Private Boxing
Match Story
I heard a solid knock on my front door. I caught my breath. Boxing was a passion
with me. Also a fetish. Boxers wearing boxing gloves always gave me a severe
hard-on. I'd taken some boxing lessons in college and boxed occasionally with
some buddies. But I never took it seriously. Until a month ago, that is, when I
joined a newly-opened boxing gym that taught boxing and provided a training
facility for amateur and professional fighters. I was happy to see that several
of the trainers were pretty hunky and I even took some private boxing lessons
just so I could be alone with some of them. After a month of classes, I was
beginning to feel like a fighter.
I was looking for a challenge. Maybe one of the other fighters? Or maybe one of
the trainers? I didn't know what to do. But fate intervened. I made up my mind
fast when James, the hunkiest trainer of all, had posted a notice on the
bulletin board in the locker room saying he was "an ex-professional prizefighter
now available for light to heavy sparring matches with gloves."
I'd always fantasized about really competing against a professional fighter with
the gloves on. And now I had a chance to live that dream.
I phoned James early in the day and he said he remembered me from the gym. He
said he'd spar with me at the gym but I told him I had doubts about staying with
the gym and that I was intimidated being around the other fighters. I thought a
private boxing match with him would help me get my nerve back. He laughed and
said he understood. He'd be over at 2pm.
When I answered the door, I found myself face to face with the manliest looking
man I could ever hope to meet dressed in tight sexy gym attire. This was my
first time to really get a good look at James up close and personal. This guy
was a total hunk. His muscles even had muscles and a patch of black chest hair
could be seen sprouting above the neck of his tight bulging tee-shirt. James
extended his hand and we exchanged greetings. His crushing handshake shook me.
He exuded an aura of strength, confidence, and obvious self-discipline.
James came in and I led him to the back of the house to a walled-in patio, which
I used as a gym. Besides the weights and bench press there was plenty of room
for us to box in. James liked the setup. He tossed his gym bag on the floor,
then pulled off his tight tee-shirt from his massive hairy torso and tossed it
on the floor. He was wearing a tight pair of black spandex bicycle shorts. I
guessed he was about 30 years old, standing 5' 10", weighing one-ninety-five.
There wasn't an ounce of fat on him. His large pecs were well-defined and his
abs were thick and cut, bulging through his chest hair. His arms were at least
20", nicely shaped. On his right bicep he sported a tattoo in the shape of a
pair of boxing gloves. Nice touch! His legs were like tree trunks, well
developed and very hairy. His body was tanned deep brown. James was a fine
specimen of a man.
James asked, "Frank, Do you use headgear?"
"No," I said, "but you can."
James shook his head and dropped his back in the gym bag. He saw me fumbling
with my handwraps and came over and took them from me. He began to help wrap my
hands. My heart was nearly thudding out of my chest as I studied him up close.
He smelled like the soap Irish Spring. I loved that smell. His short black hair
was tossled. Sexy as hell. His squared jaw was already showing signs of a five
o'clock shadow. I watched the muscles in his arms as he wound the cloth around
my hands. The way they danced under his skin, I could tell he was no stranger to
weights. After he finished me, he did himself. He then flexed his hands, his
bare knuckles protruding through the cloth like spikes. He spoke a little about
the pro fights he fought. He won almost all of them by knockout.
We spent the next ten minutes stretching and warming up in silence. I heard
James' deep manly grunts and groans as he stretched himself into shape. My
biggest problem while watching James workout was trying to keep my growing
hardon from being visible through my black shorts. Fortunately it wasn't.
Soon we began to lace up the gloves. James was wearing 12 oz. red Everlast. I
wore my trusty Tuf-Wear black leather 12 oz. gloves. The smell of the leather in
the room was exhilerating.
Finally, we were ready to box. I felt great with the gloves on. James looked
even better with his gloves on. As he handed me a mouthpiece, he went over the
rules. We would box three-minute rounds with one minute breaks. We gauged rounds
by the wall clock. At the right time we approached each other prepared to do
battle. I was dizzy with excitement as I watched James with his red leather
gloves raised and ready. "Ding!" The match was on.
I flicked a couple of jabs at him which he batted down with his gloves. He
responded with a few jabs that fell short. I threw a roundhouse right at the
side of his head which he ducked. When he straightened back up, he touched his
chin with his glove. He was cute as hell.
