The Real Deal

James thought nothing more of it. He was used to it. Five years he'd be doing it off and on. Five years, you can of find that it becomes a part of who you are really. And well, lets face it, James was really enjoying it. An odd thing really. He loved the whole package. James loved the way it made him feel, the way he thought differently and acted differently. He loved the way his body changed and acted in new ways. Now they were just the only way. Lets face it, James was addicted to the very thing that was not really meant to be addictive.

So he pulled back on the plastic plunger and peered at the syringe, as it filled with vacuumed air. The needle piercing his skin and penetrating deep into his thigh's quadracep. The plastic vial was filled with a mixture of air and thick, viscous oil. The colour of urine yellow. A few tiny air bubbles raced around the tube. But there was no blood. Not this time. Sometimes, randomly, the needle would have penetrated a vein, and the vial would swim with deep red blood. Ruining the shot. It was of course deadly to inject an oil into a vein, and deadlier to inject air into a vein. But today, there was no blood in the syringe. Only a trickle of blood from the punctured skin of the leg. It had been tough to get the jab in that time. Tough because of the masses of built up scar tissue. The sting was bringing a tear to James' eyes. Like when you enter the perfume counter at Boots and the multitude of fragrances irritate the soft tissue by your nose, sting your eyes, and make them water.

James was about to inject three mills of Testosterone right into his leg muscle. It was sustanon, a powerful blend of testosterones that create a synergistic blended time released effect. Sus was James' favourite steroid. He'd been dabbling with it for five years. Currenlty he was combining it with daily shots of winstol, primabolan and taking proviron, nolvadex and the occassional clomid. Daily he'd hammer a regular old handful of dianabol pills, maybe ten or fifteen, depending what muscle was to be trained, and how many training sessions in that day.

James pressed the liquid into his muscles. The swelling was instantaneous. It was painful. So painful, it was pleasurable. Three mililetres of thick oil pumped direct into his quads, the day after leg day. In fact the pain was excruciating. James whinced, grunted and smiled. His heart always pumped and beat like crazy. Pumped like he'd taken ten more ephedrine than he should have done. An adrenaline rush that was more addictive than loading eight plates onto the squat bar and repping twenty for ten sets. His veins rippled and pulsed. His arms tensed. But then again, they always did. Had to show people all the time the project he'd been working on. The project - his body. Still a bit small. But he was getting there. Small but getting that little bit bigger each time. It was a shame that his girlfriend, Amy, couldn't be there to see his work in progress any more. She'd gone. Left him last month because of the arguments. James shook his head and the though passed. Just as the needle passed back out of his body into the world.

Swabbing the site down, James disposed all of his sharps into the medical sharps bin and placed it back into the bathroom cupboard. Flutters. Heart flutters. A little high blood pressure, plummeted his frame back to the toilet seat. You know how it goes. Head rush. A little pounding in the ears, a little squashed brain feeling. Queezy, dizziness. James sat for a moment and waited for the cold sweats to die down. Only a small price to pay for such a worthy cause though. Nothing to worry about.

Steadying himself and getting back together, James stood and wandered out of the bathroom to the bedroom. Only to look in the full length mirror for the tenth time that morning. James knew. He knew. Everybody else said he was so vain. So intently obsessed. But James knew that obsession was good. You would suceed if you didnt have passion in this game. Passion was healthy obsession for James. And they were so wrong. James knew. He didnt look in the mirror because he loved himself. HA! They were so far from the truth. No. James, looked in the mirror with disgust and repuslsion. Nobody on this planet, James thought, would put them through the mental and physical torture he did if they loved themselves. That would of course be nonesense.

18 stone. Ripped to the bone. Veins. Vascular as any drugged up race horse. Far removed from the human physique. Too small. James shook his head. Too small. What was going on. Tiny arms - only 18 inches, worst bodypart and weak too. Only able to curl ten reps with 120lbs. James shook his head and began to pose, smiling for the imaginary crowds. Inside he shook his head and shouted at himself for those mistakes. He could hear the voices telling him, consistently of his failure. Big and bold, but willing to take on board critiscm. Of course hed try harder. Work harder. Make better contacts this year. Maybe get on the growth and the insulin. He was prepared to take those risks now that Amy was gone.

