All Things Boxing

*Invitation to the Squared Circle*

Michael Egan ~VS~  David Woodall

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        Reputation. The understanding that the opinions of others can become such a crushing weight that one must adhere to keeping this precious sense of public scrutiny to a minimum. For David Woodall, a crimson red envelope adorned with gold leaf accents arriving in his mailbox would prove to be just such a weight placed against his very sense of what being a man truly meant. A thick, card stock type stationary expertly scripted in gold ink was his name on the front. No return address or indication from the outside as to whom might have sent it out. Hesitant to open the envelope with his bare hands, he retrieved a Ziploc baggy and used it as makeshift glove to undo the sticker seal and expose the card inside. Standing several feet from the front door of his split-level house, an expansion recently completed to the property widening the yard told those neighbours on the street that David had status. Wearing a loosely tied black silk robe with black slippers. He was still in very tight shape for a man in his early forties. Just under six feet tall, his angular face was accented by a mane of thick, well groomed dark brown hair with accenting grey tips where the sideburns met the upper cheeks. His face was wide, and his chin somewhat pointed jutted down under a medium sized jawline. His muscular abdominal region and pectorals were borne as the robe slipped open defined and lean and devoid of any hair at all. His medium sized hands removed the card, one covered in the baggy. The card inside read as follows:

***** Chicago Gentleman’s Club *****

*** BOXING CHALLENGE ***

Mr. Woodall. You have been selected to put your reputation, strength, skill and wits to the test as this month’s “Grudge Combatant” at a location that will be provided to you after you follow this cards instruction. Failing to do so within the time limit stated below will forfeit your involvement and be publicly posted in several major online social media venues. We do not tolerate cowards lightly. If you are physically or mentally unable to adhere to this challenge, this card along with a licensed doctor’s documentation must be returned to your mailbox within 2 days to expire at twelve noon. If this card is placed by itself that will signify that you are fit and able to adhere to the challenge put forth and you will receive a visit from one of our representatives as to the specifics.

                          ************************************

    There was no signature on the card and David’s pulse had quickened as he read the card over a second time. He had maybe been in two fights in his entire life, and both were ground wrestling the dirt during grade school recess. His mind reeled at the prospect now of having to fight some unknown challenger in some “Underground Fight Club” it occurred to him that this might be an elaborate hoax. Who would have gone to such great lengths to do that? The card, the ink and the style were very elaborate and nothing that any of his friends would be able to pull off without help or maybe hiring someone. There was no mention of not telling others about it. Still, what if it was real and he decided to ignore it. Granted, some of his close friends would understand that decision. This was barbaric nonsense. Everyone but his current girlfriend Dana would think that. She could become disinterested in him if it were to come out that he was a coward. She wanted him to be more spontaneous and “macho” she wanted a gentleman and a tough guy all rolled into one. His worried brow softened as he smirked to himself. How turned on would she be to learn that he entered into an underground fight and won. There was one thing that appealed to all women, and that was power. This too appealed to David. Although his fear of the unknown was crowding his thoughts now trying to take a foothold. He wouldn’t know why he returned the card to the envelope and placed it back in his mailbox looking back on the events to follow in the coming weeks, even years later it would only be recalled as an automatic gesture and one motivated by how Dana would suck him off as a victory prize. He returned to his house and closed the door. A black motorcycle rolled up to the mailbox, its rider covered in black leather and wearing a black and gold helmet took the card out and sped off.

                                                   ************

        Several miles away, around the time that David Woodall was finding a strange crimson envelope in his mailbox. Another gentleman’s perspective contender was coming down the second story stairs of his split-level house to discover a dark purple card sized envelope had been pushed through his front doors mail slot. The only piece of mail. No postmark or stamp. Wearing only a pair of navy-blue boxer shorts, Michael Egan was in relatively great shape for his late fifties age. Not defined in form, his body was of a medium build. A thick carpet of grey and brown hair covered his broad chest and mostly the same shade layered upon his oval features gave him an experienced look. One might even compare his broad chin and deep eyes to that of a police detective on one of those prime-time cop shows. Picking up the envelope, without giving it a second thought unlike another recipient across town. Giving it a quick once over, he tore open the high-quality stationary. Inside was an index card shaped piece of card stock. Typed in an unusual gold tinted font were two short sentences.

Chicago’s Underground Gentleman’s Club

*** Michael Egan ***

You Have Been Challenged to fight

Call the number provided to accept.

           A hand drawn picture of a black boxing gloves hung below the block of text and the word “over” beside it. Flipping the card revealed an address on the edge of the east side of the city and a date and time. June 10th 6 PM and a mobile number. Michael’s hands tensed as did his cock and balls. A sudden jolt of excitement moved through his body now. The Gentleman’s Underground was a well-known urban legend among the local homosexual population and for years he had heard rumours of their famous challenge bouts. The glove symbol could only mean that he was being called out to box someone. He didn’t care about the who though. Boxing was ever present in his daily thoughts, picturing men on the street in gear sometimes just watching one stranger fight the other right there on the sidewalk or the soft grass of a nearby park. He would also pit them against him in a crowded gym of only male spectators. He was the reigning champion and there wasn’t a man in the city who could overcome his ability. Lost in a thick clot of daydream, Michael didn’t notice that he had begun to precum. A small droplet had fallen from the head of his penis to drip to the dark hard wood floor below and once more. Looking down he took a moment to admire the sight. He had roughly a month to prepare for his first “underground” fight. Already having assembled a small home gym set up consisting of a black leather punching bag, a red/white and blue double ended bag and matching speed bag he was already doing the routines daily. Skipping rope, shadowboxing in a full-length mirror and lifting weights. He was going to give this chump the worst beat down of his life. The only real way to conduct himself as a true boxer would be to knock this man unconscious. Call his left-hand karma and his right-hand justice. He was inevitable.

