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(AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, this is what happens when you're too damn clever! Twenty-years ago, I wrote the first two chapters of CYCLE ONE -- each imply a malevolent force behind the creation/ distribution of the sports drink, but who was it? I never answered that question within the text of CYCLE ONE, but while I was writing the original KING REX series a few years later, I playfully connected the two universes, revealing that the secret ingredient in Cycle One was the mystical cum of the super-villain, King Rex.

(Here I am twenty-years later trying to crawl out of the mess created by that decision! So, as you will see in the coming story, characters from both "franchises" populate these pages. You don't necessarily need to read both of those stories to understand this one, but... it's kind of fun, in a completest kind of way... 

(Let me know if you think I succeeded or not. Hope you enjoy!)

*******************************************************************************************************
CYCLE ONE: FOUR BACKSTORIES

ONE:

There’s a mom&pop coffee shop in Ellicott City, MD, that the writer favors, not just for the view and the free wi-fi, but because it’s intimate and quiet -- he can sort his thoughts before he writes without worry of distraction. He leaves his little apartment, walks the steep downhill toward the Patapsco River, and spends his mornings writing at the coffee shop, enjoying the sunrise over the rushing water. 

He’s a big man, thick and solid -- not at all the build one would expect a writer to have -- but small compared to the bodybuilder that suddenly enters the shop, a very muscular man dressed in tight joggers and matching jacket over a t-shirt that fits him like spandex. The guy moves like he’s not used to the dimensions of his own muscular body. Awkward.

The writer has seen this kind of thing before -- although, it’s been long enough that he’s surprised to see it again. It’s possible that the guy has never adjusted to the change, the growth, but that seems unlikely, not after nearly twenty years. This is too fresh. 

The bodybuilder spots the writer and a small, hopeful expression appears on his face. He crosses to the writer’s corner booth in a few heavy steps. “Sam Bennett?” he asks.

The writer sighs and looks up, locking eyes with the bodybuilder. “Can I help you?” he asks.

“I sure hope so,” the bodybuilder says. “My name is Ben Fortunato and I’m in desperate need of help.” He indicates the seat on the opposite side of the booth. “May I?” he asks.

Sam nods and the big, Italian bodybuilder squeezes into the booth. 

“Mr. Fortunato…”

“Ben.”

“Ben... “ The writer draws a breath for strength. “What brings you by?” (He asks in a tone that implies he knows the answer already.)

Ben pulls something out of his jacket pocket and sets it on the table between them. A crisp new bottle of CYCLE ONE, a magic potion disguised as a sports drink.

There is a growing horror on Sam Bennett’s face as he stares at the bottle.

“What the fuck?” he asks. “Are you kidding? Is that real?” He pushes it back toward Ben. “Jesus Christ, do you know what people would DO to you to get that? Put it away before someone sees it!” He looks around, paranoid -- nothing’s amiss, nobody else is even in the room, but it doesn’t stop his panic. “Put it the fuck away!” 

Ben is confused, but does as he’s told. “I just wanted to prove I was legit.”

But Sam didn’t lose his intensity. “You realize people will fucking KILL you for that? You know that, right? There are some crazy motherfuckers out there, Ben -- addicts, all of them! And they will do anything for their drug of choice. Where the fuck did you find that? No, wait, don’t tell me -- I don’t want to know.”

“I have a lot more than this one bottle.”

Sam Bennett, the writer, takes another breath -- he likes to believe he’d be stronger than this, but it’s right there in the man’s pocket… Sam could just TAKE it…

Why is he even entertaining the thought? It’s been nearly twenty years… Does he really still want it that badly…?

“Ben,” he asks instead, “do you understand what addiction is?”

Ben’s expression is unreadable. “Yeah, I’m getting a pretty good idea…”

“Imagine you’re taking a drug that makes lifting better than sex, and sex better than anything. Imagine that you spend a good few years of your life getting other guys hooked on it, turning them into addicts, too. Imagine that you do that for pay -- good pay -- and INCREDIBLE bonuses! And the world is just one powerful playground ripe for the taking.

“And then one day, the drug disappears -- it goes out of production, the magic formula is lost, whatever -- new stock isn’t being produced. What’s left is what’s left.

“And people go fucking crazy! First, it’s the guys with money -- they try to stockpile it -- the would-be dealers and petty hoarders. There’s fights over it, attacks, takeovers -- guns are always blazing and bodies -- big, muscular bodies -- begin piling up. Gangs form -- safety in numbers, right? -- some become cults, worshipping the drug and the drug’s creator. They isolate, hiding with their horde, fighting to be the last guy with the last drop. It’s the Supply War -- it’s a dark time led by power-hungry addicts.

“But there’s another type, too -- another kind of guy, fewer in number, of course. Guys who understand and accept that it’s addiction -- they form support groups specializing in this drug. And there they learn how to navigate their lives without it, without this incredible drug that makes lifting better than sex and sex better than anything. Without it, they don’t get pumps at the gym anymore -- so lifting loses its… magic. No pumps, no good workouts, so bodies… don’t remain in the same condition. They still keep most of the size, but they get softer, saggier.

“And of course, sex loses its vibrancy. I mean, what’s the use? You don’t feel attractive, so you stop attracting and pretty soon self-gratification is your only option -- and you don’t feel much like pleasing yourself, either.”

He sighs, looking far away. “I know you didn’t come all this way to hear that, Ben,” the writer says, re-establishing eye-contact, “but you should know there are no happy endings when it comes to CYCLE ONE.”

Ben speaks quietly. “I’m really sorry,” he says sincerely. “It wasn’t my intent to trigger you. I just wanted to have a conversation with someone who understands and can help me.”

The writer does something mildly out of character and lays his hand on Ben’s arm. “Ben, I can connect you with several support groups…”

Ben almost laughs. “It’s not that,” he says. “Honestly, I don’t care if I never drink another drop of this shit again! Isn’t that funny? As a kid, I dreamed of having a body like this -- getting a body like this by drinking a magic potion, in fact -- super-hero shit -- and now my life is one big fucking nightmare. No, the problem isn’t with me -- it’s my brother, Glenn. I mean, you wanna talk about addicts…? He’s been on a two-week binge…”

Sam Bennett cocks his head curiously. “Two weeks…? How much CYCLE ONE do you have?”

They make eye contact and Ben speaks quietly. “About twelve-hundred cases,” he says, waiting for a reaction like he’s revealed a poker hand.

But Sam Bennett is silent, immovable -- stunned. “What the fuck..?” he finally whispers. “Do you have any idea how much danger you’re in?”

