Adventures of Rex, The


By Richard Jasper

Think of the best sex you've ever had. The intensity, the passion, the loss of self, the timelessness, the breathlessness, the orgasm that never seemed to end.

Think of the worst migraine of your life. The chills, the sweats, the pain behind your eyes, the flashes of light in your vision, the nausea.

Think of the best pump you've ever managed, pushing the weights, drenched in sweat, gasping for breath, churning out one rep and another and another to failure, and then feeling the blood rushing into your muscles, like an all over full body hard on.

It was like that, only a thousand times more intense. It seemed to go on forever and it can't have lasted more than a minute. (Notebook - were the laws of magic written by a drama queen or what?)

I was growing, Growing, GROWING, upwards and outwards. I could feel he weight pouring into my body like molten metal into a forge, filling me up, then overflowing, then filling up again and again and again.

When it finished, I literally ROARED, a sound of anguish and fear and pure animal lust, as loud as one of Throckmorton's thunderclaps.

I raised my head and looked into the full length burnished bronze mirror opposite the chair in which I'd been sitting.

I beheld a god.

Dorian Yates was a wimp next to what I saw. Paul Dillet anorexic. Ronnie Coleman underfed and ill-proportioned.

I was impossibly wide, impossibly thick, impossibly dense, impossibly sculpted. A living, breathing statue, one that neither Michelangelo nor Joe Weider ever dared imagine.

I looked around the room and spied Throckmorton - now a very short and shriveled looking Throckmorton - cursing so prodigiously and fluently that even Huxtable's eyes were popping.

"Goddamit to hell," he said finally, returning to a language I could understand.

"You didn't tell me you were gay!" •

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