          Placing a call to the mobile number on the card. A deep, slightly baritone British accented man answered the call. “Mr. Egan. I trust you are calling to confirm your participation in our next event on June 10th.” Michael’s reply of “Absolutely, I am honoured to be chosen.” was met by a short chuckle of approval. “Very good sir. It is men such as yourself that keep our gentleman entertained. This bout will consist of official boxing shoes or boots, your preference. Gym or boxing type trunks also your choice. We will provide the gloves and mouth guard. The rounds, and duration there in will also be determined at the night of the event. Should you win, you will be given a bonus, a proper title belt and a place on our “Wall of Warriors”. You will be visited by our representative soon to provide you with location information soon. Good luck sir. Fight well.” the voice disconnected the call and Michael put the mobile phone back on its charger. Getting into his gym attire he began to workout in preparation for the event to come.

  ************

     Time moved by quickly, in the weeks to follow. David Woodall had hired a private boxing instructor who worked primarily with fitness type clientele. They focused on defence, pad work and cardio. His strategy was to outlast his opponent. Score punches after successfully blocking hits and run down the round clock to gain victory on points. His trainer wasn’t shy to inform David that going toe to toe wasn’t ideal with his moderate power level and boxing was a gentleman’s sport of strategy not just brute force. David had made up stats and experience level of his upcoming opponent because he didn’t risk exposing to this man that he was going into an “underground” event. The trainers in town were well networked and word would get back to his business pals in no time. The mock sparring, they did have resulted in David getting hit a bit too hard in the nose and mouth. He played it off that the blows hadn’t shaken him up but the experience of taking a punch was brand new and it did shake him. A single drop of blood falling from his left nostril was the result. The trainer, a young man in his late 20s hadn’t put that much heft behind his jab. He didn’t share his true opinion that David here was in for a bad outcome unless his opponent turned out to be some dough boy accountant type. He shrugged and waited for David to clean himself up and they went on to do pad work instead.

     That same evening there was a knock at his door. Opening it he was greeted by a stern looking Englishman, well dressed and a good decade or so older. The conversation was brief. He told David that June 10th at 6 pm was the night of his challenge bout and what gear he was expected to provide. David asked if he could know any details about who had challenged him and if he would be allowed to have a guest attend to take photograph. The gentleman shook his head. “Understand Ser, this club must maintain its at all times. I can assure you however that you will be provided with a photograph at the outcome of the bout. Rest well and train properly and we will see you at this address at 4 pm sharp. We allow for the participants to warm up prior and will provide trained staff to ensure you are warmed up adequately. Good day” leaving the house. The man closed the door and a sly smirk played upon his face. If only he knew who he would be facing. David opted to begin searching online boxing equipment sites for the boots, trunks and robe he would be wearing into the ring. He really wished Dana could be there ringside or in his changing room afterwards to give him his real “prize” for being such a sexy beast of a man. Coming across some patterns and looks he liked he proceeded to order.

          Michael spent the weeks leading up to the bout solo training, no pad work or sparring in person but over video sparring sessions he had found on YouTube. Taking hits, getting hit wasn’t going to be an issue. He had been scrapping in various form of combat with his identical twin brother on and off for years. The feel of hard, leather covered fists wasn’t new. The jarring sensation of a good punch to the mouth or upon the base of the eye was familiar territory. Even if his opponent turned out to be some seasoned veterans with superior boxing ability, the art of the match was the give and take of the punches. Those who focused on what might happen were usually the ones kissing the canvas early. Michael felt like a tiger that had been starved a solid meal for weeks and now caged was just spoiling to be let free and go after his prey. He found a nice pair of black high style boxing boots with a single gold lightning bolt on the rear. The kind that laced tight to the lower thigh and hugged the ankles, balancing the pivot of steps beautifully. He found a very nice pair of dark green 1940s style boxing trunks by Tuf-Wear on an auction site and used the “buy it now” feature to grab them. They were owned by a small time Chicago boxer at the time who had passed away. Michael could only imagine how they would look on him as he stepped between the ropes. He finished the looks off by obtaining a gold metallic robe that made him look like he was some rich man. He was valuable to this club in his mind. He toyed with getting it embossed with his name and a ring name but decided against it. Why spoil its golden looks with that. The match was only days away. As he worked the black leather punching bag over, he pictured it being his opponent for Friday’s bout. Digging hard round leather bombs into the man’s mid section and hooking hard to his ribs. Bobbing his head back and forth with sharp jabs and then rocking his world with crosses and overhand rights to the forehead. He smirked lost in thought.

              Mid afternoon on the 10th of June and David Woodall had spent a good deal of the morning with a thick clot of butterflies in his stomach. Unable to eat or sleep the night before the pressure of his upcoming fight like carrying around a giant boulder. His desire to prove his manliness to Dana struggles against an almost equal urge to just not show up and deal with the fallout of being a chicken. Eventually it was now close to mid afternoon and he was packing his gym bag. The side of him that wanted the glory won out in the end. He had also found an ingenious canteen type water bottle that was actually a hidden micro-camera. This way he could have it in his corner of the ring and get the entire match on hidden video as it could record for up to an hour total and save the data to its internal memory card. How great he would look being able to replay the footage for her in the bedroom. This thought pushed all others aside as he packed his bag and left for the address he had been provided. He wasn’t familiar with the outskirts of the west end of the city, but it was one of the better neighbourhoods. While he made his way to the location, Michael Egan was doing the same heading for the edge of the east side. Both men were greeted at the address given with an empty lot. The surrounding buildings looked abandoned. Before the thought of it being some kind of “test” crossed David’s mind, a person on a black motorcycle approached the side of his car. Michael had gotten out of his own vehicle and was walking toward the vacant lot when a grey and black street bike sped up to the curb and the driver gestured for him to come over. Suddenly both men were sprayed in the face by some type of misting spray from a bottle and within seconds were rendered fully unconscious. Their gear as well as their personal affects, keys and phones were collected. A van approached both locations and men moved the unconscious bodies into the back. One man took the car and followed and within minutes it was as if neither man had been at the meeting point at all.