Ben shakes his head -- he’s being misunderstood. “It’s not me, so much, it’s my brother. I need to know how to stop him from drinking it -- like, separating him from it, you know? I just… he’s not listening…”

“No, I mean your life is in danger! There are people who will kill you for the bottle you have hidden in your pocket, much less a case!” He forces himself to a whisper again. “And you have a THOUSAND cases!” He shakes his head in disbelief. “You have clearly stumbled across someone’s stash and it’s only a matter of time before they come looking for it -- or for you. This is like mafia-shit, Ben -- I’m totally serious! And just by talking to me, you’re risking my life, too!”

There’s a moment when Ben considers continuing this conversation, but then realizes there’s nothing to gain in it. He sighs and stands. “I’m really sorry to have bothered you,” he says, offering his hand. “Thank you for talking to me.”

They shake and Sam partially rises. “I’m sorry, too,” he says. “I don’t mean to be so… well, it threw me to see the stuff again… I hope you understand. But I still hope you take my words to heart.”

“I will,” Ben says. 

“There is someone I can connect you with,” Sam says. “He can probably offer a solution for your brother, but, um… I wouldn’t tell him about the stash. I wouldn’t trust him.”

Ben nods. “Thank you.”

And just as Ben is about to leave the coffee shop into the warm, morning sunshine of Ellicott City, Sam calls him back. “You know, Ben,” he says, swallowing his guilt, “on second thought, I will take that bottle.”

Knowingly, Ben nods, smiling slightly in support. The writer doesn’t make eye contact with him, looking shamefully at the floor, broken by his confession, his own addiction. Ben places the bottle on the table and leaves -- he doesn’t see how long it takes for Sam Bennett to touch it.

Imagine, lecturing Ben Fortunato on addiction -- or warning an Italian about the mafia! Jesus God, ridiculous! 

Still, Sam Bennett is right about one thing: there are no happy endings with CYCLE ONE.

***********************************************************************************

TWO:

“Welcome, brother,” the nearly naked bodybuilder says, wrapping Ben in a hug in the doorway of the church. “I’m glad you’re here.”

For Ben, who’s never considered himself gay, this connection is a little too intimate, but there’s a strange masculine pleasure brewing, too. (He can’t help but remember what he and his brother had done when he first…) Fucking CYCLE ONE…

“Thank you for meeting me,” Ben says, trying gently to pull away -- the bodybuilder doesn’t just let him. Instead, the moment becomes awkward -- especially when Ben can feel the nearly naked bodybuilder start to get hard in his tiny little thong, pressing against the inside of Ben’s hip. Worse, Ben can feel his own dick start to respond.

“The pleasure’s all mine,” the bodybuilder says. “You smell fresh.”

Ben breaks the hug and steps back. “Excuse me?” 

“It’s still in your system, the Cycle One,” the bodybuilder says. “You’ve had it so recently, I can smell it. I’d consider it an honor if you let me have your cum.”

Ben is shocked -- speechless.

The bodybuilder smiles, adjusting his hooded cape back across his shoulders, slitted open in the front to reveal his pouch. “It’s a sacrament, not sex,” he says. “You ARE new! Come inside and let’s talk -- welcome to the Brotherhood of Rex, the last remaining sect.” He leads Ben into the large, airy cathedral. “I’m Father John J,” the bodybuilder says warmly. “I’ve been the leader of this sect since our Lord plunged into the Multiverse.”

They enter the sanctuary, Ben notes the lack of pews and such, just soft matting on lounge chairs set up to face the Altar, a towel on the back of each seat -- the place smells immaculately clean and fresh. He sees that there are superheroes on the stained glass, not religious figures, but he doesn’t have much time to process that as they come upon the altar. 

Ben swears it’s merely a California King-Size Bed with a black spandex/neoprene fitted sheet, but in this atmosphere, it feels more important. At the head of the bed -- of the altar -- stands a marble statue of a hugely muscled, hyper-masculine god -- an ancient greek statue given a 21st century physique. He’s a handsome man, with strong features and a build that would seem impossible if Ben hadn’t seen what he’s so recently seen. Ridiculously wide shoulders sloping to the tiniest of waists then exploding out again in a sweep of thigh. But that’s if you could NOT get distracted by the statue’s overladen balls and fantasy cock, erect and gently bending up. 

It’s so lifelike, it’s as if Father John J had poured white paint over a live model who’s eight feet tall and just standing there frozen -- it’s disconcerting. 

Father John J genuflects before the statue and speaks, looking only at the statue’s face. “This is our Lord and Creator,” he says reverently. “The Living God now lost in the Multiverse, King Rex. I am honored to be among the first he transformed -- I even aided him in the acquisition of Superion, His Majesty’s consort and husband. Pardon my prideful bragging, but there’s a reason I am where I am, and I sincerely doubt you’ve read my resume.”

Ben legit smiles -- strange as all this is, he still maintains his humor -- it helps diffuse the anxiety. “No, I haven’t. The truth is I was sent here by Sam Bennett.”

“Sam Bennett?” asks Father John J. “That’s a name I haven’t heard in a few years. How’s… um… how’s Sam?” 

“He seems well,” Ben says, shrugging. “I mean, he was a little surprised to see me and warned me extensively about continuing this journey -- he made it all sound very mafia.”

Father John J nods understandingly. “His perspective has always featured a little paranoia -- it’s one of the things that makes his fiction so good. Come, let’s go to my office where we can talk a little more comfortably.”

 HIs office is surprisingly simple for a religious leader, fairly modern and standard but for another… altar in the back -- this looks more queen-sized than the altar in the sanctuary, same sheeting, though. Father John J directs him to the sitting area by the window and Ben takes one of two comfortable chairs. Father John J removes his cape, draping it across the altar and, dressed only in his golden thong and slippers, takes the other chair. Ben is still awed by the Father’s body, the impossible made flesh. (Nearly as big as his brother…)

“I’m sorry,” the Father says. “I’ve been rude. Would you like something to drink? Coffee, water… Cycle One?” Father John J smiles in a teasing way. 

Ben snorts and unconsciously crosses his arms. “No, thank you,” he says, forcing a smile. “I appreciate you meeting me on such short notice -- time is… important.”

Father John J nods. “Tell me what brings you here, Ben.”

Ben is thoughtful for a moment, as if he’s debating whether to confess at all, much less to what extent. 

“You’re safe here,” Father John J says. “You’re Catholic, right? Let’s consider this confessional.” He leans back in his chair, putting his hands behind his head and inadvertently flexing his abs -- not many priests do that.

