Celtic_Tiger's blog

The incident took places about a year and several months after the Tuf-Man Contest I participated in. Prior to that contest I was sparring twice a week and doing a lot of bag work. Jumping rope and doing some jogging. Gene, the guy I was training with changed his work schedule to overnight, so he and I stopped training together. It was maybe 3 months after that, that I stopped too. Partially it was the loss of confidence after losing the second match so badly. A week or so passed and my face still had the damage from both fights and the black eye from the loss. My pride and ego were both damaged as well and so boxing became a bit less appealing. However, even when you stop and try to move on you eventually return.

Where I lived in North Carolina there were no gyms, no local scene at all. I still placed a craigslist ad for sparring and boxing. Months passed and nothing came of it, so I went back online and started chatting over AOL and on Vangar again.  There were a lot of guys on there into boxing back then. Long before the site became more about wrestler's and phony gay “fighters”. I was back using it maybe two months before getting a message one day from the name “ArmyboxingSC”. He told me that he hadn't seen any other guys into boxing who were within travel distance to where he lived on there before who were legit.  Like myself, he returned to the chat room after a long absence, and he introduced himself as Dan Morse.

    We talked about boxing for a week before he asked if I would be interested in a trip down to the Spartanburg area (northern part of the state) to do some sparring. Still mostly green about online interaction and how much information to share or what to expect when meeting a new person; I agreed.  The fact that he couldn't send a self-photo annoyed me.  Most of the guys I talked with would send me self-photos in gear and block out their faces.  first. I asked if we could chat phone wise about setting up a sparring match and he said he had to do so from work as his home set up had no long-distance plan. These details at the time seemed plausible to me and after many months of no boxing action and with no one knowing about my Tuf-Man defeat, I was able to entertain a return to the sport if only private.

We had a couple more conversations over the Vangar chat box before I planned the Sunday trip down to Chester, South Carolina to meet and box him. We chatted about gear we liked, places we liked to box and that was when he mentioned having a spot outdoors. He told me to forget about bringing my gloves as he had two pairs of nice navy blue 12-ounce gloves we could use. I asked if he was into “stakes” but he quickly replied that he was straight and not into guys, just the fighting. I replied that I wasn't on the site looking for sex just to box but that I was homosexual. He told me he didn't care about that only that I was legit about putting on the gloves and going a couple of solid rounds. We set the weekend for the match and the trip down from where I lived at the time in Troutman, North Carolina was about an hour and twenty minutes so close enough to plan future action. If I could have seen the future though I wouldn’t of gone at all.

    I was excited to meet a pretty macho guy on the site that was reachable by car. He was 37 so a good decade older than me but he sounded like a confident and easy-going type of guy. He asked if we keep things at one pace as he was out of practice and kept in shape but not through boxing training. I still didn't know what he looked like exactly other than a vague description. He was 6' foot 2 inches tall, about 190 lbs lean build, farmer's tan and would be wearing dark green shorts and a green baseball hat with the American flag on it to spot him. It was close to noon when I got to the street where he lived. It was a dead end in a development and the place he described to me was a white one level house with a big tree out front with a white canvas heavy bag with a red and blue stripe circling the center.  Parking my car near the end of the street was then that I noticed a small lot and a house that was clearly  not lived in from its disrepair. I assumed his house was the white one across the street Getting out, I took my bag with me as I walked back down to his place. I was wearing shorts and a muscle shirt, and my build was that of the 178 lbs. guy who was mostly lean without extra muscle, so he was a little bit lighter than him. I've boxed 134 lbs. to 267 lbs. in the past though. Controlled boxing always compensates for the difference.

I was just walking past the heavy bag out front when he came out from behind the house. He was as he described himself and was shirtless so I could see his build clearly. Lean but his  arms had some thickness to them and a thick mustache well groomed. He had an Army Ranger tattoo on his upper left pectoral, and his hair was short but tucked under a backward green baseball cap with an American flag on the front as he described.

    We shook hands and he looked me over but like he was sizing me up. He asked what my background was, back then I had no clue that I was half Irish, so I said Scottish and Norwegian. He was Welsh and German. I could see all those traits in his skin tone and face for sure. A handsome guy who had aged slightly roughly, maybe a drinker, was my first impression or maybe his time in the service. His handshake was strong, and hand strength can really dictate a lot about a guy’s upper body strength. In comparison to him, I was not as strong (or I thought that of myself) but he came off as a super rusty guy who if push came to shove, might not last long. Still, I was a glorified brawler not a boxer who had proper training. We chatted for about a half hour but he never invited me to go inside. He asked about my experience and so I told him about the Tuf-Man. He grinned and wanted to hear all the details. He had a buddy who did one in SC many years earlier and was quickly knocked out in round one and embarrassed in his first match. I admitted the second match was when that had happened to me. Dan liked hearing about both fights and then he told me about the lot area down the street being the spot we would be boxing at.

    His property had too much loose dirt and too much dust would kick up during a spar there. Having boxed in a public park many years earlier, I could attest to that being a problem. It happened a couple of times when I was boxing several of the guys who showed up, dust got in my eyes, and they stung as they tagged my face at will and it was a disorienting experience for me anyhow. He took a black duffle bag from behind the nearby tree, and we walked down to into the lot there. Dan told me he didn't like neighbors gawking at him while he sparred. I could understand that. Still the hardest thing for me was when I first came out for the first bout in the contest and looked at all the people staring back. I focused on the good-looking guys lol. Still recall this hunky guy in a low-cut white tank top near ringside clapping and yelling “Go get Him Bubba” at my opponent.

    We walked into the lot, and I had a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. Assuming it was pre-boxing nerves and kept going. When we got to the back of the house was when I spotted the three stacks of car tires set up diagonal from each other about 20 feet or so. They were stacked about 6 feet high. There was a red flag pinned to one and a blue flag to the other. Like “corner” indicators. He saw the expression on my face and told me that the tires had been there for a long time so the idea of making them into corner markers was his buddy Jake's, the same guy who had did the contest. They boxed here a few times a summer. It made sense to me. Leaning against the back of the house were two folding stools, the nylon kind and two white clam buckets. They would complete each corner. Dan said he would love to stick up ropes around the tires and make a proper ring like setting but hadn't gotten around to it. He proceeded to take out the two pairs of worn blue gloves. The brand tags had been removed though.  They had become slightly faded about the punching area from use or time, maybe sun damage too. They looked old for sure. I took out my hand-wraps from my bag, and he gave me a strange look. I told him that I never boxed without them, it is too easy to break a fine bone in your finger or hands. He asked if I could lend him a set and I did. Showed him how to apply them and fixed his up before I got my own pair on. He moved the folding stools to sit beside the tires for round breaks and put two small buckets beside them to spit.

     Taking a good look now at him and our size difference, I was for sure the smaller of the two of us. He was a good 5 inches taller, and his arm reach was easily 2-3 inches longer. My chest and shoulders weren't as thick or developed. I couldn't tell from his face whether he had a good chin or not. Some guys have strong jaws that are easy to spot. Dan had a small flat nose, slightly rounded face with dark brown almost black eyes and that worn look about his jowls. He got his own pair of gloves on and went over to the tires with the blue flag. I asked what our pace was going to be for the first round. He ejected his guard into his right glove and seemed a bit annoyed that I waited to ask. “Just going to feel it out bubba, see what's up with our skill difference. Try to keep from knocking me out ok” he chuckled. It felt more like a mocking laugh than a jovial one that I didn’t notice till looking back. Still, boxing makes guys nervous, and they can act strangely pre-fight, have seen it before. I put my own guard in my mouth and secured the gloves on my hands. He moved to the center area, and I met him there to touch gloves. Again, I couldn't help but compare his torso to mine. I looked like a kid about to box his dad or something. We had no timer at all, so it was just going till we stopped.

   The small battery powered timer he had set up on top of his stack of tires sounded and he smacked the top of my gloves hard and pulled his hands back in defense, and round one was on. Right away his guard was very wide, improperly placed hand wise in comparison to my tight guard, gloves near my cheeks and turned out. He leaned and slammed his right glove into my chest with a straight punch. I tagged him right back, catching his face flush with my left jab. Stepping in to go for either his chest or stomach he threw a wide left hook, and it caught me partially on the side of my head and ear area. It stung without headgear and lighter gloves. I nodded as if to indicate that was fine power wise and I went in after him to catch him a few times to the body as he back peddled and faltered his guard. Getting close enough to get him to the jaw cost me though because his reach allowed him to catch me to the face first and he drove jab to the bridge of my nose. Another stinger. Still, he had the moves and behavior of a guy who was new and just going on instinct. Having recent training, or more recent than him I was able to guard my way inside and tag him to the stomach and the  chest just missing his solar plexus. We started to move a bit faster. Twice I got him close to hitting the side of the house or the tires. Driving him around the area as he avoided taking punches. Several of his long-armed shots peppered my face accurately about mid round and the first of four major body shots of the bout connected then. It pushed the air out of my lungs and widened my eyes. He had taken a sidestep before delivering the uppercut to the pit of my stomach. Tapping his gloves together in a showing manner he taunted me a bit. It was a well delivered punch for sure. He got me to the face a couple of times while I recovered.

  One of the shots hit my right eye and I felt the hard edge of his knuckle right through the glove. A few stars flew across my field of vision. Just as he was coming inside to hit me again, I planted my right hook evenly to the side of his jaw and he stopped midstride. The punch clearly caught him flat-footed, and he was a bit dazed. I drove my left hook into his ribs next and he parted his lips bearing his mouthguard in response. He just got his gloves covering his face before my third shot connected, a right cross that hit his gloves and was blocked but tensed him up. He lashed out and struck my right eye flush with a cross of his own. This time the eye socket was impacted by the shot which was clearly too hard, thrown out of either desperation or planning. Dan was starting to take too many punches and he wanted me gone. I landed a few more shots to his chest and stomach and the timer stopped the action by going off. Walking to his corner he spit his guard into the bucket. “You landed some good shots that round, thinking that one was yours bubba.” I did the same with my guard and drank some water. “Nice one Dan, you caught me with a couple of great hits to the right eye there.” He raised a glove as if to acknowledge this and sat on his stool.

