Slammin' Sammy, Part 1

Here is part 1 of a story that was the second most popular in my March poll, so I decided to include it as well. AND - I'm going to put up a poll for this one to see how you think it should end. I'll post that poll right away and have the ending up next week.

Everybody on campus knew who Sam Bascomb was. He was not only the star of the university’s baseball team, nicknamed Slammin’ Sammy for all the homeruns he could hit, but he was also the best-looking man on campus.

Sam had blonde wavy hair, deeply blue eyes, a square clefted chin, and a smile that you made instantly fall in love. One look and you’d be lost in a daydream. Even better, his face was atop a 6’4” body that would make you fall in lust, with 280 pounds of solid beef that bulged in all the right places. Sam’s arms were huge 22-inch mounds of steel streaked with large sexy veins, and they were attached to a pair of impossibly wide shoulders capped with massive deltoids. Regardless of what shirt he was wearing, one could always see the shape of his gargantuan pecs and perfectly chiseled abs, all of which led down to solidly-built legs and a sizable bulge in the tight shorts he liked to wear throughout the year (thanks to the Florida climate). To cap things off, Sam had enormous hands that could easily palm a basketball, and size 17-inch feet for which he had to get custom-made shoes. He was a walking wet dream, and the subject of many, many fantasies for anyone who laid eyes upon him.

Beyond the size of his body, Sam was gifted in other ways. He could put on muscle very easily – he’d only have to put in about a quarter of the effort of other guys in the gym, but still grew his body bigger and faster. Sometimes even when he missed a few workouts, somehow he managed to get stronger. Sam was a natural on the baseball diamond, where he’d led his team to an unprecedented number of wins during his first three years at school. And in the bedroom, Sam knew what his lovers liked, and he had the stamina to go on and on for hours and hours.

The only thing that Sam wasn’t blessed with an interest in the pursuit of knowledge. He certainly wasn’t dumb, but rather he just didn’t enjoy going to classes and listening to a professor lecture about science, or Spanish, or algebra. His brain just had trouble connecting in that way, and he would get distracted thinking about activities he actually enjoyed, like hanging out with his friends, or playing sports, or hiking out in the sunshine. As a result, he received very low-to-average grades in all his classes, often just high enough to keep his scholarship and keep playing for the baseball team.

But unfortunately, Sam’s lucky streak came to an end during winter quarter of his senior year, just before the start of baseball season. He was taking a European history class focused on the Middle Ages from Dr. Morrow, and he was struggling to stay even the slightest bit focused. Sam found all the people and place names to be confusing, and the events seem jumbled, and he didn’t really care at all about what happened thousands of miles away over a thousand years ago, especially in a class that was scheduled during the late afternoon when so many of his friends had already left campus and were headed for the beach.

Sam was not even close to passing the class after his last test, when he only scored a 27 out of 100, and even the extra credit assignments he’d turned in (written for him by one of his very grateful sex partners) weren’t enough to make a difference. Simply put, he was going to flunk, and that would mean bye-bye baseball during his senior season and a serious dent to his chances of getting drafted in the early round for the pros. So he decided to see if he could use any of his other advantages to help boost up his grade.

“Excuse me, Professor Morrow,” he said after his last class during dead week. “I know I’m not doing very well this quarter, and I was wondering if there was anything I could do to get my grade up a little.”

Professor Morrow figured this request would be coming. He had already sent the preliminary grades to the coaches of the athletes playing spring sports, and out of all of them, only Sam was in danger of getting kicked off his team. And Morrow also knew how important Sam was for not only winning games, but also for fundraising for the team – you put his photo in an email blast to alumni and the money would roll in from every woman and gay man who had ever attended.

“Mr. Bascomb, I wish you had come to me earlier in the quarter. We could have tried some tutoring or extra reading assignments. I’m not sure how I can help you this late, when really the only thing left is the final exam, and you’d need to score at least a 95 to get a passing grade.”