“Thank you,” Ben says, still not at ease, but he sighs audibly and starts his monologue. “My brother and I… purchased a storage lot, three connected units. It was a blind buy, so we had no idea what we were getting, just someone’s abandoned junk, we assumed. It turned out to be a stash of Cycle One. And someone had clearly been living there, guarding it -- hell, one whole unit was a gym for this poor guy, and the next was the living quarters. 

“So we find this stash of Cycle One -- there’s something… familiar about it in the back of my mind, but I can’t remember what, and my brother drinks one like they haven’t been sitting there twenty years! I mean, like, who the fuck knows what’s really in the bottles and have the preseratives turned to poison or has there been some kind of freaky fermentive process? I mean, he’s fuckin’ CRAZY!”

Father John J is thoughtful, curious. He gently asks, “How many bottles were there?”

Fortunately, Ben is not so far gone that he doesn’t recognize the ploys of priests -- he WAS an altar boy, after all. He’s deceptive. “Let’s just say, quite a few,” he says, which doesn’t satisfy the Father, but it will have to do. “And he starts exercising, you know, playing around on the gym equipment, feeling all energetic and silly. I immediately blame the Cycle One -- so does he. And he starts slugging them down like it’s a frat party and he’s arrived late. 

“Because of some… bungling on my part, I ended up getting locked outside with my brother trapped inside and I had to run home to get the tools necessary to free him! It was an incredibly stressful few hours, but I did take the time to do some internet research on Cycle One -- that was how I connected it with King Rex.

“I was fifteen, sixteen at the time that all went down, when all the superheroes suddenly became hypermasculine homosexuals -- I had no idea it was connected to Cycle One!”

The Father smiles. “The cum of our Lord and Creator, the Living God lost in the Multiverse.”

Ben is quiet again, lost in his own thoughts. The Father prods him. “Is your brother still trapped?”

“Hmm?” Ben says, coming back to the moment. “No, not anymore. Not by accident.”

Father John J tilts his head like an interested dog. 

“So, I went back. I got tools and I went back to free him. I’d only been gone, like, five, five-and-a-half hours -- it was crazy. I had no idea what Cycle One could do! I mean, I’m trying to free him and from inside he suddenly… rips the sliding door from its track and destroys it and… he’s HUGE! I mean, bigger than you and you’re fucking HUGE!”

The Father can’t help but run a hand over his massive torso, and neither of them miss the twitch of his dick.

“And he’s dressed the same way as you, in barely nothing, and he’s roaring and flexing and his cock is hard and um… I trip back over a piece of cinderblock and whap my head against the wall and pass out.” He smiles. “Glamorous.” 

The Father is wise enough to know that he shouldn’t interrupt, but he does offer a comforting smile. 

“When I wake up, I don’t know how much time has passed, but I discover my brother has chained me to one of the pallets…”

“‘ONE of’...?”

“Yeah,” Ben says, unthinking, lost in his own story. “And in order to get to the keys, I’d have to be strong enough to drag it across the room.” He swallows. “Only one way to do that.”

There is another awkward silence as Ben gathers the strength to continue.

“And as if that weren’t enough, he literally sealed me in, cemented the wall with old cinderblocks -- real Edgar Allen Poe shit, you know? He’s crazy, right? I mean… I had to… drink or die. Worse, he’s FILMING the fucking moment, too! So I get to have my humiliation digitally preserved forever. I was so fucking pissed…”

The Father reaches over and puts his hand on Ben’s knee. They make eye-contact briefly. “You don’t have to tell me…”

“I do,” Ben says. “I need you to know why I need your help.” He places his hand on top of the Father’s -- Father John J adjusts so they can hold hands. Ben is near tears. 

“You know what the stuff is like,” Ben says quietly. “The way it makes you feel -- the power and the masculine explosion of strength and desire and will. At first, it feels like it’s churning there in your balls, forcing the creation of testosterone, linking sexuality with the spirit, the cock and the muscle. God, I’ve hardly talked about it, because I’m trying so hard not to want it again -- because it’s fucking incredible, that feeling! That like… righteous anger that fills you with the belief… that you’ve gained power -- that you’re somebody!”

Even Ben can’t help his cock’s reaction, that twitch of desire -- or memory. 

“And you feel like you can do anything, like even drag a heavily laden pallet across a cement floor. And if you fail, you just slug back another bottle of the magic potion until it amplifies everything all over again -- but especially the emotion, the masculine connection. It’s like coke, or meth, like that -- this… false sense of power.

“Pushing the pallet was easier than pulling it -- it was like hitting sleds at high school football practice -- and the pallet scraped its way slowly across the floor. Each inch it moved was a triumph for me -- I swear, I’d celebrate by downing another bottle of Cycle One, like a fucking addict lost!”

“Sounds like a lot of Cycle One,” the Father said, unable to hide his growing erection. “It usually takes only ten-to-twelve to complete the transformation.”

Ben scoffs. “I had way more than that,” he says. “Maybe it’s old.”

Father John J smiles gently. “Maybe,” he says. “Go on.”

“Well, I had to… uh… get through the wall,” Ben says, trying to hide his own hard-on. “My brother had cinderblocked me in, remember.”

Father John J shakes his head in disbelief. “Amazing…”

“Turns out he had it wrong -- moving the pallet was WAY harder than destroying the wall. The wall was just… a couple of punches and some torn stone. The cement hadn’t really set -- there hadn’t been enough time -- so it wasn’t that difficult to get through. Though, I admit, I did get a couple of scratches and a shit-ton of semi-wet cement in my hair. But right then I was flying so high on the Cycle One, I wasn’t feeling ANYTHING real.

“And I break through this wall and I’m feeling mighty and manly and there sits my brother on the cot, jerking off. He’s huge, I mean, bigger than when I’d seen him when he’d torn the door off its track, just… impossibly huge. 

“And his cock…” Ben almost doesn’t continue, looking down, remembering, then he speaks on. “I never wanted a cock before. I never… desired…” He licks his lips. “And it wasn’t that I wanted his cock so much as I wanted what was inside him -- his essence. His power.”

“‘Well, look at you,’ my brother said, playing with himself. ‘You got BIG!’”

“And instead of being weirded out by that, I realized he was right -- I HAD gotten big! I hadn’t really paid that much attention. My loose t-shirt was now too tight because of the muscle I’d never had before -- I ripped it off with glee, flexing my big pecs, my insane arms! I was rock hard celebrating my rock hardness! 