   We didn't set up a time limit for breaks, he looked a little winded, so it was probably two minutes before we got set up again the second round began. Being cursed with eyes that easily get swelled, my right one had a small lump I could feel under it as we met in the center again to tap gloves, and he was staring at it. I didn't feel or notice.

    Judging from how he held his hands during the first round, it was clear that Dan had no formal training, but he was a natural “fighter” with training probably would be a very good boxer. How it didn’t occur to me that a former Ranger would have had boxing training was beyond me. The timer had a 30 second delay. I stood in my corner with my gloves held up in guard and waited. Holding them up in a peek-a-boo stance. He began to stretch at the waist back and forth and then he did rotations with each arm and thew a couple of mock right and left punches in the air. Bringing his own guard up in a similar pose, he struck the top of the timer with his right glove and the second round began. We walked straight on at each other, no side motion or circling at all. Soon as we got within each other’s range we began throwing jabs and I scored the first direct one to his mouth area. His own jab passing my arm and tagging my shoulder instead in the heat of it. Having range, I threw a cross and it smashed into his mouth and right cheek area. He backed off smacking his gloves together held up at ear height and his eyes took on a defensive stare. I went in and my straight right blasted him hard to his mid-section. He connected a jab to my forehead as I got him again to the belly button area.

   He came at me almost like a charging bull with his right and left arms throwing cross-over punches. I blocked the first two with my gloves high and ducked under the third to open his body to whatever shot I wanted. Coming up from the right side I landed a left hook to his ribs twice; the glove sank into his tanned body retracted and the second blow teetered him off his balance. Loading up my right hook it caught him to the side of his jaw and jowls compressed as his cheek shifted up to his eye. A shocked expression covered his face as he realized he was off focus. I could almost see the ring of stars around his head.

  He lunged at me as if he was going to clinch me up but instead, he smashed my jaw with a right uppercut. The punch was so out of left field that my head snapped up and angled, and it was my turn to see stars. He slammed his right hook just on the upper edge of my ribs, landing the second body bomb of the match and beyond that my stomach danced from the impact. Pain shot up the side of my body. When I recovered, he had backed off and was stalking me from outside, periodically jabbing to keep me at length. It was as if he stopped to let me recover. When I came in close though he started to jab my mouth area with solid hits. Then he changed to my right eye with the same jabbing and hit that area a few times too. I was mid stride and it disoriented me. During my delay he dropped low, turned his right leg on a bend into a straight right and drove it like swinging a baseball bat into my solar plexus and lower chest area. The punch rocked me so instantly it was like my body had turned to stone from the chest down. It was the third body rocker. He connected a left, right left hook to my head working it back and forth like a double-ended bag. These weren't as strong as the body shot had been. He scored a left uppercut to my jaw and the glove pancaked under my chin. My eyes filled with water.

  He took this round by storm. The timer ended the second round. This time when I spit out my guard in the bucket, it was red with blood. Before I could drink water or comment he was right over by me. “Fuck man, that got a bit harder than I planned to go. You doing, okay?” I could feel my right eye was for sure mildly swelling and I would have a shiner from it. My back ached as did my neck, his last barrage of hooking turned my head like a swivel. “I'm good, you recovered and took that round Dan. Nice body work.” He clapped me on the back with his glove. “You’re a good guy to box with, let's go another one bubba.” I took at least 3 minutes this time to recover. I hid it from him, but my solar plexus wasn't fully recovered. It was a damn good punch, executed as if to knock me out.

   That had been a chin shot, it probably would have been the end of the bout. I cleared my mouth of blood and stood up getting my guard back in, then getting my glove back on my right hand. A whistling sound caught my attention from Dan's direction and when I looked up at him, he pointed his right glove at me, put both of them together and made like a pillow next to his face, pretending to be taking a nap. “Going for the knockout this round, be ready” I wouldn't understand the impact of his tone of voice or the irony of my thinking he was just being witty. He began to hop in place, shadowboxing a bit. Then he began to alternate thrusting, mocking punches in the air like two pistons in a car engine. Back on his head was the green baseball cap with flag facing me. He smacked his gloves together and then the timer which got pushed off the tires and fell to the ground from the impact. He pulled his guard up, still wrong and moved toward me.

Part of me felt it was time to work counter-punching in. Let him falter and then tag him. He began to stalk toward me, zigging and zagging back and forth. He had a cocky smirk on his face. My plan to wait and then side-step and counter was foiled. It was too hard to tell what direction I should move so I had to circle out of range before he got any closer. I was in the process of mid step when he suddenly tightened up his defense to perfect form. His elbow tucked above his ribs. He zagged out and drove a straight right hard into my mouth area. My forward momentum helped to increase the punches heft, and it jarred my neck. It was even harder than the shots from the previous round. My face contorted in an embarrassing position as I was stunned. My guard was still high I had nothing guarding my mid-section and then Dan landed the worst body punch I have ever taken from any opponent up until that time. He pivoted off his lead leg and cranking it back 360 degrees he turned all his heft and body weight perfectly into a side angled right hook dead center a few inches above my belly button and it scored a direct strike to my stomach just beyond the muscles which did almost nothing to minimize the blast.

    My gloves parted. My eyes doubled and popped wide open and if you were watching this punch in slow motion, I am sure some spit flew from my mouth. A sickening moan came out of me. My shoulders arched up and I sagged forward in the process of being doubled over. Dan rushed into the shoulder check me to the chest and keep me from falling forward. Wearing a single mouthguard, I could make out his voice over it. “That one sure hurt eh buddy, we Army Rangers know how to deliver the goods. Here it comes fucker...here comes the knockout.” Just as he finished speaking and the last word crossed my ears, he hopped back to re-assert range and began to pummel my right eye and face with left jabs and straight right punches. The first two which were jabs to the right eye were like walking into a low hanging potted plant.

    Years earlier that happened to me at a party, walked around a corner in the yard and straight into the pot. It was the best way I could describe Dan's focused punches now. My lips splitting, my nose starting to drip blood. Each progression of damage was all I felt as his shots to my face began to numb it. Shock perhaps was kicking in. I recall feeling my feet stepping backward. I know at least two good chest shots had landed. My shoulders slouched as the glove flattened up against the center of my chest I could see Dan's face, his faded blue gloves. His eyes were small and like a cobra’s. He connected a hard left hook, and I staggered to the right. He pounded my chin directly with a straight right to force my back into the tires.

   I knew as soon as my bareback met them. Just after the impact of them on my back he nailed my stomach twice. Still very sour from the opening canon ball of a shot I was in serious trouble now. He drove cross-over short hooks at my jaw, working my head back and forth like it was a speedbag this time. He jabbed my eye exclusively. Half out of it, too dizzy, dazed and nauseated to process more than his gloves smashing it. I didn't feel each hit. I saw his face then a black blur and then I shook in place. He probably saw me morph into a punching bag. My arms went to my sides now. I was finished. He was gone from my blurry vision suddenly and then a big right hook collided with the side of my jaw and my head juggled on my neck. The final punch. My vision which was now just from my left eye and watery couldn't process what struck me. Just the sensation of falling and my guard ejecting from my mouth. When I fully hit the grass and dirt below my shoulders and upper chest locked. Everything flooded into blackness and I lost consciousness.

Waking up my body was still locked up at first. My first awareness was the feeling of being all alone. I didn't need to see Dan was gone, I knew. The weirdest image of a ring of small birds circling my head while I lay there, as if the comedy was a weak attempt to take my mind off the weight of what had just happened. My gloves were gone but the wraps were still on and disheveled. The pair I gave Dan was on the ground nearby in a pile. When I got on all fours and up, I saw a nice spit puddle where my face was lying. Ejected as my head hit pay dirt. The right side of my head felt like it had struck several hanging flowerpots, or they were just broken over it. I couldn't open it.

   Panic flooded me. When I put my hand up to it to feel it met a soft rounded mass and stung badly like a bee got it. Knowing I wasn't visible back here behind the house I had a moment to lean against the tires to get myself righted. Still deeply in shock that Dan just knocked me out cold, beat me this badly and left me. It wasn't till I moved off the tires that I realized they were slick with something. My first thought was maybe sweat.  So, I ran my hand along the tire and pulled it away. It wasn't a moment near my face and nose that I figured out it was urine. He had urinated on me and the tires next to me, on them to spray me below. My stomach was already sick from panic and Dan's fisticuffs now got even worse and I threw up water. Suddenly I felt like someone would come walking down the street and see me. My shirt,  still in my backpack, which sat against the house, was untouched.  I  opened the bag and dug out my muscle shirt. It was gone. I've never been the type of guy that went out in public shirtless. I never felt I was in good enough shape to do that. Then it occurred to me that he might have taken my car and the need to go out to it and get away overpowered my fear of being seen.

   The driver side door was ajar. He had gone through my glove box, but nothing appeared to be missing. I had a baseball cap in the back seat which I put on now. It wouldn't hide the eye damage, but it blocked the light which was very bright now. My cell phone, which was a pre-paid type was under my seat where I always put it. My first thought was to go back to his house. What if he was there and beat me up more? I was in my car with the visor down and slouched so no one could make me out easily. The house looked empty as I drove off the street and up to the main one. I called the operator and asked for the closest hospital, and He asked if I needed the police too. I said I did. The troopers came, what seemed like half an hour later and I told them that I had been jumping by visiting a house nearby, three guys beat me and took my wallet. I lied. Shame flooded me and a tinge of anger at Dan. Deep down part of me wanted revenge. Still does as I sit here and write this.

I learned the hard way, but I learned to know who your opponent is and stop the action if it gets out of hand.

This will always be one really frustrating aspect of the site that I can ignore for the most part but then eventually it comes back around and makes me want to punch something (more than I usually do)   Let me preface this by saying that I have been on "martial art meetup" type sites since the late 1990s.  I have trained in Boxing, Kickboxing, Muay Thai and Karate and always ended up integrating boxing into it somehow.  This issue isn't something new whatsoever but I personally feel like with some adjustments it could be less frequent. What I mean by "Cherry-picking" is guys who don't just come out and say they aren't interested. They reply, string along, meet people without acknowledging them as "opponents" like they are in the "closet" about it.  Personally, you have the right to be selective especially with boxing (the sport I only focus on) because it carries a significant risk of injury.  I have declined to box guys who were way better and I didn't honestly know if they had "control" or if they were just looking to bully.  However I told them up front. I didn't flake, pretend, string along or play games to use "conversation" as a tool for jerking off and self gratification at the expense of another person's time.  I honestly think we should be able to flag people for this behavior, not just physically pulling a "no-show"  Sure you can just block them and move on or just end contact. They just move on to the next person and start the game all over again.  Is it truly the "nature of the site' though is my question?