Sam knew it was a longshot, but he had to make the effort. That’s why he’d worn his lucky tank top – the one that fit his torso so perfectly and really showed off his amazing guns – and the gray cotton shorts that made his giant endowment seem unbelievably huge. He smiled to show off his pearly whites, and then began scratching his chest to bring attention to his bouncing pecs. He hoped that Professor Morrow – a smaller man of about 5’4” and maybe 100 pounds soaking wet – had a thing for jocks.

“Please, Dr. Morrow. I’ll do anything to get my grade up in the class. I’ll get down on my knees…and beg, if that’s what it takes.”

He may have been a doctor with numerous advanced degrees, but Dale Morrow was also just a man, and he wasn’t above the normal manly urges. He, too, often dreamt about being with Sam Bascomb, but more than that, he dreamt about being like Sam Bascomb.

“OK, Sam. Let me think about it. Meet me in my office at 6, and we’ll discuss it.”

Sam smiled again and winked. “I’ll definitely come…sir.”

------------------------------------------------------------------

A few hours later, Sam sauntered into Dr. Morrow’s office in Parks Hall and saw his professor sitting at his desk and intently reading a piece of paper that looked very old. “Hey, Dr. Morrow. Is now still a good time?”

Morrow looked up, and waved Sam in. “Yes, it’s perfect. Please shut the door behind you.”

Sam turned back to close the door, and a big grin emerged. He thought for sure he knew what would be coming next. “I’m just impossible to resist,” he thought. Then he turned back to toward the professor and took a seat on the opposite side of the desk.

“Look, Sam. I could use your help with something. It’s bit experimental, but if you agree, I’ll change your grade so you get an A from my class for the quarter.”

“Experimental?” Sam asked. It was not a word he was expecting.

“Yes. Um, let’s see. Where to begin?” replied Morrow. “OK, When I’m not teaching during the summers, I often spend time in Europe helping out with various expeditions. Basically I get paid to work with other professors and archaeologists to help uncover historical mysteries.”

“Sort of like Indiana Jones?”

Morrow nodded. “Yes, but with less danger. We go to some of the important sites, learn what we can, and see if we can fill in any missing gaps. It’s like helping to find the remaining pieces in a jigsaw puzzle. Anyway, on these trips I also like to visit old book shops to see if I can find any texts that might help with these expeditions, and last summer I came across one very odd book in Germany. I thought it was full of poetry from the 1500s, but it turned out to be a series of stories about a man who would steal physical characteristics from others. He was sort of like a shapeshifter who could change his appearance based on what he took, and the lessons he learned along the way. And in the back of the book was this very old piece of paper, which appears to have spell on it...if I translated it correctly. This spell allows you to do exactly what the man in the book did – take physical characteristics from another.”

Sam was very confused at this point. “Um, what does this all have to do with me and my grade?”

“I’d like to try out this spell on you, Sam. I’d like to take just one inch of your height and 10 pounds of your muscle. You’ve got so much that I bet you’d hardly miss it, but it would make a huge difference for me. And even if it doesn’t work, I’ll still give you that A.”

“What makes you think it will work, Dr. Morrow? You know it sounds a little crazy, right?”

“I honestly don’t, Sam. But look – I have tried everything else in the universe to get bigger. Pills and potions and pumps, you name it. But I’ve always been a small man, and I hate it. I really *fucking* hate it. I’ve been called a wimp and a wuss my whole life, and it’s true. I can barely lift anything over 5 pounds. I shop in the boys’ section for clothes. My biceps are only 10 inches around when flexed. I want to get just a little bit bigger, and I’m willing to give this a shot. If it doesn’t work, well, you’ll still go on to play baseball and you’ll probably be a big star in the major leagues. And if it does work, you’ll be a smidge smaller but will probably add that muscle back in no time, am I right? I heard you saying that to some of the other class members the other day when you were leaving.”

Sam nodded. “I do put muscle on fast. Sometimes without even trying.”

Morrow ignored the comment, as it would only make him mad if he thought about it too much. “So what do you say…you willing to risk hardly anything to stay on the team?”

Sam nodded again. “Why the fuck not, Doc? As long as you promise not to take more than you said.”

“I promise, Sam.”

“Are we doing it here and now?” asked the muscular college student.

“Yes, Sam. Here and now,” replied Morrow. And he began to recite the spell.