“So, the whole gay incest thing was unexpected -- at least it was for me, maybe Glenn had had some more time wrap his head around it, but I sure hadn’t considered the sexual response. For me, it was all about the Me Big, Me Strong thing -- it wasn’t until I realized that my cock was part of the equation that I got Me Horny, too!

“And it just felt so weirdly natural, jerking off with my muscular brother while we flexed for each other. He had me wear this electric blue thong he’d found in the dresser -- I’d never worn anything like it, so scanty and sexy -- but I looked AMAZING in it! My fucking body -- in the mirror, hypnotized by my own reflection, so turned on by myself. 

“We worked out and pumped up and flexed and he kept pounding back the Cycle One, bottle after bottle.

“Pretty soon flexing and jerking off weren’t enough anymore. Men fuck. And um… when my own brother tried to fuck me… that was the end for me. I… I couldn’t.” A tear rolls down Ben’s cheek. 

Father John J hugs him, drawing him in close. Ben tries not to weep, but loses the battle, hugging Father John J back -- he’s ashamed of his erection. Father John J seems to be okay with it, pressing himself even closer against the hardness. 

“Everything’s okay,” Father John J whispers. “I will help you with your brother, but first things first.” Using his right hand, he casually strokes Ben’s erection. “Let’s make an offering to God.”

*******************************************************************************

THREE:

In the Beginning, Rex the Almighty was born on this Earthly plane, a mutant to two normal mortals. His Divine Power manifested as He ascended to manhood -- transforming mortals into His worshipful slaves by granting them muscle mass and a spark of His Hyper-Masculine Energy. Finding himself ready to accept His destiny, our Lord Rex began His Holy Crusade, the elevation of the Super-Hero. 

Until this time, no one had submitted the Mighty Superion, the greatest of all the mortal heroes. His power and will were legendary, until humbled by our Lord. Rex not only enslaved Superion, He took the hero as His Royal Consort. And unlike most marriages of powerful families, these newlyweds truly and deeply loved one another. This marriage was blessed by the gods themselves.

Rex continued His Divine Campaign and recruited the Justice Club itself to His cause -- at one crucial point, He absorbed the mystic lightning used to transform Timmy Thompson into the Planet’s Most-Powerful Protector, Captain Thunder, and Rex was elevated even further, truly becoming KING Rex, the most powerful man on the planet!

His Majesty discovered that His ejaculate had been mystically enhanced, as was fitting for a living god -- with little more than a drop, He could transform a mortal man into a hypermuscular slave without using His God-gifted powers. Diluting it, packaging it, and marketing it as the sports drink, “Cycle One” was a stroke of His genius -- it began the subtle transformation of the masses into His worshipful followers. 

These were the Glory Days of the Church! 

The Acolyte John J was the first man transformed by His Majesty, King Rex, the Living God. A museum security guard, the skinny waste of a man John J quickly cast aside his old life to follow His Saviour and Transformer. Blessed by the gift of Rex’s power, John J now had the body of his dreams, power he’d only imagined, and finally, a purpose for his purposeless life. 

He was more than happy to recruit other men into the fold, to help them experience the bliss of worshipping King Rex, their creator and Living God. 

The Acolytes John J and Sam Bennett distributed the Cycle One, turning gyms into churches and athletic departments into sects. All of that male sexual energy further empowered His Majesty, creating a never-ending cycle of growth. A worship service could have as many as a thousand muscular men cramming the sanctuary, praising His Majesty as they edged themselves into Bliss -- it was possible to actually see King Rex grow from the worship. There was no greater reward.

And then, the Great Tragedy -- King Rex lost in the Multiverse!

Thus began the Period of Despair -- the Consort Superion went into mourning, completely unable to function or uphold his duties, emotionally devastated to lose his King and lover. For weeks, he remained cloistered in their marital chambers, not seeing visitors, not spending time in the sun -- he weakened, some thought, hoping to die. 

There was dysfunction in the Church, suddenly lacking a spiritual leader. With their Lord and Saviour trapped in the Multiverse and Superion unwilling to take His place as figurehead, there was nothing to hold the flock together. The men who’d been transformed by His Majesty, the Almighty King Rex, suffered only emotionally. Those who’d been transformed by the Cycle One lost touch with the magic, their masculine spirit. 

With Rex gone, the supply of Cycle One was suddenly finite -- that was the conclusion many reached at once. The fight for the remaining reserve became the next battlefront. Men who’d been long-addicted to the stuff suddenly lost the will to train, the ability to get a pump, their interest in sex -- they knew they’d never again get that rush, that high without Cycle One. 

And thus began the Supply War. 

It was during this low-level, guerilla-style warfare -- bloody and heartless as it was fast becoming -- that the Acolyte John J began to counsel the Consort Superion, trying to get him past his crushing loss to see how badly the world needed a champion again. 

All this bloodshed, all this death for a drug made out of his husband’s cum -- this is what finally brought Superion to action. In less than a week, he’d recovered most of the lost stock of Cycle One, returning it to the vaulted catacombs in the bedrock deep beneath the Church. He still refused to participate in Religious Services, but created a statue of his Husband and Lord that stands in the Sanctuary today, as a reminder. 

Instead, it became the Acolyte John J’s mission to save the Church -- but he immediately realized it wasn’t religion these men needed, it was counseling. They were addicts and their god was gone. 

Without the drug, they were unable to access their own masculine energy. Workouts lost their meaning -- sex became impossible. 

And thus evolved the practice of Group Masturbation, sexual stimulation with the goal of connecting to the masculine spirit, building energy by edging, the harnessing of energy rather than ejaculation. On Cycle One, sex had always been about power -- now sexual energy was used to build power. Men who were used to getting powerful, rock-hard erections now had to take a step back, relearn stimulation and fantasy, enjoy the other wonders of the body, the taint, the balls, the asshole. Sex was more than penetration. 

Training changed, too -- the evolution of Connective Bodybuilding, forging a link between cock and muscle. In the Before Time, the gym had become a place almost as sacred as the Church. Cycle One had always made working out better than sex, but now there was no more Cycle One, so no connection to masculine energy. Weight training required almost too much adaptation, further separating those who’d been transformed by the Almighty from those who’d only had the Cycle One. Imagine how disheartening it would be to see some men still achieve the kind of pump you used to be able to get, but now could not -- to lift the kind of weights you used to handle with ease, but now could not. It was too hard for too many. 

The Acolyte John J -- now FATHER John J -- protectively doled out the Church’s supply of Cycle One in the form of Communion. A shot glass of Cycle One for the faithful once a week, then engaging in Group Masturbation while singing the praises of the Almighty Rex. 