Then we have those guys who check off sports they don't even do just to drive views to their profiles.  "Selfish Promotion"  they click off boxing but don't even box.  No past opponents in the sport,  no indication that they are just fans of the sport or guys who do it.  What the entire fuck ?   I think we should have the right to challenge those profiles or filter out guys by what is mentioned in their recommendations. Anyone can put on boxing gloves and pose for a camera. (Although a stance being off shows a lot about the guys knowledge) I could check off wrestling, post photos in a singlet or gear and then either ignore those who contact me to wrestle or use it to steer them over to boxing. I don't though. I stay true to my abilities, focus and reason for being on the site all these years.  

Boxers are the minority (real boxers, guys who show up, glove up and go both head and body targeting) there are sub-categories like gut punchers or "fetish aka erotic" only types too.  I have run the gambit from doing "scenes" to actual fighting. I don't boast. I let my recommendations on here do the talking for who I am and I have no illusions of my level or "stature" as a fighter here at the age of 53 and juggling some significant health situations. I also don't downplay my abilities either.  I can adjust, have a ton of control and safety/sanity are huge.  I suffered a pretty bad knock out loss in South Carolina in my late 20's that honestly gave birth to significant trust issues, PTSD afterwards, hospital outcome and concussion. Not looking for "attention, sympathy" etc. I was naive when I was first online. Back when we chatted over AOL messenger chat rooms. I was the victim of a set up by a guy who liked to beat the crap out of gay men. I quit all boxing for just over 2 years time before a mouthy guy from Georgia got me out of "retirement" because I wanted at him so badly.   I get the concerns, fears, doubts etc. with meeting anyone to box without a 3rd person there to control the action. We can have a ref, cornermen whatever. Always flexible.  I plan to write a lot more journal entries about my own personal boxing experience then I have posted "The Punch Up and Out in Port Chester" being one such example of a non-fiction piece. 

The long and short of this post, rant, venting session whatever you want to call  it is that this blog gives us the ability to express what we want.  I agree, specific names shouldn't be posted or mentioned.  I have seen guys who had like "Wall of Shame" right in their profile calling out specific people (a lot who had deleted their profile) over what we have to assume is true because one person says so. That isn't cool either. You telling the site someone is a "Fake" because they didn't meet you.  That is not what I am doing.  Suggesting anyone do.  I just think some accountability, common curtesy and manners are long over due here.

Thanks for reading

Although a lot of my boxing was done privately, during my early twenties I had a number of “outdoor” or backyard venues fights. This particular match became a highlight reel in my mind that carries through to this day for several reasons. The first being that my opponent was a friend from my high school days who I hadn't seen for a few years. Adam had always been a stocky build, similar to my own. A wide chest with big arms and shoulders. Years, physical fitness and his volunteering with a local Fire Station had added to his build and strength. As did his working out with a heavy-bag and focus pads but that wasn't apparent to me till after our match concluded. His background a mix of Italian and Armenian gave him a Greek or Mediterranean appearance. Boyish face, handsome features with a strong, wide jaw and big brown eyes made him more model than fighter looking to me. Some extra weight around his midsection, not a flat stomach was one way he and I also looked similar, but he was bigger now than I was overall. He picked me up at the train station and took me back to his Father's house, the sizable back yard was set up for the boxing. His elder brother Brett had been there for a visit, and they had done some sparring with each other. Which explained the mark under his right eye and beside his mouth which he admitted was from Adam. All these clues went right over my head though. My ego was standing in front of me with it hands on my eyes apparently. His Father Brett Sr. hadn't seen me in years and was surprised to learn that I was into boxing. He was going to be playing the referee and Adam's corner man. Brett would be handling my corner. They had stools, large black mats set up to form a 12x12 area to act as a makeshift ring. Brett Sr. Showed me where I could change inside and that he would be handling the wraps and lacing of the gloves. Although I had brought my own pair of 16-ounce Black Tuf-Wear gloves that had Velcro and elastic closures. He had a much nicer set of black lace up Everlast ones that he presented as a substitute. I guess you could say he was a bit of a controlling type of person. They were new though and had that amazing hardness still. Agree, I went into the downstairs bathroom and got changed into my white protective cup, bluish-purple satin Tuf-Wear trunks with bright white trim, threw my towel around my neck and returned to the yard barefoot and shirtless. Adam was still inside but his brother and Father greeted me, and I took a seat on a nearby patio chair to get my wraps sorted out. Brett asked me a lot of questions about boxing, what my game plan was against Adam, but he didn't give me any hints. No pointers on where Adam would be open for attack. I honestly could see in his eyes he was hoping that I would kick Adam's ass, but he was still his brother and blood is thicker than water as they say. Brett Sr. took his time with wraps but didn't do more than listen to our conversation. He too was remaining neutral. I was taking on the hometown hero of sorts on his own turf. What could go wrong?

Adam emerged a few minutes after my wraps were finished and my gloves all laced on. His Father asked that we go barefoot as the mats had poor shoe traction, unlike actual ring canvas. Wearing a pair of black and yellow satin Everlast trunks, and his towel over his shoulder. He looked bigger to me somehow. A black ring of connecting patterns on his right bicep was a new addition, the tattoo made him look tougher. Clearly, he had matured. He gave me a once over and was clearly smirking at me. While his father wrapped his hands with black cloth, he kept on smirking. Brett noticed us looking at each other and chuckled. “Hey Dad, these two are really anxious to duke it out. Might move some of the expensive patio stuff away or it might end up broken.” Brett Sr. shook his head. “Duly noted.” Adam grinned and looked over from his father while the pair of lace up black Everlast gloves were being put on. “I figure if I could kick your ass Brett, a shrimp like Mike won't be much of a challenge.” His Father shook his head, Brett just gawked and when Adam looked in my direction, he saw that my expression had become quickly aggressive. It was a pretty badass comment though. He winked and as soon as his gloves were on tight, he banged them together and grinned, showing his teeth wide. Brett Sr. suggested that we warm up a bit with focus pads and do some stretching. Once we felt read, we would step to the centre of the mats as a signal it was time to box. He would than give us the rule break down. He preferred we kept the rounds two minutes in length and would be going four rounds total. It was our fight, but he was clearly the alpha male and being it was his property the bout was taking place on, he set the rules too. I honestly didn't care, I wanted to punch Adam in his smug face. His Father opted to warm Adam up and Brett took me over to the other side of the mats to warm up. Leaning in while I was throwing jab jab cross hook combos, Brett whispered “You have my permission to knock Adam the fuck out, he deserves it.” He looked over at Adam than back at me and winked, I chuckled. It didn't occur to me to go after Adam that hard though. I didn't even think to ask what level we were going to fight at. I just assumed that it was more exhibition level like more than half output. Brett commented that he could see I had good punching power, quick too. He mixed in some ducking drills and than tagged me to the stomach with the flat part of the pad. Exposing a weakness of mine to ignore my body being open after a duck. “Keep your elbows in man, Adam likes to work the middle” I nodded and than his father asks if we were all set. He came over with a small jar of Vaseline and applied a thin coat of it around my eyes and upper cheeks area. “Just to be on the safe side, no cut-man here.” He smiled and motioned for me to join Adam on the mats, he was already at centre with his gloves up at chest height.

The mats were a bit cold on my feet as I moved up to stand in front of Adam in the centre who was rhythmically tapping his gloves together. He would periodically stop to wind his arms around counterclockwise and go back to tapping. I could feel my cock harden in the plastic cradle of my jock strap and the straps along my inner thigh tightened a bit watching him. The gear made him look a lot tougher and his boyish face didn't have its usual soft overtone now. He looked like a hungry tiger waiting on its next meal. Standing a few feet apart we looked each other over and then locked eyes. He had a serious expression, but it melted into a cocky smirk. Brett Sr. stepped to the side of us and acting like a proper referee told us the ground rules. This was sparring not fighting and we were to keep it at that pace, keep on the mats or return if prompted and in case of a knockdown, to move to the patio chairs which was the neutral zone. He then turned to me “Adam prefers that you guys don't wear headgear, that okay with you? I have my reservations, but I'll allow it.” I agreed. Anything to get this bout going. This guy was talking too much was what crossed through my mind. Brett Sr. grinned and motioned for us to return to our corner stools. Mine was the blue corner. Once there Brett inserted my white mouth guard, and he gave my shoulders and arms a quick limbering up. Brett Sr. got Adam into a black mouth guard, and we were all set to start the boxing match.

I tensed up a bit looking across the black mats at Adam and the realization that we were going to be boxing each other fully set it. One would have thought it would of long before this, but until the gear is on and your across from the other man it isn't as intense. There was a strange ticking at first, counting off ten times and then the timer produced an electronic ding ding ding. Brett Sr. 's voice was clear and loud as he motioned to both of us to box. I crossed the span between us which wasn't that far, and we tapped gloves briefly before we raised them up in defence and the first round was underway. Adam started off the action making forward circular motions with his gloves and then a quick jerk of his left shoulder. I took the bait like a hungry fish and raised my guard up expecting a punch from the left hand, he tagged me instead with the right hand pretty solidly to the stomach just above my belly button. The hardened leather glove putting a dimple into the soft belly as it struck. First taste of his punching power and it was a pretty solid blow. I could see over the top of my gloves that as he delivered that shot his right side (my left) was wide open. I retaliated with an angled left hook that started off like a jab in form. It tagged him to the side of the face near the top of the cheek and he was caught flat footed as he hadn't seen it coming. The black leather glove levelling up against his tanned, rounded cheek was visually amazing to see. His wincing eye partially drooping. This threw off his focus on his second punch and we both pulled back into guard. Several seconds passed as we re-sized up each other and looked for openings. Adam moved in fast with jabs forcing me to guard my face, but my rookie defence left my mid to lower body exposed and he caught me with a solid one-two punch to my solar plexus. The area where the chest meets the stomach. Brett's cautioning words echoed in my head. Stiffness overtook my legs and my lower back locked up like a key had been turned. “Oh man, guard that better Mike” Brett's comments were just loud enough to penetrate my shaken concentration. I looked up to see a blur of black and then the stiff impact of a straight right met my mouth and lips flush and my neck stiffened up. My neck locked up, my lips were mashed flat by the black hardened leather and my eyes turned inward. I could see Adam's “game face” beyond the glove as his focus was paying off in spades. The punch crossed my eyes and produced a couple of white flashy specks of light. If my eyes could have knocked together like in some cartoon show, they would have. I could see Adam's face as my blurry eyes cleared and his smirk return. Seeing white flashes was one thing, but these light specks like when you sneeze to hard were a brand-new experience. His punch had made me see actual “stars” and my mind had very little time to process this information. His punching power would be a problem.

