Article I Wrote That Was Deleted By Online Marketplace

Williamsburg, Brooklyn, New York

I entered this article into a writing contest on Helium titled: How to build muscle by manipulating hormones.

It was deleted by the site.

I liked it.

They didn't.

Oh well...

The article we have deleted (Helium):

Moobs

A couple of years ago I worked a short stint in a vitamin store.
After a couple of weeks of working and stocking the locked display case full of bottles with names like TORQUED, TESTOSTERONE BOMB and JACKED UP that all had extraordinary claims of rock hard muscles and sexual prowess I decided that I wanted to become a rippling, glistening Adonis who wielded a sexual sledgehammer!
The lab results for one of the products said that it gave castrated rats boners! Shit. That’s all the information I needed. I’d done my research before I started my regimen. How could I’ve known I’d grow bitch tits like Bob in FIGHT CLUB?
I began taking handfuls of pills daily. I was eating everything in the store: Testosterone boosters, growth hormone supplements, protein bars and shakes! I was gonna be Paul Bunyon huge with a giant hard on all day long!
Soon I started looking bigger. But I didn't look shredded like the guys in the pictures on the bottles. I was just lookin’ kinda fat. I wasn’t getting diesel. And I wasn’t any hornier. Then I started noticing a tingling behind my nipples. I wasn’t sure what the hell was going on. But I wasn’t worried - as I thought I was just becoming sexually charged - until one day in the shower the sensation became almost painful as the water pelted my chest. It felt almost like I had small rocks lodged behind my nipples. Fuck. And when I got out and looked in the mirror I thought that it looked like I had supple baby breast forming. But I was too shocked to believe it. My mind couldn’t handle the truth and I convinced myself that I was just getting buff, not becoming a woman, and kept on taking the pills determined to become a Fabio like sex God.
Soon after at the beach though, as I came running out of the water towards my towel for another beer, my worst fears were confirmed as one of my buddies yelled to everyone, “LOOK! HE’S GOT MOOBS!”
“What the fuck are moobs?” I asked as everyone laughed and I went for the cooler.
“Man boobs – moobs! And you’ve gottem. You’re gonna need a bro for those buddy!”
"A bro?” I said, as the sun seemed to wilt me.
"Yeah. A bra for guys. You need one."
Jesus, life’s fucking brutal. Instead of looking like Arnold Schwarzenegger working out at Venice Beach I looked like Brooke Shields in BLUE LAGOON.
Later on, drunk and stoned, I tried to flex for everyone to prove it was all muscle, but they just kept on laughing until they were crying and I passed out.
After that I went straight to the doctor to find out what the fuck was going on. They took a blood test to measure my hormone levels and said that my estrogen levels were higher than Anna Nicole Smith’s. I was immediately put on an estrogen blocker and told to stop my regimen.
I wanted to sue, as none of the labels on any of the bottles said anything about the lab rats growing boobs.
And they wouldn’t go away.
Whenever I was out drinking with my friends they’d try to feel me up. It was fucking humiliating.
I felt like a woman.
I wanted to be a man again.
I wanted my dignity back. I’d had enough and started to look into other alternatives, like surgery.
Traditional surgery seemed invasive, risky and costly. So I kept on searching the internet, eventually coming across a new laser surgery that could melt moobs like butter. That was the ticket, I thought.
There was only one location where I was living and I swallowed the last of my pride by making an appointment.
The office was a modern glass and steel dermatology clinic full of mirrors and beautiful blonde, tanned women.
I was the only guy in the place and the only one with tattoos. I sat down on the slick leather Bauhaus couch and picked up an Elle magazine as all the girls turned to look. I hated myself and was thinking about leaving, backing my car into oncoming traffic, when the tall swimsuit model looking assistant came out smiling calling my name.
My humiliation seemed endless and I cursed my life under my breath as I followed her back down a fluorescent hallway of doors.
She motioned for me to take a seat across the desk from her as she asked me to take off my shirt.
“Huhh?” I said.
“Let’s see what you’ve got,” she said smiling, almost as though she was fucking with me.
I turned crimson as I took my off shirt and became shamefully aroused as she came around the desk and sat next to me and gently felt me up, her blushing as well in the process. I was all hot and bothered after she fondled me, and slightly confused as to what was going as she said that underneath the flab I was hard as a rock – she had no idea, I thought. She said that she would give me a discount on the price if I really wanted to have the laser procedure done, but that I’d probably just be better off doing some serious cardio. I didn’t have enough money anyway.
“You mean work out?”
She smiled.
And I wasn’t sure if she was coming on to me or what after what’d just happened?
So I asked her out.
She looked at me stunned and laughed to herself and said that I had some balls.
Like a castrated rat.
She gave me her number, but never picked up when I called. She wouldn’t even come out when I drunk text her from the bar asking her if she wanted to fuck. It’s my breasts, I thought, I gotta get rid of em’. And from that point on, just like Forrest Gump, I was running man.

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