Many men lost the Path, strayed. Spiritual readiness takes patience and no one began taking Cycle One because they were patient. Some men preferred their misery to the challenge of rebuilding their sexual power. After the deaths, the abandonments, the suicides, there were just a few hundred in the congregation, masturbating together and praying. As the years passed without a Second Coming, more and more fell away -- then it was a decade, then it was two.

“And so here we are,” Father John J says, gently pushing Ben to a seated position on the Altar, facing the statue of King Rex. “There’s only a handful of us now, awaiting Him, praying for His return.” He kneels between Ben’s legs and unlaces Ben’s tight joggers. “But we have learned things in this time,” he continues, pulling Ben’s joggers down over his newly-muscled thighs. “Things about pleasure, the giving and receiving of it.” Ben wears a sparkly thong, barely holding his enhanced genitals -- his erection fights the material. “Let me show you,” Father John J says, releasing Ben from the confines of the thong -- his hard-on flops up on his muscular abs. 

“I’m not gay,” Ben mumbles, leaning back on his elbows, the soft matting of the Altar accepting his weight. “But ever since the Cycle One…”

“It’s not about labels, Ben,” the Father says, gripping Ben’s erection at the base. “It’s about pleasure.” He licks the head of Ben’s cock and a shudder goes through the man. “Cycle One just bumps up your hormones and lowers your inhibitions -- neither of which will hurt you, unless it builds up in your system too much. Then you need release. Holy Release.” 

The Father’s hands are smooth and skilled -- a firm grip on Ben’s balls, thick fingers riding down the sides of his perineum, giving him sensations he’s never felt before -- strange new pleasure. Ben is losing himself in it.

“What you feel is a gift,” says the Father, expertly swallowing the whole of Ben’s big new cock. He constricts his throat around Ben and waits for Ben’s natural thrusts before continuing. “A gift from His Majesty,” he says, lapping the tip of Ben’s cock, before descending on it again. “King Rex.”

Ben looks up at the statue as the Father continues to work -- it’s unbelievable physique and impossible cock, so masculine and perfect. Ben can feel the Father fingering his asshole, gently teasing his way inside, searching for Ben’s secret button. The statue holds its arms open, as if ready to accept worship -- or orgasm -- or offering. 

What happens next makes no sense.

The Father’s skilled mouth works in tandem with his talented fingers and, just as the Father discovers Ben’s prostate, Ben swears he sees the statue open its eyes and look directly at him, into his soul. 

“REX!” he screams as his orgasm overwhelms him!

Not that the Father lets any get away, but Ben knows there’s a lot of cum -- he can feel it like his cock is a firehose. He shoots and shoots, crying to Heaven, certain the statue is real. 

“Yes, my brother,” the Father says, lapping Ben’s fading erection, cleaning every delicious drop away. “Now you feel Rex’s power. Give yourself up to it.”

“I… I…”

“Say it,” the Father says, standing, masturbating his own giant cock. “Let me hear you say it.”

Ben smiles. “Hail King Rex,” he says, as the Father allows himself to orgasm, as if the words put him over the edge. 

“HAIL KING REX!” the Father yells, echoing through the sanctuary, shooting a thick rope of cum across Ben’s face. Father John J smiles again. “You’ve been baptised now in the name of our saviour, King Rex,” he says calmly, milking the last drops of cum from his cock and offering his finger to Ben -- Ben gratefully takes it in his mouth. “You are now one of us.”

“Thank you,” Ben says, relieved, watching the Father refit his big package into that tiny little thong. “I actually feel better -- I feel the release. But what do we do now?”

“Now we save your brother,” the Father says. “And I know just the guy…”

“You’ll do that for me?” Ben asks, suddenly joyful, standing and redressing himself. “Thank you!”

“Well,” the Father says, playfully kissing Ben, “we should first discuss a TITHE…”

********************************************************************************

FOUR:

Ben parks the truck outside the ETERNAL STORAGE building, an old, abandoned facility scheduled for demolition (to build an Amazon distribution center -- welcome to the modern world). The parking lot is cracked and broken, stray grass and weeds growing wherever they can, reclaiming the land. It’s surrounded by a rusty chain link fence topped with barb wire. The building is in no better shape, holding its form only because it’s made from cinderblocks, but suggesting the same sort of neglect. 

Behind the wheel, Ben forces a deep breath before exiting the cab, in an attempt to settle himself -- it’s obvious he’s nervous, no matter the supportive talk from his passenger, Father John J. Ben is dressed in the same tight gray jumpers he wore to the Church -- the Father wears black spandex shorts, black wrist gauntlets, sandals, and a form-fitting white t-shirt that reads “REX = KING”. 

Exiting the cab, the Father, looking around, says, “You’re right. This IS the middle of nowhere.” 

Ben nods, shutting the driver’s side door behind him and looking toward the building. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I hope nothing’s happened to him.”

“Who?” Father John J asks. “Oh, you mean your brother! I thought you meant…”

And then, from out of the sky, a being lands on the ground before them with a surprising amount of force, breaking into the cement and creating a small crater from his weight. It’s the hero Superion! Ben has seen pictures, of course, but has never seen him live -- and the pictures don’t do him anywhere near justice! 

If he’s not seven-feet tall, then he’s six-and-three-quarters -- it doesn’t seem possible that a being with a build like Superion’s could exist at his height. He’s almost a giant in a children’s story, he’s so colossally large -- human proportions, but so much taller! 

And the muscle -- the mind-boggling muscle!

Like Father John J, Superion has been transformed by King Rex, given the Royal Gift of Mass and Power, Hypermasculine Endowment, and Sexual Realignment. As Royal Consort, he’s second only to Rex Himself -- and with Rex lost in the Multiverse, Superion reigns supreme. 

He wears black combat boots and bright blue leggings, accented by black piping, that proudly display his oversized package and seem to barely contain the mass of his leg muscles or his thick, ripped glutes. They’re low-waisted, so that the buckle of his belt sits at the base of his cock, allowing us to see his extremely ripped abs unencumbered. Shirtless, he wears only a harness that supports his “S” shield and acts as the anchor for his red cape. 

Bigger than the biggest bodybuilder, his pecs are round and thick and his pink nipples hide just below the bottom edge. But it’s the width of shoulders that gives Ben pause, those crazy way-larger-than-coconut delts -- bowling ball delts! -- the strong, confident arms, the artistic curve of the lats. 