                                                     ***********

             As his vision unclouded and the scope of his surroundings became apparent, David Woodall was unsure as to why he wasn’t more alarmed. The small room was painted a deep crimson red and the furniture, including the long table on which he now was sitting up; were made of dark expensive looking leather. A small bathroom was situated toward the back and it had a stall type shower. Various colour and black and white images of boxers from different decades adorned the walls in a circular pattern. David’s gym bag sat on a nearby chair. Slipping off of the table, he opened it up and made sure than nothing was missing. Beside the chair a small wooden framed table with marble top held his car keys. Removing his trunks, boxing shoes, socks, jockstrap and hand wraps he placed them all on the table. Again, a nagging feeling like he should be in a full panic seemed to scratch at his mind. He was unaware that an injection of a mild animal anti-anxiety medicine had been administered when he was taken into the van. He was just finding his metallic water canteen / camera when the door opened. The Englishman who had visited his house paused for a moment and then entered the room closing the door behind him. He carried a cardboard box under his right arm. “Good to see you are awake and sorting out your gear Mr. Woodall” he walked over to the table place the box beside David’s other belongings. He then extends his right hand and David shook it. “We haven’t had a proper introduction but now that you are here within the club’s walls, let me introduce myself. My name is Jack Cole. I am the founder of this club back in London and its American chapter here in Chicago. My apologies for the manner in which you arrived but our location must remain a complete mystery to those who participate. Here are your gloves, there is an hour till your bout. Proceed to get dressed, the wrapping of your hands and pad work will be handled shortly.” as he reached the door and turned the knob he stopped to look back. “Oh, and I took the liberty of refreshing your canteen. Your corner attendant will handle that for you Ser. Good luck.” grinning or partially smirking, he left the room and closed the door.

            Leaving the room, Jack walked down a narrow hallway into the main room beyond. He motioned to a younger man wearing a low-cut black tank top and carrying a towel around his neck. “Give him about 5 minutes and then check that he is dressed and begin the pad work warm up Scott and make sure he has fully recovered from the injection.” the man nodded, and Jack proceeded to cross the large room, making his way past he first section of spectator seating. There were three in total, the “Platinum” area was comprised of very expensive seating with cigar humidors and tray tables. This had the widest view of the ring and the overhead lighting obscured its view of the other sections. Next, the Gold section had the same type of seating minus the additional accessories for drinking and smoking cigars had the most direct view of the ring and both its blue and red corners. Jack passed the end of this section as he made his way to the back bar area to retrieve a second box that had been left there. A network of panels had been set up along the side of the Gold section to block its view of the Diamond one which was situated just before the blue corners dressing area hallway. This section was comprised of long couch-like seating and wooden foot stools that held small white bathroom towels and baby wipes. This area had been a big success in London and Jack himself had frequented it as a younger man.  Reaching the entrance to the small hallway to the next dressing area, he paused to give it a second look and grinned. Its main feature was a partition wall comprised of a large one-way mirror. This way those using it were able to remain anonymous and enjoy the release of masturbation during a fight.

             Sometime before David had come to in his room in the “red corner” section of the Chicago Gentleman’s Club. Michael Egan had already come awake, propped up in a dark brown leather chesterfield style couch. The sedative given didn’t fully dull his bodies surging endorphins. Shock was quickly dissipating into excitement. He was actually here, and it was really happening. Standing to stretch out his body, he spotted his gym bag sitting on the wide rub-down table open and his gold robe was hanging on a hanger on a small hook on the nearby wall. Michael began to look around the room and then at the pictures. They weren’t of known boxers but of models dressed in different time period gear, in settings that matched. From the bare-knuckle days of linen pants, sashes to modern day. One picture a black and white action photo caught his attention as it was the only one that depicted a match in progress.

         The raw nature of the subject matter, one man clearly on the edge of being knocked out and his eager opponent wanting nothing more than to land the final punches and send the beaten boxer through the ropes to his complete failure, defeat and humiliation on the other side struck a chord with him. This photograph illustrated his desires tonight. Michael felt a familiar tightening in his crotch and his scrutiny of the photograph was only interrupted by the sound of the door opening. “Mr. Egan. It is good to finally meet you in person Ser.” the Englishman from several weeks prior was now entering the room with a younger, ginger haired man who was carrying warm up pads and a towel around his neck. Upon entering the room, they closed the door and the Englishman introduced himself as Jack Cole and the other man as Sean. Michael grinned as he eyed the small cardboard box under Jack’s arm and extended his hand to shake first his and then the young gingers. Jack’s grip was like iron, a much stronger man than he seemed to be. “Are those my gloves Sir?” Michael felt like a small boy on Christmas morning. Jack smirked. “Ser, your enthusiasm to be here and to be participating this evening is one I appreciate. Your lust for combat is admirable so I am playing favourites when I say that I took extra detail in finding you a suitable pair of boxing gloves.” Placing the box on the rub-down table he removed the lid to reveal a pair of 1950’s vintage black Tuf-Wear brand boxing gloves. The kind that laces up, bordered by visible white cotton stitching in 12 oz weight. “These aren’t the exact style that were used in the Golden Gloves at the time, but they are similar. I know that your Father was a fighter and thought maybe you would appreciate the reference.” Michael eyed the gloves as if they were made of solid gold. Again, his crotch tightened. “These are incredible Mr. Cole.” he picked them up in his hands and to his surprise they weren’t butter soft from constant use but still fairly stiff. The only way that this was possible was if they were never used. “Yes, I definitely chose the right man to have his grudge realized here tonight inside the boxing ring. Sean and I will step out now so you can change. Knock twice on the door so Sean can return to do your hands, lace your gloves and warm you up for the fight. The bout will commence within the hour. My expectation of you Ser is that you will be going for the knockout. I highly approve if that were to be in the later rounds. Give the lads in attendance a good showing” Jack’s smile now was telling that he was looking forward to seeing Michael fight for as long as possible.

