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 exploits as a lusty high school gigolo and championship bodybuilder when the ladies still knew him as
LANCE LEO
.
While excerpts from this book have appeared on this website previously, this new series will publish chapters from the Lance Leo saga in chronological order and with extensive revisions. For fans of my work, feel free to leave your comments. I would not do this if not for your kind words.
Finally, please note all characters that appear in this story are above the age of 18 and freely consent to the debauchery described herein. Enjoy...
Chapter One: The Virgin Stud
An attractive brunette sashayed across the parking lot towards her Mercedes.
"Isn't that Amanda?" noted Lance after taking a long drag off his joint.
He stood with Ross, Jimbo, and Bones at the other end of the lot.
"Just look at those cans," Lance continued wistfully. "That chick really filled out this year. Dayum, I'd love to bang her box."
"Yeah. Dream on, dude," Ross told him. "She only dates varsity douchebags."
"I said I
would
love to bang her box," Lance answered a bit defensively.
"Woulda. Coulda. Shoulda," shrugged Bones after passing the joint to Ross.
"Whatever. We don't fucking exist at this school," lamented Jimbo.
He wasn't wrong. The quartet of high schoolers were burnouts, the lowest rung of the "bottom-ladder" cliques that made up the student body of Peoria Tech. They smoked weed, played heavy metal through their earbuds during class, and headed down a one-way road to low-wage service jobs in their Podunk town, best known for its soybean production.
"You know I turned 18 today," Lance said out of nowhere.
"No shit," said Ross. "So why are you still a junior?"
Lance Leo's birthday was on April Fool's Day. And, true to form, his life had been a joke. But not a very good one. He had shit grades, shit parents, and shit prospects for the future. The straight-F student flunked Freshman year and got held back. Even with an extra year under his belt, he had been a "late bloomer" and barely got peach fuzz above his lip before last year. Lance had a gangly frame that looked as if a stiff wind could knock him off his feet. In short, he was a nobody's nobody.
"Happy Birthday, man," Jimbo half-congratulated him. "You wanna play some Warcraft and rip a bowl after class?"
"Nah," Lance told him, staring at the ground. "Think I'm just gonna chill."
Lance's friends knew exactly what their friend meant by "chill." Jacking off. The burnouts all bragged about banging chicks but their hookup options were limited to their left or right palms. Lance was a hardcore porn junkie. Aside from school, the stoner spent most of his waking hours in front of a laptop on pornographic websites. The teenager searched for videos of one guy with two or more girls: FFM, FFFM, and especially FFFFFM. Deprived of a woman for so long, his orgiastic appetites became increasingly garish and extravagant.
Besides porn, Lance also studied websites like Refinery 29 and Cosmopolitan to learn about female sexuality. The precocious pervert also managed to wade through all 12 volumes of Casanova's memoirs, the Kama Sutra, and countless sex position manuals. As a result, the empty-headed teen couldn't pass algebra but he knew exactly where to find a woman's G-spot. Lust could be an incredible motivator.
Unlike most dudes, Lance didn't just want to bang a chick. The sensual teen wanted to romance and seduce his lady. He wanted to make sweet love to her until she cried out his name during the most intense orgasm of her life. Lance thought about doing this every minute of every hour of every day.
But even though the teen had spent so much time reading about sex, he had zero experience with actually having it. Being a virgin sucked big time. And he couldn't talk to anyone about his situation because it embarrassed him so much.
Everyone else
was obviously getting some. Almost every teenager had been in his place at some point, feeling so worthless that getting laid seemed about as likely as winning the lottery.
LATER THAT AFTERNOON
Lance walked into the backyard of the McMansion he called home. His stepfather had bucks but treated him like shit. With his mother dead and buried, Mr. Leo made it clear that his stepson would be cut off the day he graduated high school. Lance had only two consolations: 1. His asshole stepfather was usually out of town on business. 2. He got to live in the pool house out back where one could smoke weed and look at porn 24/7.
After drawing the shades in his bedroom, Lance fired up his laptop and got nekkid. He browsed the erotica section of Amazon for a new book. He developed a taste for escapist fare that involved D&D type adventures. The teen used his imagination to get as far away from Peoria as possible.
At the top of the search results, a title immediately caught his eye: "Wanderlust: The Erotic Adventures of Samson." The cover featured a preposterously muscular barbarian surrounded by a fawning harem of scantily clad wenches. The tacky artwork recalled a trashy romance novel crossed with a Richard Corben illustration from an 80s issue of Heavy Metal.
"With the body of a god and the loins of a stallion," proclaimed the description. "Samson literally bedded thousands of women."
Lance was hooked from the first paragraph. The book distilled his most intimate fantasies into lurid and lucid prose. While some chapters recycled the usual "sword and sorcery" tales found in mainstream fantasy novels, the bulk of the book focused upon its hero's unusual prowess in the boudoir. The titular character accomplished sexual feats that made Casanova look like an amateur, swashbuckling his way from one bedroom to another. Lance particularly enjoyed reading about Samson's orgiastic conquests in which he "arranged trysts with multiple admirers who shared in his abundant virility."