Backing off I got my guard up to defend against what I think were several jabs and missed blocking a strong right uppercut to my stomach. This was a lot harder than the previous body blows. I felt the air in my throat before it escaped my lips in a grunt and my body leaned forward. From the spectator’s point of view my posture showed just how hard the punch had tagged me. Adam had extended his body forward to land that punch and in doing so had put a bit more of his weight behind it. Effective and well placed it made me feel “seasick”, but I didn't want him to see how much it hurt me. Any reservation about going at him because we were old friends was pretty much knocked clean out of me. My only goal this round was to get him back for that and I crossed the gap before he could throw anything else. Right after the body uppercut hit me, he visibly paused to admire my staggered posture and pained expression. He was sure it was in the bag this round. He was pulling up his guard when I landed my first of two jabs flush to his nose and upper lip area. His face contorted out of surprised and the impact of the shots and bobbed his head like bate on a lake. I then pivoted on my right foot and struck him in his own solar plexus with a thumping straight right putting my weight behind the blow. Adam's eyes popped open in a cartoonish manner and his guard sank. Brett commented loudly “Payback time sucker” Adam's face sagged in discomfort and the punch had wiped his smirk off. Not waiting for him to recover, I went after his stomach several more times and my punches went in and slightly up knocking the minor folds of his excess midsection like water on a choppy sea. I had this image of a battleship on his chest being tossed about by the changing waters. Mayday! Mayday! I must have landed five punches in total before his thick arms grappled me and he clinched me hard enough to stop my ability to throw anything. Brett was cheering “Yeah, kick his ass, Mike!” He began hooking the upper right side of my face at short range until Brett Sr. stepped in and pried us apart with hands to our shoulders. “Ok guys come on, break it up here.” just after we separated Adam landed two good jabs to my face the second one tagging my nose and my eyes watered up fast as a familiar stinging sensation followed. The hits made me take steps backward, but I recovered and moved inside. The triple tick tick tick of the ten second mark sounded almost like a signal. Striking Adam in return to his chest with a few left jabs which were a bit weak, I was going to try and catch him with a right hook, but it was poorly executed, and he dipped under it and this time used his left hand to uppercut to my stomach hard. My mouth pulled tight into a letter “o” and my eyes both popped open. I had the classic “bowling ball” expression. “Damn!” was all Brett could reply. The electronic timer sounded, and the round ended on me still stunned from the shot. My mouth guard showing as I winced, and Brett Sr. helped me back to my stool. “Walk it off Mike, good round both of you.” he commented “Like watching a professional fight.” Sitting down in the folding chair I kept near the front edge because my back was stiff. Adam knew his boxing for sure. These body punches were causing me long term distress and after taking a sip of water I spit it out a bit slowly. Money in the bank as they say in boxing. Work the body and in time it pays off. Brett Sr. checked that I was good for the second round, and I raised my right glove to signify that I was. He was supposed to be attending Adam, but time didn't permit that to be switched up now. Brett was over by Adam working his corner and patting him on the back, but I didn't hear any audible advice. Adam clearly won that round, but it wasn't at least lopsided. I saved some face by returning some of my own body blows but his duck and counter work was clearly showing our lack in skill level. This felt like the prelude to a real glove war to come though as I am both Irish and Scottish and both sides of me are there to do battle.

The electronic triple knock sound which meant ten seconds till the next round went off and I stood up. Adam was already standing and tapping his gloves together. That same eagerness to fight covering the expression on his face. Brett Sr. grinned as he re-inserted my newly washed mouth guard and the chime just after he reached the middle of the mats the timer bell went off. “Ok guys, Box!” He made a hand gesture as he spoke this to indicate we should meet and touch gloves. We both got to the centre of the mats pretty quickly and this time we tapped just the one glove before raising hands and starting up the second round. Adam's training was showing now as he was in tight defensive stance with his hands held close together and up at nose level in the peek-a-boo style. Mine were up but not as close together and my elbows weren't in the right position to parry with. I jabbed first though, went right after his face like the gloves weren't even in the way thinking he might relax them as he avoided my shots. He just defended them with his guard and hardened leather met hardened leather with its distinct sound, as I was going to throw my right cross off the third jab that was blocked, Adam sidestepped still in tight formation and pounded the back of my ribs with a great left hook. He pivoted off this punch and struck me now to the side of my jaw with another left hook which sank hard into my cheek area. No time to even process the pain in my ribs area from he is opening hook, his jaw hook replaced my head with the first strands of cob webbing. This made me cover up properly and I took two steps backward before moving counterclockwise. Adam threw another punch that fell short by mere inches to my nose. “Quick feet on Mike, stick and move bro.” Brett called in a commanding tone. Whose side was this clown on anyway. Having moved out of range it forced Adam to come to me to retry his punches but as soon as he was in range, I threw out punches to the face and body. Left jab high, straight right low, left jab high and right hook low. Forcing him to pick an area not to be hit. He opted to block the body work and took the face jabs to his chin. Spittle flew off his lip and his neck locked up. I felt like I was hitting a doubled ended bag at some gym, seeing bullseyes on various places. In the zone. His eyes were a bit glassy now. Not giving him an inch, I put my hip into a right hook that caught him just to the lower part of his temple and side of forehead. This shot rocked him, and he made a kind of angular stepping motion before falling forward to land on a shaky knee with both gloved hands down propping him up like a track runner waiting for the gun to go off. Brett Sr. signalled me to go off the mats over by Brett which I did. I was looking at Adam, the knockdown was a shock to Adam, and it showed. Brett patted me hard on the back. “That was a great shot! He's hearing the birds now” Brett Sr. gave Brett a disapproving look that I noticed, and Brett looked away sheepishly.

Adam shook his head free of the cobwebs a minute or so later and stood up. Brett Sr. held his gloves and held up some fingers. Then he gave him a proper standing eight count. Nodding he motioned for me to return and the round to resume. The knockdown shook Adam up a lot. He was a lot more defensive now and I was the aggressor going after his exposed ribs and stomach every chance I got but those magic bullseyes were gone. Several of my body blows made him double forward and grunt or groan. Looks like I had just opened up my own bank account fucker. Toward the end of the round however I was getting a bit sloppy through my sudden burst of over confidence and two of my direct shots to his eye and nose area were both deflected, and he counter punched me hard to the chin with a straight right that made me stagger and sway. The backyard was like someone had put it in a blender and hit the spin button. A heavy-handed shot struck my solar plexus as it did in the first round and my back, hips and legs all felt like someone had turned them into a cement block. Adam kept the pressure on landing a couple of good face punches and in the mix a few to my right eye that started the road to blackening. The hardened gloves blocking out my face like some strange eclipse and hitting my eye like a wrecking ball.

Then like he had taped a stick of dynamite to my chin and lit the fuse, BLAMMO! He dipped down and pivoted to land a classic right uppercut flush to my jaw. Having seen how a good uppercut causes the opponents face to sag and frown up greatly. I figured that was how I looked. Both eyes were shut tight, and my jaw was bending to take the shape of his rounded glove. Everything went from a burst of blurry vision and a huge mass of those light specks flew off everywhere. His arm still up completing the punch, then his face, then his chest all a bit out of focus but these lights dancing all around and then something cool and strange hit my entire body in several spots. The mat. I flopped forward and had stuck it flush. Arms at my sides, ass up as my knees locked. My ears filled with a vacuum like rushing sound and all other sounds seemed to be coming from a great distance. I wasn't fully unconscious, but I was very close to that state of confusion and my scrambled brain wasn't able to clear things up to be any help in beating the ten counts. Adam had just knocked me the fuck out with one masterful uppercut bomb. Brett Sr. got me laid down, and Brett assisted in getting the smelling salts out of the first aid kit. I came too still blurry but my vision clearing to all three of them standing over me and I was lying on the sweat spotted mat head tilted back slightly. My mouth guard had been pulled out and thick clear spit flowed out now from my agape mouth. Brett Sr. had a deeply pallor complexion. Adam was asking if I was ok, and he was apologizing for punching me that hard. Brett was slightly smirking. I could see it, but I didn't say anything about it. I was too busy watching the last of the stars dance before my eyes. Once my head fully cleared, I assured Brett Sr. I was okay. He had gotten an ice pack for my shiner. I got to my feet and gave Adam a strong handshake. Gave him his respect. Sitting down in one of the patio chairs while Brett handed me a beer once my gloves were off. I never saw that uppercut coming.