I was lost in admiration until his glove jabbed me smack on the chin. I was
shaken. My chin hurt like hell but I couldn't let it stop me. He danced around
me showing off his fancy foot work. "C'mon, Frank, let's pound some leather,"
James said waving his gloves at me. I shook my head to clear the cobwebs. I
advanced on him determined to score. I threw a hard right which he bobbed to
avoid. He countered, and popped me with a right.
I threw another roundhouse right. But this time, he blocked my arm with his left
and hit me with another right. My head snapped back and I saw the ceiling. As my
head came back down, James had moved a step closer and smashed an uppercut into
my jaw.
Fortunately it was the end of the round. We broke and rested. He was whipping my
ass and I had to stop it.
After a minute, it was time for the next round. I told James he wasn't going to
win this round. James shrugged his muscular shoulders and assumed the fight
stance. I stepped forward and threw a hard straight right. James stepped back
and let it fall short. I immediately countered with a straight left and then a
right hand. James weaved by the left and ducked past the right. When I recovered
my balance, I lost him. When I turned around a flying glove pounded me on the
side of the jaw. I saw stars.
The match wasn't going as I had planned. I lost my temper. "Damnit, man, I
haven't even hit you yet!"
"This is boxing, Frank. I'm not supposed to let you hit me."
James could tell I was disappointed. As I looked up at him through a swelling
eye I think it suddenly dawned on him and he realized I had more in mind than a
simple boxing match.
James came to me and patted me on the shoulder with his glove. "Frank, I'll tell
you what. If you want to hit me, I'll let you."
"You will?"
"We can both stand here and trade shots until one of us drops. No ducking, no
evading punches. That includes body shots and punches to the face. In fact, I
kind of find it erotic. And the best part is, you get to go first. What do you
say?"
The thought of landing a few solid shots to his washboard gut sounded good to me
right now, so we lined up face to face. Gathering all of my strength, I rammed
my fist into the center of his stomach as if I was hitting a heavy bag. He
grunted and was knocked back a step.
"Not bad," he said. "Now it's my turn."
His right glove blurred as he whipped it into my left side just under my ribs.
There was a sharp pain in my kidneys. I stifled a cry and clutched my side.
"Your turn," he said, placing his arms behind his head and scrunching his
bulging stomach muscles.
I took a deep breath and fired off five rapid-fire punches to his solar plexus.
He barely moved this time as his body absorbed my best shots. And the tell-tale
bulge in his pants was undeniably erotic. James was getting one hell of a
hard-on.
He hit me again in the left side. I staggered like a drunk. The pain was severe.
James smiled at me, "Have you had enough, Frank?"
"No." I came back with a straight jab to his chin and I'm sure I caught him
unprepared. His head snapped back and he staggered back. He massaged his chin
with his glove. He then countered with a solid uppercut. I'd anticipated it and
prepared myself for the punch. My head rattled afterwards.
I told James he was the toughest guy I'd ever met. He was truly a fantasy come
true for me. James said he could take any kind of punishment any guy could dish
out. I believed it. But I thought I still had one last chance to beat him.
I approached him and punched him directly in the abs. He took my punch and then
punched his right glove into my chest. The force stunned me but I continued to
batter his abs. I threw continuous rights and lefts. After a dozen hard punches
I lost count.
I watched James absorb each punch. He was enjoying it. I could tell. He wasn't
trying to counter with any punches back. James stood there and took all the
shots I threw at him. And that bulge in his pants grew even more.
So I zeroed in on his pride and joy -- the family jewels. I packed three hard
shots into his balls. It was unexpected and that got several moans and groans
from him, but he still stood there and took his medicine. This guy was hot!
I followed with a couple of shots to his chin, then his bulging hairy pecs, and
back down to his armored abs. His washboard abs were getting softer and softer
as I continued to pound them, breaking them down. Soon James had no more fight
left in him. He finally dropped down on his knees and looked up at me and tried
to speak, but there were no words.
I couldn't stop myself. I finished him with a left uppercut to the chin and a
roundhouse right to the head. That knocked him flat on his back. He was out! The
match was finished.
I reached down and patted his face with my glove. He came to and opened his
eyes. He was still winded. As he got to his feet he thanked me for giving him
one of the best matches he's ever had. I told him it was my pleasure and that I
knew we'd probably have other matches in the near future.
James agreed. I was too full of my victory to see his left glove coming. It
blasted in my face and was quickly followed with a hard right and then another
eye-splitting left. All I knew was hurt.
And that's when the lights went out.