If I'd Been Smart I Would Have Stopped There, But Being Naturally Greedy (I Remember A Doctor Saying To Me Later That "Nobody Does Just One Course!") I Had To Jab Again.

"G'day, my name's Ted and I'm a nineteen year-old student and tennis coach. A lot of my friends call me Jabber because of my reputation as a roider. Overall, I haven't taken that much gear, but the average person seems to classify anyone who jabs needles full of animal steroids up their arse a roider so hence the nickname. I live in Sydney, Australia, and seeing as there are so many gays around who care alot about their body, bodybuilding is quite common in certain socio-economic circles. I have had some good but mostly bad experiences with steroids; however, at the end of the day I will jab again. This is a brief recount of my career:

It all started when I was about 16 and in my second last year of senior school when I got my hands on some roids. This guy who owned the local chicken shop that lots of the guys from our school used to go to (I went to a boys-only private school) was a big jabber - his Doctor actually prescribed and jabbed him with roids. Anyway, he gave a friend of a friend of mine a sample vile of SUSTANON 250 and I eventually got hold of it because the other guys were too scared to try it and/or aren't as vain as me.

Once I had the goods, I had the problem of getting a needle and syringe. Compared to what I know today I had absolutely NO idea about gear and I thought you just jabbed yourself once and that was it! So I went to a chemist near my house and asked them for some needles. They looked at me strangely and re-directed me to another chemist nearby as they did not stock them. This time when I asked for the needles at the second chemist they asked me what it was for and I said I was a morphine addict. They also looked at me strangely but at least they sold me three needles and a syringe in a fit pack and I walked out of that place feeling like a full-on druggie.

That night I quickly jabbed myself in the upper thigh (I didn't know that it was better to do it in your arse) whilst the rest of my family were watching TV downstairs. I felt like a real roid-rancher now and I did weights for 3 hours (I also had no idea about training) and then went to the pub that night and beat this big guy in an arm wrestle; of course all of this was in my head as one small jab of Sustanon would have done nothing for me at all.

I didn't take any more roids for two years because I thought I had done my dash as a roider and I just wasn't suited to it. That was until I discoverd that the more you jab, the bigger you get (pretty simple really, I don't know why it took me so long to work out). I had just finished school and a friend of my younger brother knew I was a Big Bad Jabber so he asked me to lend him some money to do a course and to pay this guy that was going to personal train him. "What's a course?" was my first reaction, but then I agreed and me and another friend of mine (who I'll just call X because unlike me his parents don't know of his steroid past - I'll explain how I got caught out later) went to the gym to watch the first training session and the first jab.

The guy who was the personal trainer was the biggest, best-looking guy I'd ever seen: he had all the traits I wanted: a hot chick; he was a bouncer part -time but also had a steady day job; and knew half of Sydney's most notoriuous criminals who just went around bashing and rorting people all day long (and other stuff I'm sure the more imaginitive ones of you out there can think of). Consequently, me and my mate went in to that first training session apprehensive and came out ready to do the biggest course of steroids reccommended for the use of "horses, dogs and cats only" of our lives. To cut a long story short we did a ten week course of 1ml a week of DYNABOL and 2ml a week of DRIVE (175mg/per week) and came out on top.

Sure, that was only a very small course by anyone's standards but it was sensible as our first one and we had no side-effects: the only difference I noticed was my frequent annoyance at bad drivers on the road and hence I was one of the biggest "road-ragers" in the Eastern Suburbs. I ended up going from 74kgs to 80kgs with alot less bodyfat, got stronger and didn't feel out of place at DCM (a well known Sydney nightclub for roiders where nearly everyone dances with their shirt off to show their muscles and it it so hot that sweat drips off the ceiling).

If I'd been smart I would have stopped there, but being naturally greedy (I remember a doctor saying to me later that "nobody does just one course!") I had to jab again. I waited six months to let my testosterone levels get back to normal and then began a bigger course: a mixture of STANAZOL and DRIVE (totalling, at it's peak, 450mgs/per week). Once again, nothing fantastic and once again I had no side -effects except for one major complication: the first time around our trainer had jabbed us but he no longer wanted the responsibility and so another friend of mine (who I'll call Y because his parents don't know either, lucky bastard!) and I jabbed each other.