She didnt support the cause anyway. Thought that sex was more important. She didnt appreciate the awesome achievement being undertaken. She was just a little whore anyway. Wanted it all the time. James used to like sex but it was only a minor distraction from what he was doing. Great for dieting and burning off bodyfat but when you're trying to gain weight, boy it was a sure fire way to waste calories and release adrenaline and cortisol and cause muscle wasting. Besides he was bored with sex. Not interested. It wasnt on his mind. his body was on his mind. All of the time. Every minute or every day, and all the sleepless minutes at night in between, especially after taking amphetamines on those heavy, heavy back session days.

James wandered downstairs. Throwing another few dianabol down his neck, swallowing them without water. Threw back a handful of Milk Thistle to protect his liver. Didnt want to cause any harm to that baby. That's what made use of those wonderful steroids. James hadn't drunk a drop of alchohol for years. Didnt want to stress that sucker too much. Maybe the odd social drink though. Just the one or two at the weekends, and maybe on a thursday and friday to unwind and relax a little. Sometimes on a monday if it had been a stressful day at work. But not to excess like some people. They were just losers.

So James found himself downstairs in the living room. Had to turn the TV off. Had to get rid of the noise. Incessent, constant babbling from people who just didnt really matter or even understand. Could feel his heart beating harder. Blood boiling. Face going red. James clenched his fist, veins pumping in his forearms. Just ready to lash out. Smash that sucker! Break it! But no. Calm down. Deep breathes. Deep, controlled breathes. Lots of concentration. The noise was gone. The TV was off. No more babbling and annoying noises. Looking down he realised he had obliterated the remote control. Smashed beyond repair. Hadnt even noticed. Must have thrown it across the room. Didnt remember. Didnt even hear a sound - only that insane rabble that had been Neighbours or something. Similar to when Amy had gotten in the way. Didnt even realise her face was there. Oh well. Never mind. Not a problem. Can always buy another TV remote. Amy's face would mend anyway. Nothing to worry too much about.r

Jumping, James realised that it was just his mobile phone beeping in his pocket. Slamming down a handful of anti-histamines to take down some of his bad reactions first. It was a text message. A message from his dealer - Big Tim. Big Tim was saying that he had James' supply of clenbuterol, blood pressure and blood sugar pills in stock and could pick them up any time from the gym. He'd be right there in a few minutes. Also, that he'd had a quick look into a few steroid websites, an that the fact that he was pissing blood - was probably not a good sign and James should cycle off his course. James snarled and thought about it. A bit of blood. Nah. You can't stop a course on the eightenth week. Only half way through. Thats not good. Only a bit of blood. nothing to be paranoid back. Hell, James wasn't squeemish. didnt know what all the bog deal was with this blood business anyway. Nothing to worry about.

So he grabbed his wallet and car keys. It was gonna cost him a good £400 for his latest shipment of drugs. Accessories he hadnt thought that he would need. Another cost for the cause. All James was thinking about in the back of his mind was the mortgage payment next week. Where was he going to find the £400 for the mortgage. I mean priorities first though. Sort out the most important things. Only a house. His body was his own. Can get a new home. Your body is yours for life. Gotta do something worthy with it. Anyway, if he sold his car, he could walk to the gym. Great for burning more fat. Get up earlier and set off walking. Selling the car was probably a god idea. Just for a split second James laughed. Selling his car for drugs money. That would be a silly thing to do! No. He was selling his car to pay the mortgage. Thats more sensible, he thought.

Anyway, steroids were created to make sick people better. So they must be good for you right? Thats what James thought. They'b be legal if the scummy government could tax them. Idiots!

Slamming the front door, he gave his neighbour the usual middle finger salute. He was an idiot too. Damn nosey neighbours, trying to look into his business. Whispering behind the curtains. Whispering evil. What did they know. Jealousy. Thats what it was. Jealousy of his physique. Jealousy of hi awesome strong, muscular physique. Sometimes he wondered why more people didnt take care of themselves. But mostly he didnt want any old prat look anywhere near as god as he did. Too much competition. He didnt want to be like the rest. Wanted to be different. Wants them to whisper. Jealous old sods.

James smiled broadly. Time for the gym...