                                               ************************

          Both men were now geared up and standing in their perspective hallways that led to the main room and boxing ring beyond. David Woodall wore a royal blue boxing robe made by Everlast and its hood was up. His neck wrapped in a thick white towel covered his upper chest. The arch of the robes hood shadowed his face obscuring it. Upon his hands were a pair of modern Reyes navy blue lace up gloves in 12 oz weight. They were brand new from their smell and the stiffness of the leather. Expensive but worth every penny and they looked completely out of place on David. Like a young boy who finds his Fathers gear and puts it on. Playing make-believe. Dan, the young man that had warmed him up prior to exiting the dressing room couldn’t help but wonder if he was even going to land a single punch. Would the gloves remain unused even after tonight? Standing behind David now he smirked and choked back the urge to laugh audibly. He loved his job here at the Club. Grudge night was always entertaining. One more lamb going up against a wolf. David kept his mind focused on Dana, how she would admire the oil painting he would have commissioned of him standing over his defeated opponent as she knelt nearby like one of those slave wenches in those Barbarian fantasy portraits. His own crotch tightened as he rested his gloves on Dan’s shoulders and they began their entrance walk.

       Michael’s hands felt like they had been dipped in gold and then sprinkled with diamonds. These Tuf-Wear felt like a second skin on hands. Banging them together made the most intoxicating sound. He had his own robes hood up and instead of obscuring his face in shadow it was covered by a towel like hood with eye holes. So, his identity to his opponent would be a total mystery until the bout was ready to start. He really liked that idea. Give the other guy something to worry about. Banging his gloves together again, Sean grinned and motioned for him to put his gloves on the slightly taller mans shoulders. “It’s time Mr. Egan. Good Luck out there” they began moving and the closer they came to the exit door into the brightly lit room beyond, the more the jock strap fought to contain the penis beyond. Like leather reins on a wild horse recently caught. It bucked against the leather at every step. The room exploded into noise, cheering and whistles. Roughly 400 gentlemen were in attendance this evening. Many were dressed in tank tops or muscle shirts as it was fairly hot outside this 10th of June. Those sitting in the Platinum section were in proper tuxedos. These were the visiting guests from the London Club. Varying in age and social standing, many were young thirties. The Gold section housed the locals. It had one special sub row in the very front, as close to ringside as you could get. The men all cheered as they spotted both boxers entering. The light striking Michael’s gold robe made it seem like he was angelic. He looked over the myriad of faces before him and a lot of these younger Englishmen were very handsome looking. Tight moustaches and trimmed hair parted perfectly. Smoking cigars and drinking expensive cognac. Just as he rounded the corner of the professional sized 20x20 foot ring with its black ropes, white canvas and Dual English and American flags in the centre his knees almost knocked together. Sitting across from his corner in the front sub-section of the Gold area was his father and identical twin brother Patrick. Both with beers bottled beers in hand. This had been a dream of Michael’s for years, to have them be in attendance of him boxing someone. This Jack Cole was some type of mythical being. The sight of them and knowing they didn’t recognize him yet only empowered his urge to get the fight going. Looking across the way at his opponent now, who was walking up the small stairs to his own corner he couldn’t make out who it was, but the build wasn’t that of someone intimidating. His mind still reeled from seeing his Father and brother and as Sean lifted the ropes for him to enter, he gave his gloves one final bang together. He then spotted that some of the Gold section attendees were in military uniforms, Navy and Marines distinct looks stood out.

      David’s entrance into the room was from the Diamond section side and what he encountered there gave him an uneasy feeling. The men sitting there were all shirtless. Some of them were in nothing more than boxer briefs. It was strange. His mind was too busy processing that he was about to enter a boxing ring and fight someone. It jumbled to recall his trainer’s words and strategies. Keep away, counter punch and just keep moving was the advice which returned to him now and to use your fitness as your asset. It was true, the daily runs and gym routines had made him very fit for his age. David half expected to see Dana there in the crowd too but alas women were obviously not allowed in. He imagined her in the first row in some black lace teddy lingerie and grinned. Spotting his opponent now, someone in a gold Metallica robe whose thick chest hair was jutting out of the opening a bit. Even from this vantage point he could see it was grey coloured. So, he was up against some old man. David hoped he wasn’t going to be knocking any dentures out tonight and smiled. Once inside the ring however his stomach knotted up and the room felt like it had suddenly become 5 sizes too small. He quivered a bit and Dan who was to act as his corner man noticed it. As did some of the men watching from the Diamond area and they visibly rubbed themselves. Confidence and fear were both energies that one could get off on seeing. Jack Cole emerged from the back room wearing a pair of pinstripe suit pants, a long-tailed Tuxedo jacket and a bow tie. Otherwise, he was bare chested underneath. His abdominal and pectoral muscles were gym hardened and he had a distinct rose tattoo on his upper chest with a small pair of black boxing gloves hanging from its stem. He also wore a top hat; he was like a circus Ringmaster instead of a boxing announcer. The production values for this Club were definitely high. Slowly a metallic microphone receiver was lowered from the rafters above. David and Michael were both in their corners now and the introductions were about to commence. 