As most seasoned jabbers know, Stanazol has to be injected three times per week because it is water based drug and is in and out of your system in three days. As a result I had alot of pin-holes in my bum (especially when it got blocked- I remember one occassion when it took Y four attempts to get it through). Anyway, after routinely jabbing on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays secretly in Y's bedroom my bum began to get really sore on the left side and I started to get feverish shaking attacks. I rang the parsonal trainer who was and still is a very close friend who I owe much to (I will discuss this more later) and he told me not to worry and it was just my hormone levels changing. When I told him about the pain in my arse he said it was just a bit of scar tissue. Even though both these comments are generally correct I found myself shaking uncontrollably and walking with a limp: these two factors combined when I tried to get in and out of my small sports car (which has bucket seats) was I'm sure a hilarious sight.

Eventually I went to the Doctor: he said it was an allergic reaction and to stop gearing immediately. I reluctantly agreed but both complaints continued. Finally, I was in bed one night with a temperature of 40 degrees celsius and my poor parents being more than a bit suspicious (even though I instructed my trainer to wear big jumpers around my house to hide his muscles, my Dad is a shrewd businessman and didn't come down in the last shower) and obviously worried rushed me to hospital. In the casualty ward I told the Doctors I was 18 so they couldn't tell my parents anything I didn't want them to for confidentiality purposes and then explained about my jabbing. They too thought it must be an allergic reaction but when one of the nurses felt my arse (the part where I'd jabbed was roughly the size of a tennis ball and all bruised) I told them "Oh yeah, and that's a bit sore too" and they rushed me into the operating theatre and cut me open.

It turned out that stupid old Y hadn't cleaned his hands properly one day and had got some dirt on the needle (his subsequent explanation was that he's seen nurses on TV flick the syringe to unblock the substance inside - only he'd thought it was the needle and hence he was flicking away at it with hands that could have been up his own arse-hole for all I know!) The doctors said I was 24 hours away from death as had the infected cyst exploded in my bum, the infection would have entered my bloodstream and that was the end of it. I was very lucky.

I tried to explain away the whole chaotic catastrope to my parents by saying that I 'd just rooted this new chick and the condom broke and I thought I caught some STD which had soehow got to my bum, but my Dad's got into heaps of chicks and he knew I was lying. So being the cunning bastard that he is he waited until things calmed down a bit and then got one of his Doctor friends from the hospital where I was treated to steal some of my blood samples from the pathologhy unit and test them for roids. Naturally, I tested positive and my testosterone levels were over the roof, so things at home were pretty bad for a few weeks. Dad made me promise that I wouldn't jab anymore whilst I was living at home after I admitted I was probably addicted and since I don't anticipate leaving home until I'm 21 I will keep my promise and refrain from jabbing until then - but I promise also that I will jab again - this time safely, maybe eight weeks per year - as I truely believe that roids are beneficial in small amounts. Even the Doctors said to me when I was sick that the roids had not harmed me at all and it was just that Y watched nurses on TV too much.

In retrospect I would like to say that if you are going to jab please be careful! I was lucky in the sense that my trainer could show me so many things and I probably would be dead if it wasn't for his caring attitude and sensibility. The one thing that my trainer constantly reminds me of is that in a way, waiting until I'm 21 is good: the more years of natural training one has behind them, the better the roids work and the less you need to have an effect. I had done two years of average training before my first course and that (along with me getting so sick) is why once again I only weigh 74 kgs and have not much more strength than I did a year ago. In contrast, my trainer, who is 25 trained for four solid years before jabbing and now weighs 91 kgs at 5ft.7in. and is as cut and hard as any professional bodybuilder after only three courses of no more than 400mgs/per week.

I hope that anyone who has read this encounter of my humble escapades will learn from it and I am delighted that this web site exists for those troubled human beings like me who need big muscles to feel good about oneself."

 
 
 
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