And if you can take your eyes from his body, to see his thick neck, his square jaw, his sunny blue eyes, his very kissable lips…

Superion strides toward them, breaking Ben’s thought. He smiles, glowing white teeth catching the light. “Hello, Johnny,” he says, opening his arms for a hug.

Father John J takes a knee. “Your Majesty,” he says, bowing his head.

Superion puts his finger beneath the Father’s chin and raises his head. “Johnny,” he says earnestly, “it’s been twenty years. We have to move on.” He takes Father John J’s hands and raises him to his feet, then they hug.

They hold each other very closely -- Ben isn’t sure if Father John J is crying or not. “He will come again,” the Father says, into Superion’s pec. 

Superion holds the back of Father John J’s head and whispers, “I dearly hope so” into the Father’s ear. He kisses Father John J’s forehead and releases him, turning his attention to Ben. “You must be Ben Fortunato,” he says, holding his hand out to shake. 

Ben considers dropping to his knees, that’s how strikingly beautiful this man is. Instead, he stammers, “Um… yes. Ben. And you must be… incredible!”

Superion smiles broadly -- he’s heard this joke. “Superion,” he says, shaking Ben’s hand. “I’m sorry we have to meet under these circumstances.”

“I’m so grateful for your help,” Ben says. 

Superion grunts. “Anything to put another one of these fires out,” he says, looking up at the building. Something happens to his eyes as he looks, but Ben can’t say exactly what. “He’s up there,” Superion announces, studying. “He’s okay -- he’s pretty big.”

“Thank God he’s okay,” Ben says, crossing himself. “How big?”

Father John J interrupts. “Is the Cycle One okay? How much is left?”

They both look at the Father dryly. Superion says, “Do you know, Johnny, nothing would make me happier than to destroy this building and all the Cycle One in it -- you know that, right?”

The Father squares off with him. “I do,” he says, trying to maintain his bravado. “But you won’t, right?”

Superion smiles enigmatically. “I’m gonna go get your brother,” he says to Ben. “I won’t be a minute.”

He enters the building and disappears from view. Ben and the Father don’t even have time to begin a conversation before the wall above them blows out, throwing chunks of cinderblock, cement, and bottles of Cycle One raining down like shrapnel as Superion’s body comes crashing through, flying about twenty feet before slamming into the ground. 

Superion stands, wiping the dust from himself -- with the back of his hand, he strokes the side of his jaw that has just been punched. Superion is clearly unhappy. He strides toward the building, kicking away the stray bottles, determined. “You guys might want to stand back,” he says. “He’s not being cooperative.”

Superion flies back into the hole he just made. Seconds later, a different body crashes out through the roof -- not Superion -- a hugely muscled man dressed only in a pair of neon green short shorts that ride into his ass-crack. 

“For the love of God!” Ben yells. “GLENN!”

His brother sails up about thirty or forty feet into the air before arcing down toward the ground. He lands hard on his back with a wind-losing smack. Trying to shake it off and stand, he snorts like an animal. 

Ben is trying to comprehend what his brother has become. Even in the few days since Ben last saw him, Glenn has grown. His brother had always been a heavy-set, snowman/ pear-shaped guy, wide hips and narrow shoulders. Now he’s a freak bodybuilder with a roidgut that rivals a beach ball, supporting these thick and ponderous limbs. It should be impossible for him to move, given the size of his muscle -- traps that almost keep him from turning his head, a back so wide he can’t lower his arms completely -- yet move he does, with confidence and surprising grace. 

Superion flies up out of the hole in the roof and lands about ten feet away from Ben’s brother. “Stop!” he commands, holding up a flat palm. But like an angry bull, perhaps egged-on by Superion’s flowing red cape, Glenn charges, gaining steam with each step. It takes little effort for Superion to side-step him, trip him, and force him forward till he slams into the side of the building. Glenn roars in anger, throwing a chunk of broken block at Superion. As Superion knocks it aside, Glenn takes advantage of the distraction and tackles Superion from the side, taking him to the ground. 

His brother is bigger than Superion!

“He’s in a rage!” Father John J says as he and Ben seek a better observation spot, running to the far-side of the building -- Father John tries to grab the extra bottles. “His energy is out of control.”

Glenn has Superion in a schoolboy pin, squatting across Superion’s torso, kneeling on his biceps, punching him over and over in the face, raging. 

“GLENN!” Ben calls, distracting his brother for just a moment, but enough. Glenn looks at Ben and Superion grabs Glenn’s fist, halting it mid-strike. Superion stands, holding Glenn by the wrist, spins him around  and around like a lasso, before throwing him to the other side of the parking lot, where he lands with a loud crunch.

“This guy’s pretty far gone,” Superion says to Father John J as Glenn starts to charge back across the lot -- a rhino. “Any ideas? I don’t want to hurt him.”

“You have to release his pent-up energy,” Father John J frets, shaking his head as Glenn leaps into the air. “You have to…”

Glenn lands within their circle and the reverberation knocks them all off their feet. He steps toward Ben, fierce anger filling his eyes, no recognition, but the hard-on beneath his spandex shorts is more than obvious. Before he can strike, however, Superion grabs him from behind in a full-nelson and flies them up about ten feet into the air. Glenn is trying to shake his grip, thrashing about, but he lacks leverage. That he’s sexually stimulated is lost on no one -- his erection throbs.

“You have to make him cum!” Father John J yells. “You have to make him release!”

Superion’s grimace speaks volumes, but he sighs and reaches around Glenn, grabbing Glenn’s erection at its thick base, rubbing his hand over the spandex material. Glenn reacts in a surprising way, moaning in his deep throat -- his whole drive seems to shift from “rage” to “lust” as easy as the stick on an old jalopy. He starts dry-humping the air, rubbing his ass against Superion.

Horrified, Ben can’t look away. Of all the things he didn’t think he’d be seeing today, this had to top the list. On the other hand, his brother had tried to sexually engage Ben after Ben’s transformation, which had freaked Ben out so much he ran away and brought back Superion.

And now it looks like Superion is enjoying himself, too -- there’s no hiding what’s going on in his blue leggings. Father John J had said Superion hasn’t had sex since his lover -- this King Rex -- got tossed into the Multiverse. How does someone go twenty years without sex? MONKS don’t even do that!

“It’s not enough to jerk him off,” Father John J yells. “You have to... press his button!”

Superion’s frustrated reaction weakens his grip on Glenn, who breaks Superion’s hold and suddenly drops to the ground with a heavy, dull thud. Superion is on him in a flash and the two of them wrestle in the parking lot -- but it isn’t to fight. This is different -- it’s two men squaring off. 