       “Gentlemen.” Jack tapped the microphone a few times to gain everyone’s attention. Michael kept looking back at his Father and Patrick and anticipating the moment that he revealed himself. David was looking around the room but mostly at Jack. “Now that I have your attention, I would like to introduce the fighters for tonight’s six round melee.” he paused to allow for applause once again. “Tonight, we have a special treat. These two gentlemen are already acquainted. They met once before in a very different venue that deals in swift and absolute justice, but the squared circle relies not on verdicts but on raw strength of mind and body. “ Jack paused again, and the room erupted into cheers. He smiled, like a hyena does when it spots a gazelle in the plains and its next meal. “I would like to introduce the  combatant in the blue corner first. A man who I was honestly a bit surprised to see accepted the challenge.” Laughter came from various areas around the room and David’s stomach flooded with butterflies again. “Now now, gentleman, let us welcome him. Fighting out of the blue corner, standing at five foot ten inches tall and weighing in at 182 lbs and 13 stone” on cue, Dan took down David’s hood revealing his face. Michael gasped. If the sight of his family had been like a pile of bricks falling on him in terms of a surprise, that he was actually going to get to fight the one man he had wanted to since their property dispute a year before, well that was like the whole damn brick wall had fallen on him. This Jack Cole had to be some type of magician. Fuck yes, showtime baby. He almost let out an audible sound. The room cheered but it felt half-hearted. The only person making any type of commotion was Dana, but no one could hear it. David meekly raised a glove of greeting and turning to the diamond section he quickly turned back as he spotted a man visibly stroking his exposed penis. A shudder of revulsion washed over his body. He jerked his mind back to focusing and tapped his gloves together. “Gentleman, now I will introduce our combatant in the red corner. He stands at 6 feet even and weighs in at a 185 pounds, 13 stone as well. Please welcome Michael Egan.” Cheering now was pretty much the entire room. The loudest being from Michael’s Father and brother. His hood and towel removed his face was exposed. He turned to look away from his family to see the expression on David’s face. It was clear that this revelation was a shock. David looked a bit pale too. Like a mouse who just sees a cat. “As is the custom here, we have no central ring introduction. No standing 8 count or 3 knock-down rules either. If the bout should reach the end of the 6th round a winner will be declared by attendee’s mutual vote on performance but let’s hope that isn’t the case lads.

          Michael tensed his body for the burst of energy he was about to expend charging out to meet David head on. His mind swirled with the memories of his court defeat, the poor communication and arrogant behaviour of David over a change in property which encroached on his own enjoyment. Like a large fence that blocks the sun from your pool. The extension was worth kicking this man’s ass over and here he was finally going to get the chance to do just that. His robe removed, some of the diamond section attendees admired his body, Michael was what they called the “Silver fox” type of guy. David too had shed his royal blue robe to reveal a pair of American flag trunks, a tired cliche but not as bad as the “Rocky” themed ones. His tall boxing shoes were also white with red/blue laces. Only the military men in attendance found this empowering. Michael saw how awkward those Reyes gloves looked on him now. Like they were bigger than 12 oz size. Jack Cole walked over to David’s corner and the microphones chord followed him as it elongated. “It is my custom to give each fighter the chance to say something before the first round commences. Do you have anything to say to Michael Egan Ser?” Oh and of course, to Dana Ashland who is watching from our VIP lounge right over there.” Jack pointed to the mirrored section at the back. David’s body filled with a sudden surge of energy. “This one’s for you baby” but his voice wasn’t as forceful as he wanted it to be. The shock of learning she was there collided with the sudden realization that he was about to fight. He raised a glove meekly. Jack strode across the ring to Michael and asked him the same thing. Michael raised his gloves to chest height and smirked “This one’s for you Dad and Patrick.” he paused and spoke again “Oh and David, I am going to kick your ass. No hard feelings” Extending a glove outward to point at the other man, he turned the attached thumb down as if to show him where he would be going. Jack Cole’s grin widened. “Well then let me get out of the ring and let’s get this fight underway.”

                                           ***** ROUND 1 *****

                The sound of someone “tock tock toking” a piece of wood together signalled the ten second ready warning before the fight bell would sound. Sean pushed a thick, white double mouth guard into Michael’s mouth as Dan did the same for David. They both were given a good smear of Vaseline around their eyes too. Sean leaned in “Have fun taking this chump to school man, he looks shook up and you haven’t even hit him yet. Land a nice body uppercut for me, love how those sound.” Sean winked and Michael winked back. Dan tapped David’s shoulders and rubbed them a bit “Hope your defence is good man, this guy will be coming at you like a missile. Be ready” and then the bell itself went off. Very few of the gentlemen watching will recall who landed what over the course of rounds but the first punch of the first round is always easy to recall. David had his gloves up and was in the process of looking how to move around Michael when the first clean jab of the fight knocked past his gloves like a bowling ball hitting pins and the black vintage leather of the left glove compressed into his lips and chin area. His neck tensed and the punch jolted him down to his toes. That single action suddenly sparked his fight or flight response and he saw nothing but Michael’s face as he stepped forward and launched a double jab of his own directed at the nose and eye area. Both shots seemed to catch Michael flat-footed, and both connected. Mashing his nose in the process and forcing his eyes to water. David paused as if to say, “Got you!” Michael’s face contorted from a brief visage of shock to one of focus. He now threw to stiff left jabs of his own, one to the mouth and chin and one to the nose dead centre. These both landed. Bobbing David’s head like double-ended bag. He then launched a big right hook that cradled the cheek area and violently jarred David’s head sideways forcing the man to break guard and reel in that direction. All three hits seemed like one big jolt to David whose mind couldn’t process anything but the sensation of being knocked off balance. The room spun for a moment. He was guarding now and backing up. His gloves managed to stop the next set of jabs at his face, the sound of leather smacking leather filled the air. One of the diamond section attendees began to jerk off vigorously at the site of Michael landing shots. Then a big left uppercut, a “shovel hook” in boxing vernacular found its target just on the edge of David’s abs and sank in nicely. Sean cheered. The clot of butterflies was replaced by a dull ache from the punch. David threw a desperate left hook out and it caught Michael just to the side of his temple area. The hardened leather mashing the sideburns flat. It had some heft to it, and he saw bright white spots before his eyes, classic stars. David executed a good straight right punch to Michael’s chin and leather cupped inward as the bony chin met it head on. Cheering erupted at the sudden turn in control. Stunned, Michael was taking other shots now. David was landing jab, jab hook, then he alternated hooking to the left and right sides of Michael’s rib cage. It all seemed like David was going to have his way until suddenly a blindside right uppercut connected with his lower jaw and David’s eyes rolled like a pair of dice in Las Vegas. He was knocked backward into the ropes and his guard although up was now splayed out and it was open season.