The teen pored over the text all night long and into the next day. In most pulp fiction, 90% of the book involved boring quests for random bullshit. Lance searched for the other 10% in which the hero made it with the female characters. But this book flipped the script. The 1000-page epic mostly chronicled Samson's ultra-hedonistic sex life in exhaustive and explicit detail. In particular, the love scenes dwelled upon how much pleasure his lovers experienced from the barbarian stud's remarkable endowment: "Samson basked in the glory of possessing a weapon between his legs that would deliver any lover to a wonderland of bliss. Ten-and-a-half inches had a way of making a man cocksure."
The book also spared no detail in describing the warrior's physique:
Befitting his mythos, Samson possessed a truly awesome appearance, standing over six and a half feet tall with mighty arms and legs bulging with muscle. Our hero was not modest about his body and made no mystery of his physique. When the bathkeeper sounded his horn for opening-time, he strode across the square,stripped above the belt with his head held high, his torso flaring from the waist like the head of a cobra, his abs rippling like the staunchest portcullis, his chest armored with a breastplate of muscle that glistened like bronze in the sunlight. Although such nudity scandalized his village, even maidens of the highest virtue peeked through the shutters each morning to behold his exuberant display of masculinity.
While this purple prose might have struck some readers as homoerotic, Lance interpreted it another way. He didn't want to fuck Samson.
He wanted to be Samson
.
While other guys dreamed of becoming athletes and celebrities, Lance did not give a fuck about popular culture. He aspired to become a master of seduction, a well-hung Adonis that could sleep with any woman he desired. In that regard, Samson was the ultimate badass. He got to do the things that every dude secretly wanted to do but lacked the guts. And Lance considered himself to be the most gutless of all. He couldn't even ask a girl out on a date.
Around 3am on Saturday, the teen decided to call it a night. He'd been smoking and jerking continuously since Friday afternoon. Lance stumbled out of bed and pulled up the shades in his bedroom. The starry sky twinkled in an odd, beautiful way. He rarely noticed things like that but the double-whammy of weed and insomnia made him a bit loopy.
Suddenly, a star fell out of the sky. In spite of his despair and cynicism, Lance found himself making a wish. He wished with every fiber of his being, probably harder than anyone in the entire history of wishing. The author need not reveal his wish. After all, such things must be kept secret if they are to happen...
The next day, Lance woke up into the same life he had the day before. He stumbled out of bed and opened his laptop. To his dismay, the webpage for the book had vanished. He Googled the title. Nothing. He searched and searched and searched and searched... Nothing. That really bummed him out. At the same time, however, he felt unusually animated this morning. His whole body seethed with a restless energy that made him feel like a caged tiger.
Out of nowhere, Lance hit the floor and started doing push-ups. The teen completed 25 without breaking a sweat so he went for 50. He quickly surpassed 100 but kept going. After topping out at 200, he immediately dashed out the door in his underwear and dove into the pool. He zipped through the water like a speeding torpedo, doing one lap after another.
All that activity made him hungry. He found a 36-ounce Porterhouse Steak in the freezer and BBQ'd the slab of meat on the grill in the backyard. After his ultra-carnivorous lunch, Lance went into the basement to dig out a workout bench and deluxe weight set that his fat-ass father bought last year but never used. He quickly assembled the whole thing next to the pool house.
"UNNNGH!" he growled, pumping out his first bench press. The weight felt heavy at first the load seemed to lighten with each rep. Normally, the stoner would have dismissed weightlifting as a shamefully jock-y pursuit. But his body craved the exertion. Lance wanted to move mountains and leap tall buildings in a single bound. He wanted to bust out of his clothing like the Incredible Hulk. Never before had the teen enjoyed such determination and focus. The workout gave him an almost sexual thrill as he imagined his muscles growing bigger and bigger.
SIX WEEKS LATER
UNNNGH! UNNNGH! UNNNGH!
The teen finally set the barbell back in the rack and rose up from the bench. The sun peeked out of the clouds. Today looked to be a lovely May morning.
Rome might not have been built in a day but Lance Leo built his new body in less than two months. He worked out day and night. No school. No beer. No nothing. The stoner clique had not seen hide nor hair of their pal since his birthday. Rumor had it that the teen got a bad case of mono.
In fact, Lance used that precise excuse in the e-mail he sent to the principal's office. Skipping school had been easy. The teen just created a dummy Gmail account in his father's name and sent them a weekly note to excuse him from classes. However, his stepfather had just returned from an extended business trip so Lance decided today would be the day to make his triumphant return to Peoria Tech. The teen could have cared less about his studies but he had a much better reason to show up. Lance planned to lose his V-card with a smoking hot senior after class.
The teen strode up to a vintage 1974 Harley Davidson Sportster parked behind the poolhouse. Lance inherited the mint condition bike from his biological father but only learned to ride it a couple weeks ago. Truth be told, the motorcycle had intimidated him. He didn't want to die in a terrible accident. But the fear mysteriously dissipated. Or, at least, Lance had developed a new two-word philosophy: "Fuck it!"
The teen fired up the ignition, hopped on board, and tore out of the driveway. It usually took about ten minutes to drive to school from his place. But Lance did not believe in speed limits. If you rode your bike at 90 MPH, you could get there in five.
Per usual, his stoner pals hung out by the fencing at the far edge of the parking lot. Lance sped right up to them and jumped off his Harley.
"Yo!" he greeted them and jumped off the bike. The posse stared at him with puzzlement for a beat.