The End ~

Daniel didn't make the connection that their stopping the fight was related to his spying. Having parked the cleaning cart off to his left-hand side it formed an unintentional barrier now as the room door was pulled open suddenly. He could only pull himself up off the milk crate partially before the strong bodied Hispanic guy walked through the door almost in slow motion in his mind. The shock of being discovered threw Daniel off and as he was standing up he bumped hard into the cart. Carlos felt the cold winter air on his sweaty torso but his adrenaline was flowing at full steam and his focus was only one thing. Once he had range to throw a shot, he sank his gloved right hand deep into the pit of Daniel's stomach area, knocking the wind from his lungs and stunning him. Again, he landed another deep stomach punch. This one caused the younger man to falter and sag a bit. Pulling him into a reverse arm headlock, he dragged him toward the open motel door and stopped once past the threshold to push the young man into Chet's waiting arms. Soon as he was in range, Chet struck the younger man with a quick left uppercut. Daniel's face in the process of turning red from the tight grip of the headlock was jolted backward from this new blow. The power however was a bit more then intended and it knocked him loose from the grip as he took two staggering steps backward and fell into the nearby chair. Carlos shut the door quickly before anyone saw them and turned to face the spy now in their midst. Looking up at the two boxers before him and glancing back to the room door, Daniel's mind raced to figure out how to get the fuck out of this situation. Chet took a step closer, banging his gloves together rhythmically. “So, you like to watch the fights, huh fucker?” his voice was edged with malice and it rode up Daniel's spine like a locomotive. “Uhh, well no I just understood something clearly at last on in here as I am the main cleaner. I didn't know anyone was using the room till I looked in the window.” He kept from making full eye contact, this guy looked mean. Carlos looked the younger man over, he was lean and probably had a cut physique. He imagined him sitting there wearing boxing gear, thick brown gloves, and dark blue trunks with white trim. Daniel hadn't moved the phone camera and these two guys didn't know about it so this was still being recorded. “Hey Chet, I think we should let him go. I mean he has cleaning to do and I have cleaning your clock to take care of still.” Carlos laughed heartily now and banged his own gloves together as if to add a period to the sentence. Chet smirked. His narrow mouth twisting up slightly at the edges. “No no, he wants to “get out of here” he has to earn his freedom” taking his left glove off, he walked over to the hotel door and turned the lock as well as applying the chain lock. Walking back in front of the younger man he grabbed him aggressively by the collar of his shirts with his un-gloved hand and pulled him up to his feet. “So, kid, who are you going to fight to get out of this room? Me? Him?” Last 3 rounds and you’re out, score a knockdown and you’re out but get knocked down or out yourself.” Chet's smirk was so edged now with malice it gave his face such a sinister expression even Carlos was a bit unnerved by it. “Well if you lose, I won't ruin the surprise if that happens.” Looking over the two men he sized them up as to which might be the easier to take on and outlast. Chet, the Caucasian guy was strong looking but the uppercut to the face wasn't as bad as the stomach shots he had taken hits from the unnamed Hispanic guy and those were solid even through his jacket a clothing. Daniel swallowed hard. His mind raced “Fuck fuck, which one to choose.” he fidgeted a bit in his seat and was about to speak his choice when a voice broke the awkward silence. A tinny sounding intercom sprang to life coming from the ceiling above them. What looked like a smoke detector was in fact a cleverly disguised two-way microphone. “Carlos, pick up the phone if you would.” the voice was older sounding. Chet had no clue who that was. Taking off his glove, Carlos walked over to the phone on a small table in the far corner and picked up the receiver.

Daniel fidgeted a bit more but then he seemed to relax in his seat. Looking up at as he stood up now he put up his hands in a gesture of none aggression and slowly pulled of his jacket. Chet looked over at Carlos on the phone taking his eyes of of the younger man. “Understood. If that is what he wants then I will follow your orders.” Hanging up the receiver, he turned to the two of them and his expression was a bit different. “Change of plans Daniel, your going to get to fight Chet here and I will be the prize when you knock him out.” Turning to look at Daniel, the expression on the man's face was completely different. The scared rabbit expression was more like a hungry wolf now. “Oh, whoa. Who the fuck just talked to us.” He motioned at the smoke detector with his gloved hand. “Change of plans? You fucking bean and rice eating son of a bitch....is this a set up?” Daniel smirked as he started to take off his clothing and Carlos ignored Chet all together as he walked over to the closet and opened the door to reveal a small paper shopping bag. Pulling out the contents it was a set of boxing gear. Shoes, trunks, gloves and a small box containing a white mouth guard. Chet's mind failed to process all of this and part of him was becoming so angry at being deceived that the urge to fight grew too strong for him to ignore. “Oh okay, well suit up then junior. Going to give you a real good ass whooping and then I will be the one taking Carlo's immigrated ass over the side of this chair here.” Both Daniel and Carlos exchanged looks of disbelieving. Chet began to flex his arms and swing his arms in rotating circular motions to loosen them up. He began to shadowbox in place, his quick punches flicking about the space like the tongue of a snake. Daniel stripped down to his black boxer shorts was a lean semi cut-bodied man with a rose tattoo on the right side of his chest just above a thin smattering of hair. It was devoid of color save for a single red blood drop falling from the edge. His upper left arm was also tattooed with a similar rose but this one had the pattern of the American flag. Chet felt like he had seen these before. Once his socks and black/red boots were on he unfolded his trunks. Red with black trim and a thick black waistband. The word “The Thorn” was written in some stencil like font. He pulled the trunks on and they hugged the lower part of his stomach securely. Mere inches below his navel line. His gloves were also red/black but they had a strange filmy looking sheen to the rounded part near the top. This reminded Chet of candle wax. He still felt like he had heard this fight name before, these tattoos were also so familiar. Daniel noticed Chet looking intently. “Don't worry man, just a bit of cleaner I use to preserve these. It won't cause you any problems, but I sure will.” the cocky tone to his voice was just more motivation for Chet to knock the shit out of this lighter guy. “I like this “new” you kid and I am sure going to enjoy fucking up that handsome face. Maybe I won't fully knock you out so you can watch how I ass rape this wetback two-faced asshole and teach you how to top a man the right way.” Carlos let out a loud cackle. “You are so full of yourself Chester. I promise you I will take some photos of you knocked out in round or so. Daniel is going to enjoy this.” Chet made a distasteful gesture with his tongue and the thumb and edge of his glove as the location for it and then gave an arm over arm fuck you sign as he walked over to his corner on the far side of the motel room. He held his black mouth guard in his left glove awaiting the signal to shove it in and put up his dukes for the coming fight. Carlos walked over to Daniel and before putting in the white mouth guard, he deeply French kissed the younger man and slowly turned his face to fix Chet with a look as to say, “want a taste of this sucker” Chet made a gesture with his right glove over his nose like something smelled bad in the room and he pushed his own plastic guard over his lips and into place. Carlos fiddled with the timer and announced it was set for four rounds. Daniel nodded and raised his arms into defensive stance. He glanced over at the window where a small device sat recording the visual but not audio setting and the timer emitted a triple knock to indicate ten seconds till the first round began.

Mere seconds after the timer filled the small room with its sound there was sudden motion and Carlos moved back almost into the wall out of reflex. Daniel held his gloves up with the underside facing forward and like a frog catching a fly he intercepted the double jab that Chet tried to land on his face. One...two. Both gloves were swatted off course and neutralized. Chet had gotten so close to Carlos on his initial movement that it seemed as if he might strike him instead. He was just avoiding a straight line into his opponent and using the angles to deliver the initial punches of the round. Next, he stepped in to land a straight punch to the stomach area but Daniel pulled back by bending at his upper back and that failed to hit him as well. He simply tapped the top of Chet's head with the tip of his glove like “tag...your it” He was toying with the older guy. Several more shots were either blocked or slipped and Daniel did a bit of fancy footwork, sort of like a cha cha cha. Chet was growing frustrated by the second with this lanky fucker, time to feign in and catch this asshole flat footed. Pretending he was going to come straight in with a straight right, at the last second, he pulled to the left and executed a hard-left hook to the body. It met lowered elbow and forearm and it too was blocked. Then without hesitation two jabs, a left hook, and a straight right to the mouth all pounded into Chet's face. Hard and accurate the punches stiffened his neck and after the hook knocked it to the side the right hand smashed into his right eye, gliding off the edge of the socket. That was going to leave a nice shiner. Quick as Daniel had struck Chet, he moved around him now with his gloves up in tight defense. Chet's face was red from embarrassment, frustration, and the impact of the shots. He had enough. Charging in blindly though to hopefully land a punch would just put him back in this fucker's control. It was evident this guy's speed was twice that of his and the shots weren't light on power but hurt him more than he was visibly showing. There was one technique left, something he picked up from a Marine boxer he used to spar with. Pulling his guard tight in a peek-a-boo formation, he made small arc like motions back and forth like drawing a smile in the air. Daniel didn't recognize this tactic and became slightly less comfortable with how Chet was behaving suddenly. He wasn't coming in range but instead rocking back and forth. This had Daniel as the attacker now and he didn't like to fight that way. Moving forward now he looked to pull off his own feign and catch Chet to the body with several good shots and hopefully tag his solar plexus or the side of his chest which if done correctly would disrupt his lungs from both angles. He had the speed advantage clearly so he didn't worry about Chet getting him before the shots were delivered and he would be backing off if some did land after the fact so he would pull the power off them. Stepping forward he got within range of punching and lowered his guard to seem like he was being careless, inviting the jarhead to strike at his face. There was some psychological imperative to hit your opponent's face when given the choice over upper or lower targets. Like an insult to them on some level. Chet came straight now and his eye contact was on Daniel's upper chest area. He arched his right shoulder as if that was where the first shot was going to be delivered from. Daniel took the bait and went diagonal dipping down to duck under the high shot and fire off a volley of shots the Chet's body. Chet wasn't there though. He had gone along the opposite diagonal and he whipped out his left hook to pound into the side of Daniels exposed rib area. The shock of the punch and its power caused the younger man to part his arms and expose a nice path to this chest and solar plexus. Chet pounded the chest first with a hard-straight right and all the “pumping motion” he was doing before that had boosted the shots power. Catching Daniel in mid breath, the force of the Marines right hand assaulted his lungs. Air caught in his throat like a bubble and he lurched forward. His eyes were both large and semi-bulbous now. Caught in a reverse gambit he was stunned and his face was open season. Chet went right to landing shots to the face, jab jab, cross, jab. The shots belted the nose and upper lip area. A small drop of blood slid out of the right nostril. Striking the right eye with his own right hand, the glove mashed into the eye socket and forced the eyeball to retract as the lids closed to protect it. Daniel would have a black eye from this too. Touché mother fucker was the expression on his face while Daniel took a step back and got his guard up tight again to avoid more blows. The timer ended the first round.

