The 4-Hour Body_ An Uncommon Guide to Ra - Timothy Ferriss [107]
SEX MACHINE I
Adventures in Tripling Testosterone
Sex is one of the nine reasons for reincarnation. The other eight are unimportant.
—George Burns
NOONISH, ONE BEAUTIFUL SATURDAY, SAN FRANCISCO, 21 FLOORS ABOVE THE EMBARCADERO PIERS
“That’s kind of creepy. They’re already 75% healed.” Vesper had come out of the shower and was staring at my shoulders.
“Are you kidding? It’s fucking awesome! I’m becoming Wolverine.” I was referring, of course, to the superhero with mutant healing powers. He also has adamantium claws, but that’s where Vesper was a much better comparison.
The night before, she’d inflicted bedroom wounds on my back and arms that weren’t really “scratches.” The masterpiece: four 4–7″ gashes in my right shoulder streaming blood that made me look like Bruce Lee from Enter the Dragon. Bruce in dire need of Neosporin. Now, less than 10 hours later, three of the gashes had disappeared completely, and the last and deepest was barely visible.
Strange.
The strangeness started much earlier, well before the bedroom, at The Americano restaurant.
Friday at 8:00 P.M. brought the crowds, and the alpha investment bankers were fighting the alpha lawyers for female attention everywhere inside Hotel Vitale. The pressed shirts and dresses spilled from the outdoor patio into the restaurant, where we had reservations. It took a chaperone using football-like blocking to get us to our booth in a secluded back corner.
The catch-up chat with Vesper looked like this:
HER: “How are you?”
ME: “Unbelievable. But I need to give you fair warning. My biochemistry is very different from the last time you saw me. I feel … well, superhuman.”
HER (EYEBROWS RAISED): “Oh reeeeally? Details, please.”
Yes, really. The last time we’d met, I had just taken my total testosterone from 244.8 to 653.3 ng/dL (nanograms per deciliter), while cutting my estradiol (estrogen) in half. The subsequent roughhousing had been a physical encounter of the first class. This time around, I’d just returned from Nicaragua, where I ate grass-fed beef three times per day for 21 days. I had protein-loaded for the last three days, eating two to three pounds of fatty organic grass-fed beef per day, including at least 400 grams just before bed. (Don’t worry. I won’t suggest that you do this.)
The result?
Fifteen minutes after we sat down, Vesper was in a sexually aggressive stupor. The bread hadn’t arrived and she was already climbing on top of me. This is not a boast. This is not Penthouse Forum. It’s a statement of pure confusion. She is a CEO, and this is not typical public CEO behavior. I thought she was on drugs. Heavy nose breathing, interrupted occasionally with “What is going on? I don’t understand what’s going on …” The whole spectacle was surreal.
She was, literally, intoxicated on pheromones.
I excused myself to the bathroom at one point, and what came next was even more absurd. Vesper witnessed it later when we left. Both en route to the bathroom and coming back to the table, it was as if I had a 10-foot-radius field of hormonal impact. I received at least three times the normal eye contact from women.
The animal kingdom was alive and well in San Francisco.
Dinner ended immediately thereafter, and it was a short trip to her apartment on the 21st floor and our version of Enter the Dragon, complete with furniture smashing and most of the same sound effects.11
The next morning, after more of the same, I asked her, “Do you have a gong on the other side of your headboard?”
It turned out to be metal artwork hanging on the neighbor’s wall. After her second shower, and taking another look at my shoulder, Vesper had just one thing to say:
“Whatever you’re doing—keep doing it.”
The Death of the Metrosexual: Reclaiming Aggression
Things hadn’t always been this way. In fact, for several years, things were quite the opposite.
Somewhere between late 2007 and 2009, at 30–32 years old, I found myself in an odd place: able to perform in the bedroom as well as I had in college, but having less and less desire to do so.
Even with the most attractive