          In the time while David was out of it from the uppercut partially pin-balling his grey matter. Michael recovered from the previous assault and went in after the other man. He alternated his punches, left and right. He landed to the chin, nose, side of the jaw and several to the right eye. These shots had David seeing nothing but a blur of light, colour and motion. The next shot to the eye would begin the process of creating a good lump-like shiner there. Michael went downstairs to land several more shovel hooks, standard hooks and one solid straight right to the solar plexus. The ropes worked to keep David pinned and taking a real beating. It was the damn round ending that spoiled the fun. The ding ding ding of the end of the round. David seemed like he might go down, but he made it to his corner. Michael plopped down to have his guard removed and his upper back massaged. “You are gold out there Michael, thanks for all those great shovel hooks. That was awesome.” Sean’s tone of voice told Michael that he was into him a bit more than just as an enthusiastic corner man. This guy had a serious chub watching him fight. Shit, many of the diamond section did too and they were either stroking their own cocks or the helping the guy in front of them. Water got in and out of David’s mouth meekly. He was shaken from the assault and struggling to get his mindset back. Fuck, Dana must be so embarrassed right now was all he could think, the shock of taking hits wasn’t as lasting as he thought so it was time to go after Michael and give her something to be proud of. Dan didn’t offer any advice. He cleared and reinserted the mouth guard and looked around the room. He didn’t see this being a long fight. He knew however that Jack preferred it. Anything to get the lads fired up right.

                                           ***** ROUND 2 *****

             Immediately, Michael spotted the blackened lump under David’s eye and he felt this surge of pride. That became a new “favoured” target. He looked down at his Father and brother who were both clapping. His Father made a “uppercut” gesture and then tapped his own chin. Patrick shouted, “Knock him out bro” and winked. The bell sounded and Michael turned back toward the fight and hardly had time to fully raise his gloves before David was ¾ of the way at him and coming in fast. Taking a few strides and at the last moment, ducking under a wild incoming right hook. Michael dipped and then came up to perfectly plant his left glove in the uppercut style just under David’s chin and along the jawline. From David’s perspective he was throwing a hook and then something hard hit his mouth. His thick white guard rattled against his teeth and his forward mind was plagued by a sudden and acute form of migraine. The room spun like a top and he reeled from the sudden explosion of light, colour and his ears popping from the pressure. It seemed as though he might be hurtling toward unconsciousness. Seeing his girlfriends face on that painting, looking lovingly up at him. It jarred his senses back to normalcy. He grabbed Michael’s arms tight with his inner forearms and clinched, his cheek coming to rest on the man’s shoulder. The room cheered and the energy of the sound almost shook the ring. In some sort of strange contrast, the big white flashy stars on his trunks were also now floating lazily before his vision. Shaking off the punches affect, David was dismayed to feel hard, short hooks battering his midsection now. He was practically a punching bag now. Without really knowing how to properly connect or throw an uppercut, he pushed Michael away and then went for it with his right hand. The punch landed but it had only a fraction of the power that he had been nailed with and only served to look like something thrown in desperation. Michael shook his head. Wordlessly conveying that it wasn’t done correctly and then proceeded to connect two left jabs flush to the mouth, a left hook to the side of the ribs and the stiff right cross to chin area. Clear and reddish spit flew one direction, clear droplets of sweat flew off of David’s mussed up hair, now a flat rat nest looking thing. Another hook, this one a right-handed punch collided to the side of his lumpy eye. His eyes went blank for a moment. It was as if a bubble appeared over Michael’s head and Jack Cole’s was in it. “Make sure if you knock him out, you do it in the later rounds Ser” because honestly Michael could knock this fucker out right now. It was tempting. Again, David clinched and was taking body work short range. His face was a mix of fatigue, pain and seasickness. Several more times he tried to push Michael back and connect, and two more times he was tagged with many punches to his face for the trouble. His left eye was swelling with a small black bruise showing and his lower lip was enlarged now. The face of a man who had taken on the wrong opponent. When the bell rang it took Dan helping David back to his corner. Sean hid his boner well and he congratulated Michael on another exciting round.

                                             ***** ROUND 3 *****

      The bell’s familiar tock tock tock sound filled the air, and the room became alive again. The ten second warning. Suddenly someone with a strong voice shouted. “Hey blue corner, you going to start earning the right to wear old glory. You’re embarrassing the USA son.” the immediate are erupted into laughter from the military guys seated around the Marine who had just called out. David took this insult like a punch. It quickly was absorbed thought as the bell went off and both fighters were on their feet. Michael had minor redness in comparison to David’s two black eyes, and fat lip. The round however didn’t immediately start with Michael landing the punches first. David had gotten his defence behind him and was able to deflect the first couple of jabs, partially stop an incoming right cross that hit his glove more than it did his chin. He saw an opening and lunged forward to ram a straight right hard into Michael’s solar plexus. Sending a jolt of paralysis down both of his legs. A brief stunning move that left him vulnerable for David to attack him to the chin and face now. Mimicking his trainer’s drills on the pads for weeks prior he scored two jabs, a right cross to the mouth and then he crouched and launched a wicked bolo punch that struck dead on the right temple area and produced the first knockdown off the bout. The bolo, a slightly turned gloved “overhand” shot was like a sledgehammer when it was done correctly. Michael’s satin covered ass cheeks met the canvas as his legs flew upward and his back came crashing down. His arms were still tight to his body. The room became of blurry glut of colour, sound and disorientation.