Walking over to his corner, Chet spat his mouth guard out into his right glove and took a long swig of water from the bottle sitting there. Daniel got back to his corner and Carlos rushed over like his bitch to help him clear his mouth guard. Chet sat down but with his legs spread out and his forearms propped up on the sides of the chair. He poured some water from the bottle on the center of his chest and watched it glide down his stomach and onto his satin trunks. He knew Daniel was staring at him from across the room. Carlos had his back to Chet and was saying something in hushed tones. The two fighters exchanged glances and Chet's smirk was met with Daniel's intense expression “Next round asshole” was what it was saying and the Marines smirk was replying “Yeah, come get some kid.” Pouring some water on his hair now, he shook his head to get it to spray off. He then drew in what seemed like a deep breath but it was a thick wad of saliva. Ejecting it onto his right glove, he worked it in good with his left one so that both gloves were lubricated with it. He banged them together now to emphasis this for Daniel's watching expression. The younger man held up his own gloves, fist side outward to show off that strange waxy like sheen. He then made the gesture of jerking off and it was then that Chet realized what that was.... old dried cum. This fucking son of a bitch. His face went red with anger and he got up off his chair. Bouncing in place he jammed his mouth guard back into his pie hole and pointed at Daniel with his right glove, then banged them together again. Daniel stood up and had this “come get it” face on when the second-round bell sounded. Carlos got away from the two of them again, he wasn't going to play referee at all. He had a side view of the two men now and both had a nice bruise under their right eyes. When they met near the center of the room, Chet was on the offensive coming hard at Daniel who was blocking but being hit so hard that he was having trouble maintaining his guard and had to start slipping shots. He did this flawlessly again and started to tag Chet's body with hard hooks each time the overzealous puncher missed. These were quickly taking their toll and forcing the older man to either get angrier and careless or smart and go on the defensive. Clearly the guard of one and the mental state of the other were in a strange tug-of-war now and one was going to fail. Daniel got in a shot over the guard and caught Chet's nose knocking a drop of blood loose. He got in a good left to the temple too and Chet staggered a bit but ducked the next hook there before he was fully dazed. That shot would have been a clock cleaner and possibly the knockout blow for Daniel. Grabbing the leaner guy in a tight clinch, Chet looped his arm over Daniels neck pulling him into a reverse headlock and he turned him quickly in a 360-degree loop. Carlos started to step in to break it up but the look he got from Chet had him stay put. His head pulled low, the blood rush caused Daniel to get slightly disoriented and it was enough. He staggered toward the window side of the room and suddenly a right uppercut leveled off under his chin and he saw a white flash of light. He was stood up but this hit and too dizzy to duck properly. Chet stepped in close, landing left and right hooks to the body and forcing Daniel's lean body to lurch forward. Then a left uppercut was delivered along the chest and up to the jaw. The room exploded in white light in Daniel's watery eyes. He pulled his arms instinctively up to guard his face and just as his elbows cleared his midsection he was treated to a hard set of left/right punches to the stomach. Glove over glove, Chet's barrage of shots shook the man's body and had his chin bobbing back and forth, a look of pure discomfort on his face. Carlos had to get in there and disrupt this or Daniel was finished. The body hits were like out of an old kung Fu movie. He half expected to see Daniel cough up blood. Taking a step back to admire his opponent, Chet seemed to know that Carlos was moving toward them. Once in range he quickly struck out and caught him flush on the jaw with a quick one two...Carlos stopped, and a hook to his right temple dropped him to the carpeted floor...out cold. “Nah, you’re not getting involved asshole. Stay put.” Chet spoke the words through his mouth guard so they came out muffled. Daniel moved back and was semi recovered from the head shots now. Chet moved toward him and with one good shot he planted his right hook to the jaw and took the kids mouth guard out in a hail of spit and sweat flying. Daniel went down.

Daniels mind struggled to clear out he webs that Chet's punches had created. He lay on his back now on the carpet semi aware. His stomach ached so badly he thought he might vomit. He could hear Chet's voice but it sounded like it was far away, like someone yelling at you from across a busy street. “Get up, come on let’s keep going your lanky fucker.” Suddenly a watery substance greeted his facial skin. It was warm and had a very odd smell. Like someone had hit a reset button in his brain he recovered enough to realize that he was being urinated on. His eyes popped open. Pure anger and humiliation filled his mind now and stayed the sensations of pain to his jaw and stomach. Chet could tell he was coming around and stopped peeing long enough to pull up his trunks. “Yeah exactly, wakey wakey punk. You have another round in you, I know you do.” Chet leaned over the younger man and cleaned off his gloves with a wet towel. No telling how long he was semi-conscious but it was enough time for Chet to remove the cum and knock Carlos out and prop him up in a nearby chair and taped his wrists to it with the tape used over hand wraps. “Yeah, get up and clear all the cobwebs out. This last round is for stakes fucker. First man down loses and gives up his ass.” Daniel took out his mouth guard and spit a glob of red tinged spit into a nearby ice bucket. “Good...you’re going to pay for fucking pissing on me.” Daniel roared the words. Chet smiled and tapped his gloves together. “Get your mouthpiece in bitch, ShowTime.” Once he had, the two men circled each other like a spider and a scorpion locked in deadly combat. Forgoing any tactics this time, Daniel just wanted to land punches and was willing to go toe to to with the jarhead to do it. Chet liked an old-fashioned fight and was more than happy to forgo defense for the sake of smacking this lanky fucker back down to the carpet below. The first shots were from Daniel, quick double jab to the face and a good solid right cross to the already bruised right eye. Chet returned with a good left hook to the body and a straight right to the solar plexus that was partially blocked but still managed to catch Daniel in the sore spot. His face made a grimace of discomfort and it was removed by a straight right dead center as Chet stiffened the younger man's neck up. It was a solid hit but Daniel wasn't as stunned by as he let on, and once the other man was in range he stopped playing possum and delivered his own set up uppercuts to Chet's flat jaw line. Left first, pause then right caused his eyes to wince shut and his head to bob slightly. Those rocked him clearly. Wasting no time, Daniel struck at the body and in almost similar fashion to the assault he was punished with earlier, he got to work on his payback. Using hard rib hooks mixed with glove over glove shots to the central body, he stiffened the older man’s back up. Methodical shots to the body could reach the level of pain that would end a fight but Daniel didn't want a body KO here so he backed off to focus on the head instead. Chet was guarding it like it was made of gold or something though. Daniel feigned in a head shot but dipped and pounded the solar plexus with enough force to cause Chet to lean forward. Then out of nowhere he connected with a hard-overhand right to the forehead and edge of temple and this shot visibly rocked Chet's noggin. His hands dropped and in his dizzy state he was too out of it to pull them back up. Jab, jab, jab. The three hits lifted his chin up into range of a follow up right hook. The black and red glove mashed hard into the tanned jaw line and Chet's head snapped to the side. Next a left hook came in and the punch followed past the jaw to turn the man's neck the other way pushing his chin to his shoulder. Two more hits to the eye sealed it with a good shiner. Daniel stepped in and forced Chet to lean on him while he pounded away at the body. Shot after shot shaking the increasingly limp body. Chet's eyes were still closed tightly and his jaw biting down hard on the mouth guard from pain when Daniel's final four punches landed. A hard-left uppercut that snapped his head up and back, a left hook just below the ear that shook his face and ejected spit from his guard, a right cross that tagged his lips solid and the final punch a right uppercut that sent Chet falling backward to the floor...as his body hit home his mouth guard was pushed up and out by a torrent of bloody spit and ooze. Unconscious now he was prime for a good ass fucking and Carlos was awaking just in time to see it all happen.

Henry Lakewood shot his way around the time that Daniel was landing the hook and straight shots to Chet’s body. Cleaning up he looked over at the screen and the total attendance online for the match was 259 people. An instant message box popped up from FightGuy4All. “Very good. Chet Donnelly had this coming and my client is very satisfied with the outcome. Make sure you pay Carlos and Daniel and I will be in touch. Oh, and leave Chet in his car bound and gagged. I have someone coming to take care of that.” The message box closed automatically when the connection was dropped. Henry smiled and lit up a cigar, taking a long puff, he looked up at the monitors and saw the limp and badly beaten face of Chet was directly below the camera. “Lights out asshole.... lights out.”

The late evening skies were heavily jacketed by thick gray clouds still producing a steady stream of snowflakes. Nearly 10 o'clock at night and the few cars slotted in the parking area beside the twin leveled building were all covered with a layer of powder, except one. A chocolate brown Ford GTO with a tan stripe sat idling here. The heat of the engine melting the flakes as soon as they fell and the internal heat handled that which attempted to land on the front and back windshields. The driver watched a room on the second floor for the darkened window to become illuminated by a lamp within and a sign to be posted against the glass. Chet Donovan bit the edge of his thick cigar and illuminated his angular face with the orange glow as he took a good drag. His close-cut brown hair was thick near the center and stood up a bit. He wore a black leather jacket over an army green button-down shirt and that was open to expose a low-cut white tank top. The undershirt dipped down to sit just above his solar plexus an inch or two and his muscular chest which was adorned in a small patch of brown chest hair was exposed to the light as well. He had the look of a guy who had been a lanky guy at one time but grew into his body, his pointed chin and button nose gave him a semi-boyish face. Thick eyebrows had been trimmed a bit to angle and give his face a harder edge at 32 years old he looked a bit younger than that. He liked to think he was the best-looking guy in the world. Chet's ego was healthy and gaining weight since he releases from the Marine Corps. He hadn't been to this motor inn before but they were generic. This would be his sixth match this year taking place in this kind of venue. Staring up at the window again he grinned. His wide mouth formed a smirking shape as he saw that the light was on and the number 6 was posted. “Six it is you fucking bean and rice eating son of a bitch.” Chet's voice had a strong masculine reverb here in the interior of his GTO. He spoke the words in a mocking tone though. Leaning back over the leather seat, he grabbed a dark green and gold gym bag and took a moment to turn off the car and seal the window. Getting out of the car he slung the bag over his right shoulder, holding it with his thick fingers by both straps at once. Climbing two sets of dark wooden steps to the second-floor landing, he puffed twice more on his cigar and flicked the remaining bit over the edge to land in a thick blanket of snow near some type of thorny bush. His free hand, thick and strong looking reached up and gave the door to room 16 three good rapid knocks. The door slowly receded after the final rap of his knuckles upon the cheap wood like material. A voice from inside came suddenly through the small gap. “Your just in time white boy, ready for an ass kicking I hope.” Chet grinned as he pushed the door wide open, stepped inside and gave it a good hard shove with the bottom of his left boot. Taking in the room before him he shifted his attention to the door itself, slipped the metal flip bar and locked the door lock as well. “Smart thinking chico Blanco, don't want you taking off like a little gatto during the action.” Chet turned from the door to the source of the voice taunting him. Taking his free hand, he reached down and grabbed the crotch of his tan military cargo pants and pulled it up. “I won't be leaving before you take a good long suck on my cock, you are fucking bean farmer.”

