The Boxer

A friend of mine was putting together a collection of stories about sports and asked me to write about an archetype. I had a framed magazine cover featuring boxer Rocky Graziano on my office wall at the time, so I decided to write about a fighter. The story is like I imagine an encounter with such a man would be like—short, rough, and no-holds-barred.

The man I want is a fighter. Dark and brooding, he spends his nights in the sweat-soaked air of a downtown gym surrounded by other muscular, half-naked men, all of them working out their aggressions on punching bags and each other. No air-conditioned health club could ever hold my man; he prefers the run-down cement walls and musky air of a real boxing hall, where old men stand and smoke cigars in the corner while they search for the next great brawler.

When I arrive, he is in the corner, his fists beating the soft sides of the heavy bag that hangs from the ceiling by a thick chain. His big hands are wrapped tightly with tape that twists around his wrists and forms a ribbon of white across the thick hair of his forearms. He is wearing white shorts as well, and his chest is bare. He is a big man, well over six feet tall, and his body has been hardened by years of hard physical labor. He is a man of the streets, untamed and fearless, and watching him work out makes me want him more than ever.

I stand in the shadows of the doorway and watch him moving around the bag, pummeling it while his trainer shouts instructions at him. His face is set, his dark eyes intense. He has been working out for some time, and his muscled body is dripping in sweat. His short black hair falls over his eyes in wet strands, and his unshaven jaw is shadowed with the stubble of a beard. The thick swirls of hair on his chest are wet with the streams of sweat that run down his sides, and the trail of hair on his belly shines with tiny drops.

I have wanted him for a long time but have been afraid to even speak to him. Whenever we pass in the hallway, I hold my breath as his skin brushes against mine, feeling the heat of him pulse though me where our bodies have touched. I have longed to see him naked, but I fear that he will sense my lust at seeing his unclothed body and be angered by it. Whenever I see him come into the showers, his thick cock swinging between his legs, I leave quickly and go home to jerk off thinking about servicing him.

But tonight is different. It is summer and very hot. The air is thick with the threat of rain, and I need to feel another man’s hands on my body, his lips against mine. After too many nights spent lying in my bed and fantasizing about him, I have come to the gym to meet my fighter, to tell him what I need from him, to give him what he will take from me. I know I am taking a chance, but I can’t wait any longer.

He finishes with the bag and does a quick series of push-ups on the dirty gym floor, the heavy muscles in his arms bunching and releasing as he presses his body down and up again. When he is done, his trainer laces a pair of gloves onto his hands. Then he places a mouth guard between the big man’s lips and sends him into the ring to face his sparring partner, a large black man in red-and-blue trunks.

They knock their gloves together to signal the start of the fight and then begin to circle one another. My man has his head down and his fists at the ready, waiting for a break in his opponent’s guard. The black man throws several jabs at his chest, but my lover easily dodges them, leaving the man’s fist to poke at the empty air. He moves like a great dark animal circling its prey, and he is beautiful to watch.

Then his break comes, and he lands a quick right to the other’s jaw, sending him reeling back in several unsure steps. The black man pauses for a moment, shaking his head. He is angry, and he rushes like a bull at the man I am waiting for. They come together, their fists landing randomly against one another’s bodies in a hail of punches that ends with them wrapped in each other’s arms. They stay entwined for a moment, breathing heavily, until the trainer pulls them apart. I watch them and think about holding him that way until my cock is so hard I think it will shatter if I touch it.

They fight for several more rounds until they are both exhausted and the sweat pours off their bodies, every punch that connects with flesh sending a shower of wetness across the canvas of the ring. My lover’s trunks are soaked, clinging to his thick hairy thighs. I want to pull them from him and suck the wetness from his prick, to taste his bitterness on my tongue while his fingers entwine themselves in my hair.

The battle ends when the dark man goes down, the casualty of my fighter’s instincts. He has landed a solid blow to the other man’s face, and there is blood on the floor of the ring, blood that runs from the fallen man’s nose and across his open lips. My lover stands over his prostrate body triumphantly, his gloved hands at the ready in case he should somehow rise again. When he realizes that it is over, he returns to his corner, where his trainer gives him a drink of water and unlaces his gloves.

I wait inside the locker room for him, watching him come closer to me as he walks across the gym floor. I am wearing nothing but a towel around my waist, as though I am just about to enter the showers, and I know that my hardened cock is visible. My heart beats harder and harder inside my chest as he nears, and several times I think about running away. But my desire for him is too strong now, and I can’t go back. When he enters the room, I keep my eyes on his face. When he looks back at me, then down at my prick, I force myself not to turn my eyes away. He moves across the room toward me, and I feel my body start to tremble as he nears.