The shocking punch silenced most of the room aside from the sudden broadcast from the overhead speakers.

        Michael was back on his feet and without a referee there to interrupt the match with a check of his ability to continue or to administer a standing eight count he took a brief moment to clear the cobwebs and then went after his opponent like a bullet fired from a gun. David saw Michael coming in fast at the last moment and he got his gloves up to cover his face and was partly out of the corner and moving away when a ripping right hook to the ribs was off target crashing into his mid section instead. Forcing his body hard into the ropes and producing a loud grunt from the younger man’s throat. A revenge punch for the embarrassment of being knocked down. Shelling up, his gloves took the brunt of several failed face punches but several of the mixed in body shots connected perfectly. The gentlemen in the diamond section were collectively jerking off now. Having the best view of the expression on Michael’s face and the failing defence of David’s weak knees and sagging back. It was a sudden move of desperation, but David quickly grabbed both of Michael’s arms around the biceps with his gloves and shoved with all of his body weight. The momentum forced him to backward toward the other side of the ring like a bulldozer was pushing him now. Most of the room began to boo loudly. “Poor form Davey boy” one of the English fans yelled. “Hey there chap, its a boxing match not a wrestling one.” laughter from the platinum section followed. Frustration filled Michael’s mind and for a moment both men locked eyes. Planting his foot hard behind him, and the lead foot hard up against the inside of David’s lead one, he applied the breaks to this push back and managed to maneuver David hard into the ropes. This put him in a great position now to see his Father and brother’s faces briefly. They were both tense looking. David kept trying to clinch and hold on but suddenly the right gloved hand of Michael sank deeply as a pendulum like uppercut smashed hard into the abdominal section. This one really shook him up. Nausea washed over him. His grip weakened enough for the other man to break full free of it. Three long, wide angles round house hooks were the shots that sent David free falling to the canvas below. Each one, the left – right – left contorted his face like a candle melting under the heat. His head hit the canvas without bracing so it bounced hard, and his mouth guard ejected. His body seemed go stiff.

             Jack Cole rushed into the ring now and directed Michael Egan to the neutral corner. He crouched to check on David and via a nice bit of sleight of hand he withdrew a small atomizer from his sleeve and sprayed a potent mixture of cologne and ammonia carbonate in his face. A quick spray of the old smelling salts. David began pawing for the ropes and with effort he climbed them glove over glove to get standing on his feet. Dan met him along the ropes and worked a new mouth guard into between his lips. Jack gave him a brisk slap across the cheek. “There you go lad, your okay. Get back in there.  The bell sounded almost on cue and Dan helped David back to his stool putting an ice bag on each eye alternating the duration. No towel there to throw in. The only way out of this bout for David was to win or stay unconscious. Michael had a renewed spring in his boots as he got to his corner, a towel went around his neck and water was poured over his head. “Fuck that was amazing Ser, what a great knockdown. I thought you had him there, but that yuppie has some spunk huh.” Michael nodded and then looked backward at his twin who was gesturing like he was flexing his biceps and he gave Michael a big thumbs up. “That a boy Mike, good round” His chest was heaving with signs of exhaustion now, but Michael’s mind was still fed a steady diet of adrenaline and endorphins. He tapped his gloves together almost without noticing. David’s left cheek joined the ranks of the swollen. His once moderately handsome face was becoming liken to an old pumpkin long after Halloween had ended. Still there was a spark in his eyes. Michael had to give him credit for beating the knockout just then. Dan slid David’s guard in and tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey man not sure what to say. Good luck” across the ring Michael was on his feet already. His eagerness was appreciated by the gentlemen in attendance and several of them shot their loads onto the provided terry cloth towels in their section.

                                             ***** ROUND 4 *****

       The only round in which both men were fully ready and properly tapped gloves before going at it was now upon the crowd. Circling each other now, Michael was half admiring his handy work in banging up David’s face and looking for an opening. David was looking for one too and he connected first with a good jab to the lower lip and front of jawline. His fancy Reyes gloves had just collected the “blood tax” as it split the lip and drew a small droplet of blood. Michael didn’t notice. He was on the defence suddenly as many more head shots came at him, he slipped the next jab and blocked the right cross to follow but he failed to see the left hook which came in a bit angled like a malformed uppercut and banged hard into his jawline. He back peddled and found himself uncomfortably close to the ropes. A driving shot struck his stomach almost dead centre and forced a belch like grunt out of his lips. He lowered his forearms to block the next body shot but he was set up and now his face was under new assault. Several jabs struck his face flush digging the leather hard into his skull. The last of these hits produced the swollen seed of a right eye shiner. It was Michael who was forced to clinch now as his sweaty middle back felt the top rope slide against it. He got David fully secured with his first attempt and rested his chin on the other man’s shoulders briefly to get some of his wind back. “You two going to kiss next, stop with all the hugging there.” someone with a thick Chicago accent called out. Laughter erupted from that section of the room. Michael’s momentary lapse of focus was replaced by anger. He disengaged off of David by shoving the other man violently away and by mere milometers missed eating a wicked left uppercut that might have been the end of the night. The miss however had put David in a very compromising position, and he was struck flush to the chin and mouth area by a hard straight right. The vintage black Tuf-Wear leather spread out to compress into a divet there. His neck and upper shoulders tensed up from the punch. Michael connected two quick, biting left hooks into his lower ribs which jerked the younger man’s body sideways with each punch and then with a digging thud like sound, his right glove pancaked hard dead centre into David’s hairless chest. David’s lower jaw went slack, and he winced as air was forced out of his mouth and nostrils. Then like a demonstration in the correct way to throw an uppercut. Michael planted his foot and dipped downward, rising to bring his right glove, laces facing toward him up and into the under-jaw area. The shot snapped David’s head back putting his eyes firmly inline with the bright halogen lamps above and all he saw was blinding flash of white light. The shot had rocked him, and he was practically out on his feet now. It was only a matter of time before he was going down again and staying there. He meekly tried to get his defence up, but it was too late as Michael began connecting textbook combinations to his head. Jab, jab cross, hook. Jab, jab hook uppercut and a solid one-two punch to the chin that was like the nail in David’s coffin.