Standing across the motels medium sized room was Carlos Montoya, 29 years old and in very similar shape body wise to Chet. His facial features seemed like a mix of Hispanic and possibly Irish. The reality was that he had some Irish blood but he was nearly one hundred percent Mexican. His dark brown and gold complexion illustrated that. His brown eyes very dark almost black, thick black hair of his beard and that on his chest were thick and mane like. He had a similar button nose and brow to Chet’s' own though and this is where he might be construed as a half breed by an ignorant person. Standing here he was stripped fully bare except for white cotton jock strap with red and blue lines along the waistband. He had on a pair of white leather boxing boots the high kind and white socks that stuck over the edge. Chet looked him over for a moment. “That's why I grabbed my crotch, after seeing what your packing it’s the only real cock in this room.” He looked left to a small waste basket near a badly upholstered chair and spit like it was the period to his sentence. Carlos rubbed at his own crotch for a moment before replying. “Fuck you Blanco, you’re going to learn all about my skills with my fists soon enough. Get your shit on and let's get this boxing underway.” Chet looked around. The room was roughly thirty by twenty dimension wise. The bed was gone completely leaving the two night tables on either side without a purpose. This left a good 15×20 space between the back wall and two chairs and a table near the door. “Did you send the mattress to your mother, I mean she should get a new one for that back alley anyhow.” looking at Carlos as he said this, Chet grinned. “Another wise ass remark Blanco you will pay for.” Slowly he began to wrap his hands in bands of cloth, which were used to secure the knuckles while boxing and keep the wrist from getting damaged. “My friend works here, he had the bed removed for cleaning for a little extra cash from me. We have enough space to get this shit going. My hands are aching to punch that handsome face of yours Chester.” Tensing his neck muscles, he gave Carlos a mean glare “You’re going to get dropped like your wages, your migrant worker son of a bitch” he then went back to unzipping his gym bag and removing its contents before he started wrapping his own hands in black. The other chair had a pair of black Reyes 12-ounce boxing gloves, Mexican flag satin trunks and matching mouth guard. Taking out his own gear and placing it on the chair he had his own pair of medium brown 12 ounce Tuf-Wear brand gloves, blue trunks with gold waistband and an American flag on the right leg. He also had a white mouth guard and black hand wraps and lastly a pair of white boxing boots with gold laces. Chet stripped down to his white boxer briefs but left his boot socks on. Carlos brought out a scale from the bathroom and placed it in the center of the room. Standing a few inches from each other, they were nearly twins in height and relative body type. Carlos was a bit smaller in chest and shoulders though. Staring at each other intently, they raised their hands and gripped each other firmly by the other hands. Nodding, they started a small test of strength. The first to force the other one down to his knee was the winner. Each phase of the coming action was carefully planned beforehand and each man knew the consequences for failure. He would have to suck the others cock. Carlos threw in that it would start with a nice bathing of the testicles before the loser had to put the shaft in his mouth till the timer went off. Staring at each other now, dark brown eyes looking deep into dark green ones. They started to struggle against each other their forearms tensing up under the pressure. Bearing their teeth as their necks strained Chet as well was forced down, his arms shaking from the downward momentum. Once his hands were free he pounded his right fist on the floor. “No fucking way!” he stayed on one knee while Carlos set a nearby timer for three minutes and returned to position his crotch in Chet's face. “Yes way, get to sucking on this dick.”

Dropping to both knees from the one, Chet gripped the sides of Carlos' strong thighs with his wrapped hands and drew his face closer into the crotch area. Extending a longer then natural tongue from his pursed lips, he caressed the underside of the testicles with enough force to lift them up and draw them into his waiting mouth. They both fit easily and he began to suck on them with his entire mouth. Carlos felt his whole body becoming fully relaxed and his penis became fully erect rubbing up against Chet's forehead. Taking some time to properly wash each side of the ball sack, he reached over with his right hand and took hold of Carlo's cock by the shaft. Sliding his mouth free of the testicles, Chet licked the underside of the penis head. “Yeah you like that fucker.” He spoke the words in a whispering tone not one of malice but more of sexual stimulation. Carlos nodded. Then the shaft was drawn deep into his waiting mouth. His unnaturally long tongue acted like a sort of blanket as it wrapped around the underside. A mix of musty sweat and flesh covered Chet's taste buds as he began to work the thick appendage back and forth like sawing a log. The various states of warmth, moisture and pressure were nearly close to overloading Carlo's mind. Chet suddenly pulled his mouth free of the cock and stood up. He moved faster than expected and was in time to watch Carlos open his eyes slowly and the fresh expression of fading pleasure cover his face. Chet stepped over to the small table between the two chairs and picked up one of the ice buckets. He rinsed and spit. “Well that's about all of the free preview you’re going to get. Let the boxing decide what happens next ahhh-mee-go.” He pronounced the word amigo like he was mocking each vowel sound. Placing the bucket on the floor he dragged the chair at an angle to form his corner for the fight. Carlos did the same, taking his chair to the far corner. “Get suited up Blanco, your ass kicking is getting cold.” They both took some time getting all set. Trunks, boots on they each had their mouth guards in hand. Opting to just box without the headgear, it blocked the view of the punches hitting the head and they both liked seeing that. Carlos took out some waters and handed two over. He took out a small electronic timer. “We are going rounds or just till I drop you fool?” he didn't bother to turn around to see the look on Chet's face. “Let's go rounds, that way you can reflect each break just how nice my punches feel wetback.” Adjusting the timer to time them for 6 rounds at 2 minutes in duration, Carlos set the break time for one-and-a-half-minute rest periods. Neither of them needed more than the standard minute but he liked to rub his crotch and fuck with his opponent’s head during the extra time. The timer had a nice voice activation feature that responded to the word “box” Picking up his gloves, and walking to the middle of the carpeted area Carlos met Chet there. They got their gloves on and applied the Velcro fastening. Shoving the mouth guards into their waiting gaps, each locked eye with the other and smirked. Carlos turned his head and spoke through the front hole. “Box!” he said this loud enough that the timer made a clicking sound, nine more till the first round was underway. The only rule was that they keep within the chairs and away from the walls. That would hinder footwork but this wasn't a boxing ring nor was it for some large group of people to enjoy. Fancy wasn't going down here. Just a good old-fashioned fight.

The last tick of the timer had just sounded when Carlos stepped forward into an oncoming left jab that Chet had begun to throw. Slipping it like it was moving in slow motion, he fired off two stiff shots of his own and connected both times to Chet's chin and lower mouth. Immediate gratification filled his mind. The first punch landed was a small victory in boxing, like setting the flag on a new moon or planet or in this case this asshole's chin. The shots were stiff enough to jar Chet's neck a bit. They were also so fast that his failed to process except to get his gloves up to guard his face. The gloves blocked the thinking expression on his face and Carlos might have noticed he was being baited into going to the body now. He took it. Dipping forward he attempted to pummel Chet's stomach just above the belly button with straight left and right punches. His guard compromised as he began to throw the shots and equally as fast as the double jabs had connected, a powerful left jab and right cross combination tagged Carlos in the lip and nose areas. He still managed to sink his first shot into Chester's abdominal muscles but they were very well conditioned and the punch didn't have the desire affect. Jarred by taking two surprise face punches, he found himself thrown off long enough to receive a couple of good punches to his own body. The former marine had struck him near the edge of his ribs, and the solar plexus area. Stinging of his nose and sharp aching of his body seemed to mix now. He took a step back but ducked instead of leaning back with his gloves tight to his face area. This was a great ploy, because Chester had an incoming hook miss as it sailed over Carlos's head. Stepping into the punch it left his own body open and with a great amount of force, a straight right smashed into the solar plexus causing the marines pecs to shake from the force. Chet's eyes popped then pulled tight into a wince. Carlos began to pummel the midsection with left and right punches, rocking his head back and forth with the rhythm. The leather gloves pulled into thick balls smashed into abdominal muscles, flesh, and some fat rocking them all into small dimples. Chet bared his mouth guard as he tried to stomach the punishment. His arms began to grow heavy and began to lean forward from the onset of stomach ache when a straight right parted his gloves and crashed with a thwap! sound into his jaw dead center on the chin. The button as it’s called. His lips curled up and his eyes remained winced shut. Disorientation took its toll on his mind and deep down his tough military training was struggling to bring his focus around double time. Carlos shuffled back and forth with a good bit of personal rhythm on his foot work. He only needed to get an inch more between Chet's guard to deliver his dropping shot. “Come on fucker, loosen it up” was what he thought when he struck at the body again but thick forearms met his gloves and stopped the start of the assault cold. Perhaps desperate to not have his strategy over turned, Carlos tried to land a solid right uppercut to the jaw flush. Chet leaned in time to dodge it connecting at all and as the right glove sailed upward past his field of vision, time seemed to hang for a moment. He had an opening and took it. Dipping down he brought up his left hand into a similar uppercut and it struck Carlos flush under the jaw and his head seemed to quiver. Thump! The stern expression folded into one of surprise and pain and as his eyes began to open a right hook leveled off on the side of his face and jaw. Carlos turned to look off into nothing as he dropped to the carpeted floor below.

