When Lance Dropped His V-Card

NOTE: For those of you joining us for the first time, this story is a vignette from Rubirosa's series "C*ck Star." The chronicle focuses upon the private life of a public figure.

As the most accomplished porn star of modern times, Samson lives out popular male sex fantasies on a daily basis. This story focuses on our hero's early adventures when he was just an everyday high school gigolo and championship bodybuilder by the name of 'Lance Leo.'

Lance has just turned 18. Like many students at Peoria Tech, he desperately wants to get laid. This is his story.

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 until 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. The more the merrier...

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 which allowed him to 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 a 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 was coming back from a long business trip this week so Lance decided today would be as good a day as any 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.

"Lance, is that you?" Jimbo finally asked.

It was a reasonable question. The teen had changed a bit since the last time they saw him. He now hulked over his peers at a height of six-and-a-half feet, built out of hard, chiseled muscle. Just as notably, his voice had dropped three octaves, his acne cleared up, and his unruly mop of hair had grown into a long, luxuriant mane of obsidian curls that hung to the small of his back. In short, he resembled a barbarian warlord that could have doubled as the frontman of a heavy metal band.

"Uh, you been working out or something?" asked Bones.

"A little," Lance began before pausing. He didn't want to explain himself too much. His friends would never believe what really happened. So he stuck to what a doctor told him a few days ago. In light of his unusual growth spurt, his father sent him to a specialist for an examination. Repeating the official diagnosis seemed half-plausible.

"You see," he continued. "The doctor said I have a genetic condition."

"You mean like DNA?" asked Ross. He had a few extra IQ points on the rest of the group and even got a B- in biology.

"Yeah, I guess so. Anyway, I've got this thing called 'myostatin-related muscle hypertrophy.'"

"What kind of trophy?" inquired Bones. "You mean like the Heisman?"

"Nah. It just means my muscles grow larger than normal. Let me show you."

The teen flexed a bicep and an intimidating boulder of muscle exploded from beneath the skin. His pals looked at their friend strangely but not in a bad way. Rather, they seemed a bit in awe of him. Lance knew, without a doubt, he was becoming bigger, stronger, and faster than any teen on the planet. However, he did not anticipate how others might react to his transformation.

The school bell rang.

"See you after class?" asked Jimbo.

"Maybe," Lance told him. "If I'm not banging a chick by then."

The stoners laughed but a little uncomfortably. They sensed Lance meant what he said this time.

AN HOUR LATER

Lance cruised the hallway between periods, trying to pick which girl to give up his virginity to. He saw so many foxes that his head spun with possibilities: tall or short, buxom or waifish, brunette or blonde. The teen reckoned there might be eighty to ninety seniors he'd like to nail. Lance planned to seduce all of him sooner or later but the first had to be special.

Horny and distracted, he walked right into Angela Cummings, bumping a stack of folders and textbooks out of her hands.

"Oops," Lance apologized, kneeling down to pick them up for her. He then stood back up to his full height, more than a head taller than the 18-year old blonde. She stared up at him.

"Who are you?" she asked with genuine curiosity.

"Lance. Lance Leo."

"Did you just transfer here?"

"Naw. I've been here since Freshman Year."

"No, you haven't. I would have noticed you by now."

"What makes you say that?"

Angela didn't answer. The chick just flashed a coy smile and bit her lip. Lance knew right away that he wanted her to pop his cherry. She was the tallest, hottest, and sluttiest babe at Peoria Tech. Just his type. More importantly, she exuded self-assurance. Some of the mean girls called her "trashy" but he knew better. The banging-hot senior simply knew what she wanted and did not hesitate to take it.

"So you play varsity football here?"

"Nope?"

"Wrestling?"

"I'm into more enjoyable contact sports," he smiled with obvious innuendo.

"Why does that not surprise me?" she grinned back.

The school bell rang for 2nd period.

"Give me your phone number," Angela told him. Notably, she asked for his number. He assumed the dude usually had to make that request.

Lance handed her his smartphone. She sent herself a text from his phone.

"See you around," she winked before walking away.

45 MINUTES LATER

Lance had paid close attention to his algebra teacher for almost the entire period. Not to her lecture of course. Rather, he avidly followed the sway of Tina Nelson's ass while the MILF-y math babe marked up the whiteboard with an indecipherable equation.

Suddenly, he felt something vibrate in his pocket. Lance pulled out his smartphone. It took less than an hour for Angela to make a move:

"Wanna hang?" she texted.

"When?" he wrote back.

"10pm. U Know Grandview Lookout?"

"I'll try to fit you in my schedule. LOL.."

"Don't be late. I drive a red BMW."

Historically known as the "Pleasure Driveway," Grandview Lookout was Peoria's answer to Lover's Lane. The secluded spot afforded a majestic view of the Illinois River and plenty of privacy for mischief. Though he didn't need further enticement, Angela then sent an Insta-steamy photo of herself in lingerie.

A jolt of pleasure thundered between his thighs. His heart pounded in his ears. The horny teen had been popping woodies for years but his dick had grown a bit in the past few weeks. Actually, it had grown a lot, so much that the organ threatened to bust through the seams of his blue jeans. Unfortunately, Ms. Nelson chose just this moment to call on him.

"So what is the function of 'x' when assigned to the square root of pi?"

"Huh?"

Lance sat in the back row to avoid attention. However, every eye in the room now turned in his direction.

"Pi? I guess it depends on the sort of pie in the equation."

"May you enlighten us then?"

"Well, I like cherry pie myself. Are you a pumpkin pie kind of gal?"

Before his birthday, Lance probably wouldn't have talked back to a teacher. He didn't need another detention. However, the words just seemed to fly out of his mouth. The class stifled a giggle. They seemed amused by his wisecrack but also a little shocked. It took balls to say something like that.

Just then, the bell rang. After some perfunctory remarks about their homework assignment, Ms. Nelson dismissed the class. Predictably, she ordered Lance to stay behind. Actually, he couldn't leave, not without everyone seeing the massive erection that tented his jeans.

In a flash, Ms. Nelson closed in on Lance who remained seated in a flimsy plastic desk that barely accommodated his massive frame.

"Get up," she ordered him.

"Are you sure?" he asked her.

"Don't fuck with me," she hissed in an ominous whisper. Lance never saw a teacher that angry before. She looked ready to slap him if he did not comply. So the teen rose from his desk.

As soon as he stood up, the balance of power shifted dramatically. Lance towered over Ms. Nelson by nearly a foot. She probably hadn't expected that. During class, the teacher probably did not pay much attention to some random student all the way in the back of the room. Nor had she noticed the supersized physique that his XXL tank top struggled to contain, the fabric molding itself to his enormous pecs and eight-pack abs.

Neither of them spoke. The unexpected sexual tension seemed to catch both student and teacher by surprise. Since his transformation, Lance had a premonition something like this could happen. However, he had not anticipated a female would succumb to his charms so urgently and easily. Truth be told, his new power excited him. Instead of deflating in her presence, his erection grew even bigger and harder.

Ms. Nelson took a step back as if to behold him in all his magnificence. Lance responded by taking a step forward. Both of them knew the teen now had the upper hand. They were so close that he could have kissed her.

"I'm sorry for disrupting your class, Tina," he apologized in a low seductive voice. "You see, I just turned 18 and this is a difficult time for me. My body is undergoing a lot of changes right now and I'm experiencing certain desires that complicate my relations with women. And, because of that, I can't focus on math sometimes."