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|In a world full of men who fly, women who deflect bullets with bracelets and control the power of the storm, over-muscled heroes in spandex defending the honor of their nations, it was really just a matter of time before the genetic dice rolled the combination that came up Rex.
How did he know he was a mutant? When did he realize it? Who knows, probably much in the same way he realized he was gay: he looked back over his life after he'd accepted the truth and saw the clues buried all along. But the first true manifestation of his powers? Well, that's a little easier to pinpoint. That had happened when he was seventeen.
Now, don't misunderstand, he was a big kid. He'd always been big -- heaviest kid ever born in Oklahoma, the headlines had read -- and knowing some of the linemen that have hailed from Oklahoma, that's saying something -- but he wasn't fat. No, not fat. Dense. Deliberate. He'd fool you into thinking he was a wall, planted there in the ground, except he was unusually quick for his size, so football coaches took an almost immediate liking to him, and he became the star of the pee-wee, middle-school, then j.v. teams. He was playing varsity ball his sophomore year of high school, if only for his size on the line. His sophomore year, at fifteen, he was already six feet tall, and weighed 215.
At seventeen, he was 235, still holding little fat, and playing nose-guard on the last game of the season when his powers first manifested. They were winning 16-10, but couldn't hold the ball, so were forced to defend during the last few moments of the game. His team was good -- as far as Oklahoma standards were concerned, which meant the boys were all beef and corn-fed -- but these guys on the other team were just a bit slicker, their QB had an arm that would just rifle the ball. If he ever got more accuracy, he wouldn't pay for college.
So it was the final seconds, the ball deep in their territory, and a touchdown for the other team would win the game. Fourth and goal, they had to go for it -- a field goal wasn't enough. "Deee-fense!" the crowd chanted. (stomp! stomp!) "Deee-fense!" The coach screamed "HOLD 'em!" from the sidelines.
And Rex knew it then, a sudden knowledge, a hero's instinct, a moment of truth -- it was up to him -- HE had to stop the drive. Just then, as he crouched on the line, he felt a sort-of submission, of acceptance, of destiny, and a change began. How to describe it? It was power, energy, force that drove its way up from the earth -- yes, that's the best analogy -- up from the earth -- and into Rex. Mass from the earth. Density. He FELT bigger, thicker. Powerful.
When the QB snapped the ball and they all went into motion, he charged, focused. Easily shaking off his block, he barreled like an unstoppable freight train toward the quarterback, who clutched the ball and internally begged for a receiver. Too late. The sack was triumphant, simple. Lighter and easier than any tackling dummy he'd ever hit, Rex slammed the quarterback to the ground, his strength overwhelming.
When the gun went off and the game had been won, Rex pulled himself up off the quarterback. Looking down on him, as he watched the boy try to catch his wind, Rex then felt something else roll from his own hand. It was a wave -- that's the best way to describe it -- a wave of energy that radiated from Rex, pulsed out of his hand, and struck the quarterback dead on.
He didn't know what he'd done, so he stood quickly, reactively, the quarterback laying at his feet. When the quarterback's eyes rolled back in his head and he began involuntarily bucking his hips, Rex was concerned, confused. But the slight smile on the quarterback's face, the sudden moan from his lips, told Rex that the quarterback was all right. More than all right.
Rex realized that the quarterback was cumming. Yes, cumming. The quarterback was lying at his feet, orgasming in his football pants -- probably in his jock -- while Rex towered above him. Did I cause that? Rex wondered. Was that what I felt leave me like a wave? But before he could contemplate further, the moment was broken, and their teammates were upon them. Either cheering, like Rex's, or concerned, like the quarterback's.
It took several boys to lift Rex and carry him victoriously to the locker room. He was a hero. He loved it. From atop their shoulders, he was able to turn his head and see the other team leading the quarterback off the field, one boy on either side as the quarterback's weak legs couldn't support his weight. Rex smiled.
In the locker room, he knew he was bigger the second he'd stripped off his uniform. It was like he was pumped from a hard workout, his muscles engorged in blood, his veins throbbing. But he was even bigger now than he got when he was pumped. And it felt better. He was bigger than the biggest boy, and he liked it. Sauntering to the showers, a towel barely around his waist, he enjoyed the benefits of this new mass. Reveling in the power of the moment, he believed he'd deserved it. This size was a reward for playing hard.
He stripped the towel off and strode into the actual shower room. Standing in the center, searching for a free nozzle, one of his teammates started chanting, "Rex! Rex!" until it was picked up by them all. From every angle, he heard his name, from every direction, another boy was chanting praise to him. They were almost worshipping him.
He liked it.
When their chanting reached a climax, he suddenly raised both of his arms into a front double biceps, flexing his huge guns, peaked like softballs. The boys cheered. He quickly changed to a crab shot, showing the mountainous traps, then gruffly said, "Where's my shower?"
Several boys backed up and offered him theirs, and he chose the one at the head of the room, so everyone could get a good look at him. The mass of him. How he'd enjoyed that night.
He continued to grow through high school and entered University on a full football scholarship -- which was probably the only way his folks could have afforded it, after feeding him for so many years -- at six-five, weighing close to three hundred pounds, his bodyfat tested at 8%. In college, he found his love of bodybuilding -- it came so easily and naturally -- and at nineteen had already won several junior titles. He loved being on-stage in those skimpy little trunks, hearing the cheers, absorbing the energy, flexing his mighty size. Soon, bodybuilding became more important to him than football, though he continued to play -- to keep his scholarship -- but refused offers to go pro, choosing instead to pursue his body.
All through college, he hid his sexuality. Hanging with the team, he pretended to be straight. Occasionally, some man or another would approach him and offer him money if Rex would only allow them to touch, to praise, to worship. Rex often refused, but once in a while would agree, and would actually find himself turned on by the worship. And strangely energized. It wasn't long before he made the correlation between these secretive sessions and his sudden jumps in strength and size.
He developed other powers, though hardly classified as superhero standard. He discovered them one by one, sometimes by accident -- like that time he came upon his "morph-inducing" touch while working out with his best friend in college and they nearly destroyed the gym -- a story for another time. However, once he knew about a power, he'd hone it to perfection, until he considered himself game-ready.
The idea of being a superhero intrigued him -- they'd often soar overhead and continually dominate the evening news -- but he didn't see a practical application of his powers. Sure, it'd be fun to be all buddy-buddy in the Justice Club, but who wanted to battle supervillians bent on world domination? No, Rex wanted the domination himself. He'd be more into flexing with Superion than fighting crime with him.
And that was when Rex had an idea.
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