Chet rolled his gloves one over the other and pumped the right one out in front of him several times in bravado. “Yeah, how’s the rug taste es-say” he pronounced the word ese' with emphasis on the a sound on purpose. More mockery. Carlos got his head clear of the hooks effect and striking the floor and in seconds he was back on his feet but his vision wasn't fully aligned. The protocol for a knockdown was standing 8 count once up then glove tap and back to action. Carlos didn't make eye contact with Chester while he counted off the 8 through his mouth guard. The sarcasm of his tone over each of the numbers was apparent though. It was tough to be the first one down. He knew better to underestimate Chet's punches but he was too focused on making the other man look foolish and tagging the face was all he cared about. Giving him, a black eye was priority one. Seven. Carlos broke off his thinking and readied his gloves for the tap. The final number called and the tap came. He jabbed out and struck brown gloves instead of the face or eye area. Chet looked to land a punch to Carlos's stomach are after blocking the punches and the timer indicated only ten seconds left in the background put some urgency into his plan of attack. He had to instead fold his elbows in close to his ribs to defend against a barrage of punches to his own body. Carlos caught him twice to the abdominal area. The round bell went off. Walking back to their chairs, they sat down and each pulled off a glove to be able to get water and wash out their mouths. The mouth guard forced the inner wall to produce a lot of saliva and some of it was lying in a small thread on the carpet. Chet could see it in the lamp light. Once the guard was out he taunted “Oh man, you really dropped like a busted elevator Chicano.” laughing he waved his gloved hand at Carlos then grabbed his crotch. Sticking out his unnaturally long tongue he wiggled it mockingly. “Just wait Chester, I am going to plant you like a daisy this round.” Sticking his glove back on, he grabbed his own crotch and jarred his erect penis below. Staring across the room at his opponent’s deep farmer's tan, thick pectorals and sparse chest hair was making him hard. Almost as if Chester knew, he poured water over his chest and down his stomach. “Whoops” They locked eyes now and dark brown and deep blue held each other transfixed. Chet banged his gloves together just after the ten second indication. Carlos did the same. This round would begin with them looking right at each other’s faces, generally a smart boxer would look at the chest of his opponent to read shoulder and arm movement. This wasn't as much a boxing match as it was an exercise in foreplay. Jamming in their mouth guards they both stood up and raised their hands in defensive posture. The timer used a variation of recorded voices instead of chimes after the first round was over. A man's voice which was probably taped and not electronically created acted as the bell “Round Two! Fight !!” They moved right into the center of the room both rotating each glove in tight little circular patterns. Watching each other’s faces and then like a snake striking its prey, both threw an opposing punch at almost the same instance. Chet's straight right and Carlos's left jab glided past each other and met the opposing sides glove and both were blocked. Rock, Paper. Scissors style.

Daniel hadn't been employed long as a room cleaner (also known as guest service technician) by Mister Lakewood the owner of the Two Owl's Motor Inn. It was a shit job that paid nine thirty and hour but it was steady work. These winter months the place should just be closed but they were in a good spot for passing highway traffic. So, he got part time hours now. The second floor ended near an ice machine and there was a small supply closet located here. Daniel watched the snow falling past the bright orange halogen lights as he took out a small joint from his pocket and a red Bic lighter. Sparking it up he took a couple of puffs. He pulled out a tucked away cleaning cart from the back of the small cinder block room and pushed it off to one side. Moving into the small room he finished smoking the weed while taking a seat on a milk carton. Lakewood wouldn't leave the comfort of the main office to come checking on his progress and there was only some old man renting a room on this floor. What was the rush. He was just twenty-four years old and at times he acted a bit younger. Finishing his illegal break, he closed and locked the door tight. He was at the first room door and was fishing in his coat pocket for the keys when light caught the corner of his eye. He saw a set of squares made of light down in the parking lot and then he noticed the two new cars. Looking along the row of doors before him now, he spotted room 16 was the source of the light. Pulling out a small pad from his coat pocket, he examined it to note that the only occupied room was 22. So, who was using 16? Sticking it back into his pocket along with the keys he had just taken out, he moved slowly along the wall to draw closer to the window and see if he could spot anyone. There was a small metallic edge to the window frame that would allow him to wedge his smart phone into the gap and use it to see into the room without sticking his face into the window and risking being seen by the occupants. He did this a couple of times before during the summer, got nice footage of a newlywed couple fucking each other. Maybe there would be some hot woman laying on her bed waiting for someone to come in and warm her up on a cold winter's night. Daniel grinned as the though caressed his mind and after fitting the edge of his smart phones underside into the gap in the window, he tapped a few icons and the video camera filled the screen with an unexpected sight. Two men boxing each other. Crouching down, he pulled a milk crate from the cleaning cart's lower shelf. He used this to stand on when cleaning light fixtures and tops of shower rods. Sitting now on the crate he tapped the red circle to record as he watched. By the looks of things, it was a military type Caucasian guy fighting maybe a civilian Hispanic one. He knew the haircut and posture of a military man; his late Father was in the Army. It looked like the Hispanic guy had just been knocked down and was back up on his feet. The solider guy was saying something and holding up both of his brown gloves each time. A count of eight. Daniel liked boxing a lot, he had often watched it on bar televisions at home or with his Father growing up. This was cool and very strange all at the same time. Why were they boxing in a hotel room? Did Mr. Lakewood know? Then they tapped gloves and were looking to score a hit on each other. Both shot off opposing punches that were blocked by each other. It was so fake looking but Daniel could tell they weren't playing around. The Hispanic guy pounded hard with his right hand into the solider boy’s glove knocking it into his face and throwing him off a bit. The cold wind was starting to get to him but he wanted to see the rest of the fight so he pulled his coat closer to his body and watched on.

Just after Chet's brown 12-ounce glove was knocked purposely into the corner of his mouth he felt the familiar sensation of a hard-left hook burying itself flush just below his ribs. It rocked his torso and he took a small side step from the force. Lashing out as Carlos pulled up from the lower position, Chet struck his gloves hard enough to push them aside and open his face which accepted the incoming set of blows reluctantly. He strained his neck muscles as the incoming hits pounded into his mouth and chin area. These forced him to back pedal and almost lose his footing. Chet drove forward with a smashing right to the chest and a two popping jabs to the face near the left eye. Angered at losing control of the match, Carlos pulled his gloves tight to his face, his forearms close together to shell up and form a barrier to block any further incoming face shots. Chet knew what this was all about, force him to go to the body and expose his own face. Playing possum. There was a sure-fire way around this ploy, low enough ducking, and a good solid blow to the stomach dead on. Carlos eyed this lowering of his opponent’s shoulders and his ready counter for Chet's taking the bait was all set. Soon as the dark brown hair flat top was at wrist level He moved counter clockwise to dodge the ramming straight right that would have collided with his upper abdominal muscles. Although Chet's left glove was up and protecting that side his right temple was open as was part of the side of his face there. Twisting at the hip, Carlos first struck his temple with a short-range right hook. The blow caught him completely flat footed. His stance wavered and his gloves parted a bit. He was still extended on his right foot too far. The next punch was a wider right hook, called a roundhouse. It pivoted off the hip and powered from the legs. The black glove banged solidly into cheekbone, jaw bone and loose flesh there. Chet's head snapped to the side with such force that his mouth guard flew loose from his mouth. The extension of his own straight right till the second hook by Carlos were mere seconds. Chet wobbled and fell onto his side and when the side of his head hit the carpeted floor, it released a long projectile spit wad. His wincing face struck the carpet and its friction placed a small burn on his cheek. Carlos tapped his gloves together rhythmically. “You are fucking done blanco.... you look it.” It sounded like “U Fugger Un Anco...u ookit.” through his plastic guard. Much like he himself had been right up from the knockdown earlier, Chet shook his head twice and made a motorboat sound with his jowls. Like some cartoon character clearing small birds and stars away from their head. He sat up with his arms over his thighs for a moment, then he grabbed his mouth guard up off the floor. It had struck a nearby wall and left a wet mark. It was bloody now. The blood tax was paid. This was a term some of the boxers he met in these “unofficial” locations would use to express an interest in one of the opponents getting a bloody nose or lip. Chet's cut was inside his mouth, made as his face met carpet after the guard flew free. Standing up he walked over and smacked the big button of the timer to pause it. This was ok with Carlos, it was what they did when someone lost a guard. He dropped it into the ice bucket full of water that Carlos used for his corner and cleaned it off. Getting his glove off he took it out and shook it a couple of times. Still not saying anything. He put it back into his mouth and looked at Carlos. He was going to hit the button again to resume the round and move to tap gloves but a puff of steam rose past the light reflected in the window. The room itself reflected there but in a thin visage. Chet stepped side ways to use Carlos as a block for the window. Pulling the guard out again with a wet brown leather glove he spoke “We have someone watching us asshole.” Carlos motioned behind him with a nod of his head and then tapped his chest with his black glove. “Let me do the honors.”

Sitting in a small, poorly lit backroom that was nothing more than a glorified closet space. Henry Lakewood, middle aged owner of Motor Inn sat here crammed into a folding chair. The door was ajar just enough for him to hear if someone came in, but no one beyond that lazy shit Daniel would now of night and season. Sitting here, he had his pants undone and unzipped. Old khakis with several worn spots near the belt line. His button down white cotton shirt was off completely. The small desk in front of him held a few small television monitors but only two were active. The bottom one was of this very office and a view of the front walkway. The second one was of the room where Carlos and Chet were having their little boxing match. Beside the TV's was an Apple laptop open to a chat room with web cam feeds of their room as well. He was made aware of the use of his Inn for this little “bout” via an online chat service. The man was only known as “FightGuy4All” and he arranged to have these little matches be hosted. The owner of the hotel or motel who subscribed to the site would be given their pick of boxers, removal of any large furnishings like beds or couches and other objects would be taken out. The two guys fighting would have no clue they were being watched via cams hidden throughout the room. The hosting boxer would signal the other one with a sign in the window that read a specific number.

They thought this number was linked to the type of action they were going to have. FightGuy4All had in fact set it up to mean dual things. One was type of match. The other was the chat room and cam feed the online watchers would join to watch the action. They were having a 6 tonight, which meant it was a fight to see which one would be fucked by the other. Short for sixty-nine. The two men were none the wiser and the room was re-sorted out. If a knockout occurred there was a bonus for the hosting Manager. Lakewood couldn't wait for a KO to happen and he had thought it just did when Chet had been dropped hard by a great roundhouse punch. He wanted to see the jar head getting his ass rammed by Carlos, he had a thing for Latino guys. Rubbing his gold and black rimmed briefs he reached in and took a hold of his cock while watching Chet take a sitting break and shaking off the effect of the blow. “Yeah, yes you had your lid loosened with that one huh jar head fuck.” he spat the words at the screen. “Take the lid off this fucker Carlos baby.” Looking at his laptop screen he read a couple of comments that were saying basically the same thing. Chet got his bell rung like it was church on Sunday. Then after getting his guard back in he walked to the middle of the room and without sound to accompany the visuals it wasn't clear what happened next. Carlos said something in return. Then Chet moved off to the far side of the room past the door and darted off to the left side of it. Carlos slipped his right glove off and with a nod to Chet, whipped the door open and rushed outside.