This is foreplay.

Other than size, Glenn has no real advantage over Superion. And now that Superion has a new drive, there’s really no stopping him. Superion is erect himself, his cock as supremely out of proportion as everything else about him -- whatever else this Rex favors, it’s big-dicked muscle-bottoms. 

They flex at each other, Superion and Ben’s brother, a Most Muscular, an ab/ thigh -- showing off, mutual worship -- double biceps, erections straining flimsy material. Glenn smacks Superion’s pecs with an open hand, then squeezes the muscle as Superion flexes -- fucking rock hard -- punching cement. 

Looking each other in the eye, Glenn falls to his knees and begins mouthing Superion’s cock through the heavy spandex of Superion’s leggings. Superion unclasps his belt and releases it, allowing Glenn to take it in his mouth. Clearly at some level, Glenn knows what he needs. Or what he wants. 

“Get it wet,” Superion orders him. “Get it good and wet -- or it’s gonna hurt.”

“What’s going on?” Ben asks Father John J as the Father collects stray bottles of Cycle One.

Father John J looks at Superion, then at Ben. “He’s going to fuck him,” Father John J says. “He’s gotta fuck him and press his button, release the energy. Same as I did with you at the Church!”

Ben crosses himself. “But you just used your fingers,” Ben says. “Why does he have to…?”

Father John J shushes him.

Glenn holds Superion’s cock in his fist and spits on the head, immediately putting it back in his mouth, soaking the thick, super-shaft. Superion pushes him onto his back, straddling Glenn’s chest to allow Glenn to continue sucking his cock, but putting Superion into a dominant position.

Superion licks his fingers and reaches for Glenn’s hole -- so tight -- Glenn squirms, discovering a new sensation. “Yeah,” Superion says. “Big boy likes that.”

“All Hail His Majesty’s Consort, the Mighty Superion,” Father John J intones, falling to his knees with an armful of bottles. “All praise King Rex!”

Superion shoots Father John J a snide look. “Don’t do that shit, Johnny,” he says. “This is pragmatism, not Church! Toss me a bottle of that stuff!”

“It IS Church!” Father John J argues, still on his knees. “You engage in the holiest of acts, a sacrifice -- an offering! I must pray!”

Superion shakes his head but doesn’t argue. “Throw me a bottle of that stuff!” he says again. 

Father John J won’t release what he’s gathered, so it’s Ben who throws one to him -- or overthrows, actually -- he doesn’t know his own strength. Superion catches it with such confidence and ease that it makes it look like it had been intended that way. Superion cracks open the Cycle One, sniffs it -- a memory floats across his features -- and he pours a tiny bit over his cock, into Glenn’s desperate mouth. Glenn groans again, desperately lapping it off.


Superion pulls his cock out of Glenn’s mouth and says, “On your hands and knees -- NOW.” He levitates slightly, allowing the three-hundred-plus giant to spin beneath him -- moving from one submissive pose to the next -- then he slowly pours the Cycle One down Glenn’s ass-crack, until it reaches the fingers Superion has against Glenn’s hole. Using the honey-thick Cycle One as lube, Superion pushes his fingers in. Glenn’s moan is a roar that can be heard for miles. 

“Bigger than that coming,” Superion says, pushing his fingers in and out. 

Father John J weaves while he prays. “We commend this energy to you, Great Lord, lost in the Multiverse, that it might find you and strengthen you for your journey home!”

Superion yells. “Johnny, please!” as he pours the Cycle One on his hard cock, like sauce on a meaty rib. “Just let me do what I came here to do!”

“Release it!” Father John J prays. “Give it back to the Master!”

Superion slams his foot-long cock into Glenn’s waiting ass -- they both scream, both of them from a different sort of denial, but coming together here in this parking lot. 

Has there been a change in the light? Ben wonders, unable to take his eyes away from his brother’s submission. Where did this wind come from? 

“Can you feel it?” Father John J shouts. “CAN YOU FEEL THE MASTER?”

Superion begins fucking Ben’s brother, doggie-style, gently at first, even then, barely keeping control of himself -- it’s been so long, Superion -- but then, even Glenn wants him to go harder, pushing his ass back into Superion’s cock, trying to form words. Trying to find his own button.

And there’s something else around Superion, something familiar, whispering in his memory, filling him with strength and power -- a masculine spirit. Making him fuck -- forcing him to connect and dominate. It feels like his husband…

Is he feeling the effects of Cycle One?

He releases -- who fucking cares? Fuck -- Superion wants to fuck.

He drives into Glenn’s ass, fucking so hard they break the pavement. It’s power and forgotten masculine urges, decades of repression. 

“CAN YOU FEEL IT?” Father John J yells above the din, the wind, the energy. “PRAY WITH ME! PRAY TO OUR LORD, LOST IN THE MULTIVERSE!”

Superion fucks Glenn with his super-long cock, pounding a forgotten, manly rhythm in his loin, awakening something deep within him. The energy crackles like lightning around them.

Ben falls to his knees, his legs weak -- what is he seeing?

They’re fucking there in the broken parking lot, his brother and Superion, it’s broad daylight, but there’s a sense of darkness around them, reality seems to shift as their sexual energy grows. 

Superion groans. “I’m so close…”

Glenn rises up on his knees, exposing own erection that rises exactly along the curve of his distended belly, almost to his navel. Glenn is flexing his arms in a double bis -- Superion uses them as anchors, deep-thrusting.

“Gonna… cum…”

“WE CALL ON THEE, GREAT LORD! WE GRANT THEE THIS OFFERING!”

Superion, a being that hasn’t orgasmed in nearly two decades, shoots his almost impossible load -- Glenn, who has never anally-orgasmed, explodes with incredible pent-up masculine energy, his “overdose” on Cycle One, and climaxes simultaneously. They scream together, too, full-throated and deep. 

There’s an explosion -- well, something very much like one.

It’s like nothing Ben has ever experienced before. There’s no sound, no BOOM -- it’s almost as if someone takes reality, twists it, and then releases it to snap back into place. The explosion -- if one can call it an explosion -- is energy, electricity and force, concussive and multi-layered. There is a soundless brightness that blows them all back -- Ben’s back slams into the wall of the Eternal building, cracking the brick. 

There’s a hissing in the background, like pink noise, that settles out of the silence -- and then Ben’s hearing comes back. Or reality comes back -- it’s hard to say.