Before I can think, it has begun, just as it does in my dreams. Without a word his hands, still taped, come up and slip behind my neck, pulling me into his body. I feel his strong fingers gripping me tightly as his mouth covers mine. His tongue pushes roughly between my lips and he is kissing me. I put my hands on his broad back and feel the mingled sweat and heat on his skin as I run my fingers over the tight muscles of his shoulders and down his spine to the space just above his ass.

The smell of him fills my head and makes me dizzy with lust. I want to melt into his body, to be consumed by him here in this place that is so much a part of him, so filled with his presence. I run my tongue along the muscles of his neck, licking up his sweat and feeling the roughness of his beard on my lips. The rasping of the hair on his torso against my body is electric. His hands go down to my towel and strip it from me, leaving me naked in his arms. My hard-on presses against the wet silk of his boxing shorts, and I can feel that his cock is stiffening as well.

His hands go to my shoulders and push me down to my knees. I kneel before him, looking up at his handsome face from between his legs. His dark eyes bore into me and command me to do what he wills. Reaching up, I grab the waistband of his shorts and pull them down his legs. He lifts his feet and I pull the trunks off completely. The material is soft and wet in my hands, and I bury my face in it, breathing in his scent and licking at the sweat-soaked cloth.

He is wearing a jockstrap, and his swollen cock pushes against the pouch. Leaning forward, I cover the barely covered tip with my mouth, sucking on it through the mesh. My hands wrap around his thick calves and slide up his legs to feel the full mounds of his hairy ass while I run my mouth over the length of his big tool, soaking the jock with my spit. When I can’t wait another second, I slip my fingers under the narrow straps that cross his ass cheeks and pull the jock down, freeing his engorged piece.

Fully hard, he is even bigger than I imagined. Long and rigid as steel, the shaft is smooth and straight, the cut head round and perfectly halved down the center. His ballsac is heavy and covered in hair, the twin eggs hanging down between his thighs while his cock points out at me waiting for my lips. I lean forward and slide him into my throat, so hungry for him I take his whole length in one smooth movement until his thick bush is pressed against my lips.

My fighter wastes no time. He fucks my mouth in long, fierce strokes, his balls banging against my chin while he delivers blow after blow. My lips slide along his thick shaft lovingly as he shoves in and out of my mouth, and I lick up the drops of precum that ooze from his burning piss slit like they are water that will cool my burning throat. But nothing quenches my need for this man. I want more and more of him and could suck his cock forever. I savor every inch of his stud pole as he thrusts in and out of me.

I can tell my lover is going to come by the way his fingers clench in my hair and move my head more quickly along his shaft. I want to taste him roaring down my throat, to feel his cum pour into me. But he pulls out suddenly and uses his hand to bring himself off. After only a few jerks from his big paw, the first blast rockets from his prick and slams into my face, covering my mouth with a sticky smear of heat. More follow, coating my cheeks and nose in his spunk, and I lick it up greedily. I open my mouth and he shoots inside it, covering my tongue with his juice.

The taste of him fills me with new desire. I want to be taken by him, invaded by him. When I see that his cock is still hard, I know that he wants it, too. I lie back on the floor and spread my legs for him. He kneels, spreading me with his hands as he pushes between my thighs. My legs slip over his shoulders, and I feel him pressed against my ass. My cock is hard against my belly, and he grips it in his fist. The tape that is wrapped around his fingers scratches against my sensitive head as he milks a stream of precum from it, but the feeling only heightens my yearning.

He takes his fingers and finds my waiting asshole. Using my own precum, he slicks my tight opening and pushes a finger inside me, making my prick jump and drawing soft moans from my lips. He fingers me slowly, opening the way for his dick. When he feels that I am loosened, he removes his hand and replaces it with the tip of his big piece. He leans forward and drives himself into my ass.

I cry out as he fills me, the thickness of his tool stretching me out cruelly. I love the way he feels, the way his head plunges into my depths and opens me up. He is being driven solely by his need to empty himself in me, and he thrusts quickly and savagely, the way he fights his opponents in the ring. His hands grip my legs tightly as he fucks my willing ass, and his eyes look at me teasingly. He knows that I would do anything for him, and that makes him fuck me even harder.

While he plows me, I jerk my cock, which has become sore and aching from holding back my load for so long. My movements match his, and soon we are moving in perfect rhythm with one another, my hand stroking up as he enters me and pressing down into my balls as he leaves. It’s not long before we’re both ready to come.

I wait for him to begin shooting inside my hole before I permit myself release. When I feel the first blast of him splatter my walls, I let go, my whole body shaking as stream after stream spurts from my overworked dick and covers my chest in ropes of heavy cream. We come together in long, agonizing shudders until we are both spent.

After he pulls out, we go into the showers, where we wash one another under the hot water, using soapy hands to bring our cocks back to life. Then my bruiser needs another round in my ring before he’s satisfied.