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...
ONE WEEK LATER
Lance headed into the locker room. He actually enjoyed today's practice. Until recently, the dissolute but gifted athlete considered his participation on the football team to be little more than a way to delay imminent expulsion. If he won games for his school, the principal would have to ignore his occasional bad behavior.
In that regard, his disciplinary record documented the following infractions in the past 30 days:
Section 4, Paragraph 5: "Tardiness" (38 counts)
Guilty as charged. Lance habitually showed up late to class.
Section 4, Paragraph 6: "Truancy" (17 counts)
If you're going to get busted for tardiness, why not go all of the way?
Section 4, Paragraph 7: "Leaving School Without Permission" (7 counts)
Lance did not have "permission" but he always had a reason. For instance, the stoner had to meet Harley to reup his weed supply. Or a hot babe summoned him for a noontime fuckdate.
Section 5, Paragraph 2: "Dress code violations" (12 counts)
Given his exhibitionistic nature, Lance favored skintight jeans that flaunted his bulge. He also wore silk shirts unbuttoned to his navel to show off his pecs and abs. While most teachers did not comment directly on his provocative attire, he still received vague complaints about "distracting" other students with his appearance.
Section 5, Paragraph 3: "Public Displays of Affection" (43 counts)
Fuckin' A! What could a randy young man do? Every chick at Peoria Tech was dying to knock boots with the ladykiller. And, 43 was an undercount of course. He only got caught 43 times.
Thankfully, the school never found out about the heavy stuff like banging hot 18-year old cheerleaders in the girls' locker room. Still, he would have gotten booted out ages ago had it not been for Coach Walker. The old man couldn't have been happier. Lance absolutely dominated practice today. The six-and-a-half-foot juggernaut broke through the defensive line-up on every play and cruised with the ball to the end zone like a speeding locomotive.
Though the teen preferred seducing females to settling scores with the jocks, Leo could deny the satisfaction of kicking their asses on the gridiron. These were the same jerks that pushed him around in junior high. But now the teenage muscle god got to push back. As they entered the locker room, the rest of the team kept their distance from him. Truth be told, Lance intimidated them.
Lance went to his locker and undressed. He waited for all his teammates to enter the shower area. He could hear their usual idiotic banter as they washed up. Lance couldn't hear the conversation but it was literally "locker room talk." They gabbed about Tucker Carlson, pro-wrestling, and keggers. After counting to 50, Lance grabbed his towel and headed into the shower with a smirk.
As soon as he walked in,
the other dudes began to walk out
. They did not say anything but everyone knew the reason. His big swinging dick weirded them out. The jocks could not bear the sight of the notorious organ that had been inside their girlfriends. In all fairness, Lance did not go out of his way to cuck his teammates. It just happened that he liked banging cheerleaders and cheerleaders tend to date football players.
After a long hot shower, Lance sauntered back into the locker room. He did not bother using a towel to cover himself up. The other players continued to look away from him. Just then, his iPhone dinged in a distinct high-frequency tone. Lance received hundreds of text messages a day but this sound was reserved only for fave babes like Morgan or Nicole.
"Be careful," Harley had texted him. "I think someone may be on to us."
Lance should have been scared. But Samson hungered for the sting of battle. He was ready to kick ass.
TEN MINUTES LATER
VROOOOOM!
Lance headed down I-74 at maximum speed. The teen stud was late for his fuckdate with Officer Sanchez. Even though everything seemed chill, he kept checking his rearview mirror. Someone might be following him. Scratch that.
Probably following him.
Nonetheless, he hung a left at the "road closed" sign and sped down the dirt path to his trysting spot. About a quarter-mile into the forest, he caught sight of another bike in his rearview. Then two bikes. Then three. Lance sped up. So did the other bikes. In any case, what difference did it make? He was racing toward a dead end.
Lance skidded to a stop in the clearing. Sanchez wasn't there. Too bad. A cop might have scared them off.
Sooner than later, the bikers arrived. The biggest one must have been Riff-Raff:
6'4", tats, sunglasses. His two flunkies hopped off their hogs. They were fat but looked equally tough.
"So, ummmm," Lance began. "Did I do something wrong?"
He tried to stay cool but his heart was jacked. And that's before Riff-Raff pulled a switchblade out of his leather jacket.
Lance did not have a clear memory of the next 90 seconds. It happened super fast. He seemed to remember kicking the knife out of Riff-Raff's hands. Samson probably did that first because that dude posed the greatest threat. He then landed a solid blow against his jaw. That left Riff-Raff on the ground.
Next, one of the fat-ass flunkies charged at Samson. With a fist clad in brass knuckles, the biker delivered a respectable gut-punch. However, that didn't so much hurt the barbarian as piss him off. With a ferocious yell, he delivered a devastating blow into his ribcage. Lance actually remembered the feeling of the dude's ribs snapping as his fist smashed into them.
Finally, Samson faced off with the second flunkie. For all of 15 seconds. The barbarian nailed him so hard in the solar plexus that the dude flew off his feet and onto his back. Still riled up, Samson grabbed the handlebars of Riff-Raff's bike in either hand and hoisted the entire vehicle off the ground. Even though a Harley weighed 450 pounds, it felt light in his hands. On a whim, he flung it across the clearing. The motorcycle slammed into a tree and shattered into a dozen pieces.
As Lance's bloodlust dissipated, he saw Officer Sanchez' squad car slowly rolling into the clearing. He ran in front of the vehicle to block its approach. Before she saw the carnage, the teenage delinquent had to come up with an explanation. Fast.
The policewoman rolled down her window. "Is everything OK?" she asked.
"Yeah, sure," he lied. "In fact, I think I might have some information about that biker gang."
"The Dragons?"
"I know where you can find that guy Riff-Raff."
"You do?"
"Yeah, he's lying on the ground over there."
Regina got out of the squad car. Lance led her over to where he rumbled with the bikers. All three of his assailants still lay in the dirt, moaning in pain with numerous contusions and fractures. They barely registered the presence of law enforcement on the scene.
"I don't know what you can run these guys in for," he told her. "But they probably are carrying meth or something."
Before Sanchez could ask questions, Lance gave her a quick goodbye smooch, hopped on his bike, and zoomed off.