Author's Note: Greetings! I am Rubirosa, the authorized biographer of celebrity porn star SAMSON. He is paying me a lot of money to chronicle his sexual exploits in a multi-volume memoir that will run more than a million words.
The first volume, "I Was A Teenage Sex God," focuses on our hero's youthful adventures when the ladies still knew him as LANCE LEO.
Like many of his peers, Lance spent much of high school as a shiftless stoner and hopeless virgin. On the night of his 18th birthday, however, a mysterious hiccup in the space-time continuum transformed him into a barbarian sex god from a galaxy far, far away.
Endowed with Herculean strength and godlike charisma, Lance did not use his superpowers to fight crime or save the world. The teen used them to get laid.
This story chronicles the chaos that ensued...
TWIMC, all characters that appear in this story are above the age of 18 and freely consent to the debauchery described herein. Enjoy...
Chapter Four: Lance Scores A Touchdown
12pm
Lance rolled into Peoria Tech around lunchtime. He walked down the hall with a slow commanding stride. His arrival did not go unnoticed. You could see him from the other end of the hallway. The six-and-a-half foot bodybuilder stood a head taller than even the varsity athletes.
Senior girls pointed him out and giggled. Angela had taken a photo of his dick and shared it with half the school over the weekend. It had taken less than a week for word to spread about his endowment.
The bell rang for fourth period but Lance did not rush to class. Tina wasn't going to give him a detention for being late. Instead, the teen wanted to get stoned first. He headed towards a vacant wing of the building. Part of the school had undergone renovations and would not reopen until next semester.
After wending his way through a jungle of caution tape and sawhorses, Lance tiptoed down a deserted corridor. The teen could not shake a strange feeling that he was being followed. A quick glance over his shoulder proved otherwise so he hung a left into the boys' room.
The teen tiptoed into a bathroom stall and pulled a joint out of his sock. Before his transformation, Leo would never dare to smoke weed on school grounds. But the risk excited him now. Lance no sooner lit up than footsteps sounded outside the boys' room. "Fuck!" the stoner muttered to himself. He dropped the spliff into a toilet and flushed it.
Lance came out of the stall just as the jocks came into the washroom. He recognized Steve Knight but not his three buddies. But they all looked mean and menacing. For high school students.
In normal circumstances, that being the previous 18 years of his life, the imminent confrontation would have scared the shit out of him. At the moment, however, he did not experience fear so much as irritation, like a fly buzzing in your face.
"So what's this about?" Lance asked Steve. "Are you mad I fucked your ex-girlfriend?"
Steve promptly lost his cool and charged at him. That was the point of Lance's remark. He wanted the jock to come out swinging like a fool. To his credit, Steve landed a direct blow to Lance's gut. Before his transformation, Leo would have doubled over in pain with the wind knocked out of him. But the gut punch felt more like a love tap. Lance's eight-pack abs armored his midsection like a brick wall. They rendered the strongman impervious to pain.
Adrenaline pumping, the football captain needed a moment to process what happened. He downed most guys with one shot and Lance Leo should have been a knockover. The jock vaguely knew of him. Lance was a pussy burnout that sat at the loser table in the cafeteria. Steve remembered him as tall and gangly with an aquiline nose. Lance still had that distinctive nose - this was definitely the same guy - but everything else about him had changed.
Steve and his buddies only began to size him up after the first blow. The stoner had grown even taller than they recalled and he definitely shed the gangliness. In fact, the dude had grown into a fucking beast! Before Steve could step back, Lance grabbed him by the collar and hoisted him right off the ground. His legs dangled helplessly in the air.
Suddenly, Lance's vision went all blurry and trippy. A rapid-fire montage of images flashed before his eyes. They unfolded like an acid flashback.
- Brandishing a six-foot poleax, he rode a stallion across a barren plain into the thick of a battle.
- In the arena of a grand coliseum, a bull charged towards him. Grabbing the beast by the horns, he flung him onto his back.
- He boldly marched into the cave of a fire-breathing dragon and slayed the monster with a single swing of his broadsword.
- Facing down a pack of bloodthirsty barbarians, he lifted a ten-ton boulder off the ground and prepared to hurl it at them.
Coming back to his senses, Lance realized he was still holding up Steve by the collar. The football champion bore an expression of absolute fear and awe. After shooting him an ominous glare, the teen muscle god flung him across the room towards his buddies. Steve toppled them over like a bowling ball smashing into a set of pins.
"DON'T FUCK WITH SAMSON!!!" exploded a stentorian roar from the depths of his musclebound chest. To emphasize his point, he stamped his left foot upon the floor, leaving a dented formation of his bootprint upon the now-cracked tiles. The jocks froze with sheer terror. However, Lance took their inaction as a sign of resistance so he decided to put an even greater scare into them.
The teenage juggernaut grabbed the curbed lip of a sink and ripped it clean out of the wall. Water sprayed everywhere. Just like the boulder in his vision, he hoisted the washbasin overhead and prepared to hurl it at the jocks. With just a moment to spare, they leapt to their feet and bounded out of the washroom. Just for kicks, Lance cast it against the wall. CRACK! The porcelain shattered into a hundred pieces.
Lighting up another joint, Lance caught his reflection in the mirror. He barely recognized the man that stared back at him. His dark tousled hair now fell past his shoulders and those shoulders had become incredibly broad. He looked just like the lurid cover illustration of Samson from that lost e-book.
"Fuckin' A!" he chuckled to himself while flexing his guns. The teen loved hulking out and smashing things up. He was unstoppable. Literally.
20 MINUTES LATER
Lance ditched math class for the weight room. He never dared enter this sweaty hall of machismo before. All the football players hung out there. And now the alpha stud wanted to make his presence known.
As expected, the place stank. A few jocks huffed and puffed on the weight benches and cable machines. Lance grabbed a pair of the heaviest dumbbells off the rack and absently lifted them up and down. That got boring after the first 50 reps. They weighed nothing to him. In fact, he had not done much lifting with his weight set at home as of late. It no longer proved a challenge.
Next, he grabbed a couple 50-pound weight plates and racked them on a barbell. He racked a few more. And a few more. He did not keep track of how many but knew it would be enough for him to break a sweat. The teen lay down on the bench and got to work.
UNGH! UNGH! UNGH! UNGH! UNGH!
Lance cranked out one rep after another. With each lift, the room seemed to grow quieter. He got the distinct impression that people were checking him out.
Because Lance worked out at home, he had no idea of what a normal weight training regimen looked like. The teen definitely did not know that a typical jock would struggle to lift hundreds of pounds just once, let alone a dozen times.
"What in the fucking hell?" a paunchy boomer in sweats called out from the other side of the room.
Lance had set the barbell back in its rack by the time Coach Walker had run over to him. He vaguely knew the old man coached the Peoria Panthers but never spoke to him before. However, the teen had a sense the next few minutes might change his life.
"Son," he drawled in a distinct Southern Illinois accent. "Do you know how much iron you racked onto this here barbell?"
Lance tried to add up the weights but struggled to come up with a number. This struck him as odd. The teen got a 'D' in algebra but had no problem with basic math. His limited intellectual faculties seemed to be shrinking even further. Perhaps, Samson sucked at math.
"Uhhhh," he began. "I dunno. How much?"
"350 pounds!" exclaimed Walker. "I never saw anything like it."