His brother Glenn’s body slams on the ground before him, steaming a little, digging up the asphalt a little more. He rolls over on his back directly in front of Ben. “GLENN!” Ben calls, scrambling over to his brother. He slaps his face. “Glenn, wake up! Oh, God… Oh, sweet God be okay.”

Glenn comes to, a little disoriented -- the crazed, drug-addled look in his eye is gone. “Ben?” he asks, looking Ben in the eye. “What’s going on? I… Bro… what happened? You’re huge! Wait, I’M huge!”

Ben chuckles. “It’s a long story,” he says, nearly in tears. “And I don’t think it’s over yet…”

Both Superion and Father John J had been knocked back, too, in opposite directions. Superion is already recovering, steaming himself, studying the blast area. The spot where they’d cum is now a blown out pit, smoke and steam and electric crackles encircling it. Superion immediately checks on the others, locating and diagnosing their injuries -- bumps and bruises, but generally okay -- when he hears a moan come from the pit itself.

What? How is that possible?

Father John J hears the sound as well, and draws up onto his knees like a hopeful teen. 

As Superion stands on shaky feet, the figure in the pit finds his footing, too, his face hidden by the steam, the unnatural shadow, and electrical snaps. He is a giant of man, bigger than Superion, more powerful, more muscular. His god-given body beyond fantasy, his muscle on the edge of impossible. In his purple shorts with the gold piping, the golden boots and gauntlets, the simple over the shoulder cape and the electric-metal lightning bolt emblazoned on his chest, he is instantly recognizable.

Especially to Superion. “Rex…?” he asks, a smile finding the corner of his mouth. “Is it really you?”

The muscle god smiles. “Superion?” he asks. “Am I home? Am I finally home?”

They fall into each other’s arms, laughing and kissing, relieved and amazed. Even Ben smiles, happy that there’s a happy ending with Cycle One for once. 

Glenn, confused, asks his tearful brother, “What’s happening…?”

He’s answered by Father John J. “It is the return of His Majesty, Rex the Almighty!” Rex and Superion continue to kiss, flying up into the air together. Father John J opens his arms to the world. 

“IT IS THE SECOND COMING!”

****************************************************************************************

EPILOGUE:

“Hey everybody, this is Glenn!”

“And this is Ben!”

“We’re the Fortunato Brothers! And you’re watching another episode of ‘Can You Believe They Bought That Shit?’”

TITLE -- THEME MUSIC  

“In this episode, we’re actually gonna be talking about SELLING shit for a change.”

“Hey! Before we go on... Viewers, did you notice our new logo in the opening?”

(CUTAWAY: the old logo, the Fortunato Brothers looking like cartoon Laurel & Hardy (one fat, one thin) fades to the new logo: Laurel & Hardy as bodybuilders, one arm wrapped around their brother and the other flexing their biceps.

(CUT BACK to the live Brothers in the same pose as the logo, barely holding their laughter.)

“If you’ve noticed we look a little different than we have in past episodes, but you don’t know why, it’s possible you missed our TRANSFORMATION SPECIAL that dropped a couple weeks ago.”

“I don’t know, Ben. With over two-hundred million downloads, I don’t think many people have missed out TRANSFORMATION SPECIAL!”

“It’s still available if you have, that’s all I’m saying…” 

“But what you HAVEN’T missed is what transformed us into this muscled perfection, the awesome sports drink CYCLE ONE!” Glenn reveals a bottle in frame, holding it for the camera to see -- plain, ordinary looking stuff for what it could do. “It took about a dozen of these to transform my skinny brother Ben there into THAT!” 

Ben flexes for the camera, his muscle pumped, his confidence high. “No lie,” Ben says. “Believe me, I would never have done this without CYCLE ONE -- I was too lazy and too weak. Not anymore.”

Glenn wraps his massive arm around Ben’s neck and pulls him close -- he kisses the side of Ben’s head. “Isn’t he cute?” Glenn asks. “So, we’re doin’ something we don’t normally do: we’re selling some shit. CYCLE ONE, to be specific. You can get to my brother’s size with a twelve-pack -- you can get to mine with a case!”

The brothers flex for the camera -- the spandex shirts they wear ripple with muscle.

“We haven’t even talked about the biggest bonus!” 

Glenn continues to flex for the camera. “Tell ‘em, Ben!”

“When you go to the bidding page, click the link to join King Rex’s Holy Order and be a Knight for His Majesty, the power behind Cycle One, the Living God, King Rex, once lost in the Multiverse but now found! Be His Knight, His Holy Warrior, and join the Crusade in His second coming!”

Glenn laughs. “Geez, Ben, you sound like a fanboy!”

Ben is sincere. “I witnessed God’s Second Coming, Glenn,” Ben says simply. “That kind of thing… changes a man…”

*************************************************************************************

Sam Bennett pauses the video. 

He’s watched it a thousand times -- he knows what it says by heart, by now. Still, it’s the first thing to give him an erection in almost a decade.

How should he feel about that?

He presses Play. “...sound like a fanboy.”

“I witnessed God’s Second Coming, Glenn. That kind of thing… changes a man…”

Pause.

Not really believing he’s doing it, but somehow certain it’s the right move, Sam Bennett presses the link to join the Knighthood, the Holy Order of King Rex. 

He does it because he wants to believe in Happy Endings.

Cycle One - promo9.JPG

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A worthy addition to the Cycle One saga! One question: not to be all Comic Book Guy about this, but whatever happened to the Psychic Saturnian's muscle milk? Wouldn't guys jonesing for their Cycle One hit inevitably turn to seeking him out?

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16 hours ago, Stoneman said:

...whatever happened to the Psychic Saturnian's muscle milk? Wouldn't guys jonesing for their Cycle One hit inevitably turn to seeking him out?

Good question! Entirely possible, tho I don’t know if the public at large knows about this “power” the Psychic Saturnian had. That could be worth exploring. 

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  • 2 years later...

So great that I came back to this site after a long hiatus and see this gem of a story along with the 3rd part.  Great read as always.  I honestly thought in the 4th story we would have that lineman coach from part 2 who chugged as much as Glenn to be called in for an assistance.  Two massive chuggers who end up 69-ing each other would have been a hot read.

 

and sounds like we may have a King Rex II in the works or maybe a reboot/revival of sorts.  Or maybe a short story about one of the many cycle one users who after Rex left ended up being a single dad to an over-sexed, stronger than normal teen (due to super charged genetic material sperm from cycle one)

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What did king rex find in his journey through the multiverse?  Why is this order neing formed?  Did king rex find a threat?  

There's a future for continuing this plot line.   

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