsily to my pawing exertions, then asked me, after a week, to give her break. “It’s great that I turn you on, but I’m getting blisters,” she caviled. “And what’s with all these bruises on your ass?”

But the jump-off, as Angel called it, brought swift returns. In a fortnight, I’d added ten pounds of mass and at 197 was within hailing distance of that most mythical of numbers, 200. Some of this, he warned me, was water weight that would melt off when I cut the Anadrol, and despite he new ripple in my lower quads, I had “far, far to go” in symmetry. Still, he said he was pleased with my progress: I was “serious as cancer,” his highest praise.

“Body Shop” is out now, and it’s fantastic (highlights include an orgy, several fights, and the banter amongst Paul’s workout buddies). Mr. Solotaroff will also be reading from “Body Shop” in DUMBO, Brooklyn on 8/5, as a part of the Gelf Varsity Letters.

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