              The room became nothing more than a blur of colour, light and sound all filtered through teary eyes. David was worked over until his back hit the far ropes nearest to the wall. The two men travelled from there to the left now as body hooks were applied to move David along the ropes. Pain filled his swollen, black eyed face. He was nothing more than target practice now. When they got to the end of the line, just before David’s back was trapped on the turnbuckle of the neutral corner; Michael gave the top rope a yank with the rounded part of his glove and it forced David forward a step. A move he had seen done in a movie once and always wanted to try. Then he began landing consecutive right hooks, alternated from the side of the head to the body but not with full force. Just enough to work David along the next set of ropes toward his own corner. When they arrived at the position now where he had pulled the ropes the last time, instead he opted to just begin the last set of hits to finally wrap this fight up in a bow. David was out of it; his legs were close to rubber now and his gloves were just hanging limply at his sides. “Yeah Mike! Patrick shouted. “He’s done, knock him out!” someone else yelled. Each punch that came next was like being landed in some sort of slow motion in Michael’s perception. A crushing left hook to the upper cheek area, jostled spit off of David’s lower lip. Several hard body shovel hooks made his body dance like some strange marionette. A hard cross to the chin lifted his back up onto the ropes and he seemed to stagger to the right before his body weight shifted and a parting shot to the side of his head from Michael’s glancing left hook was the final punch of the bout. David fell sideways again, and his shoulder, cheek and temple area all hit the canvas at almost the same moment. His eyes were closed, and he was out cold. Michael stood over him looking down at his defeated opponent and his jock strap was filled with warm rush of ejaculated cum.

            Jack Cole rushed up to the ring and climbed through the ropes. Sean and Dan both entered the ring as well. Jack motioned for Michael to join him in the centre of the ring and then grabbed his left hand and raised his arm in victory. Most of the attending spectators got to their feet and began cheering. Michael’s father and brother were among the first. All smiles and Michael’s father exclaimed “That is my son who just won that” Dan and Sean got David up and onto his round stool, but he was still pretty much unconscious. The slow microphone came down and another man entered the ring carrying a small briefcase and a title belt over his shoulder. “Gentlemen.” Jack’s English accent was hard to place but it was commanding. “Yes yes, settle down now lads. The winner in the 4th round by way of glorious knock out, Michael Egan will now receive his prizes.” The man who had brought the case and the belt into the ring helped fit the belt around Michael’s waist. It was gold plated and adorned with two men fighting in the centre. The English, American, Irish and Canadian flags were represented as well, and the bottom was embossed by the word “Champion”. His gloves were removed and handed to Jack. The man then opened up the briefcase and inside was the metallic gold robe that he had worn into the ring except now it had been embossed. Jack took the robe out and held it up for the crowd to see the back. “Michael Egan, Chicago Gentleman’s Club Champion, June 10, 2021” was spelled out in tight white threading. Michael smiled as the Jack fitted the robe back on. “As I promised there is also a bonus tonight for the winner. Anything they ask within reason will be granted but they will do so privately within my office. I ask now that those in attendance depart. I will see most of you back here next month.” Jack leaned in and spoke only loud enough for Michael to hear. “When you have showered and changed, new clothes have been provided in your dressing room. Return to the bar here and ring the bell. I will meet you and take you back to the office. Feel free to use the briefcase to carry your new gloves and title belt Champ. Well earned mate.” Michael nodded and left the ring. When he got down onto the floor just before the platinum section. He paused to look for his Father and brother, but they were already gone. Walking back to his dressing room he hung up his robe, took down his trunks and removed his cup and proceeded to use the provided bathroom to shower. He also took the opportunity to jerk off and release even more of the load he had been storing up. The visual of the final shots landing, seeing David fall to the canvas knocked out cold was all the visual aid he required. As the water flowed over his face, he closed eyes he grinned to himself.

     Nothing but blaring white halogen lights existed now for Gunther Haase as semi-consciousness trickled back into his mind. He felt the stiff, unresponsive aches of his torso and lower jaw now and his legs were like someone had dipped them in quick drying cement. His sweat laden body, a strong muscular physique of bronze like skin dark brown body hair and vividly defined tattoo work was splayed out now on the canvas. His arms were splayed out and the black leather gloves on both of his hands were now limp as if any life had been drained from them. His left eye, which was swelling a bit less than his right opened fully and the lights began to ebb away to reveal someone standing over him and others just outside of his peripheral visions range. His opponent stood a few feet away with his gloved hands folded across his broad, gym defined chest and thick arms. A younger man in his late twenties. His squared jawline raised cheeks and stub nose gave this man almost a rottweiler type quality in Gunther’s opinion. Green eyes and arching medium brown eyebrows accented the smirking mouth below. The most distinctive feature however was the “Eagle, Globe and Anchor” tattoo on his right forearm and the “American flag” just below it. His hair style, the “high and tight” might otherwise be mistaken for that of the Royal Marines of England but there was no mistaking this man was in the USMC. Gunther, who was of comparable physical size, was not however of compatible boxing skill or mental focus and from the first-round bell he was on the defensive, taking hard punches and his stoic German disposition was changed into a visage of pain and heavy disorientation very quickly. Finding himself trapped up against the ropes and travelling around the ring while the Marine before him landed well timed multi-punch combinations.

      “Hey there, you are just about full woken up kraut?” There was snickering from somewhere over to his left now beyond the red, white and blue ropes of the ring. Then a voice chimed in, also speaking with an American accent. “Oh yeah, more like “sour” kraut eh, look at that face now John, you really fucked that guy up” Gunther hated that expression and pure humiliation coupled with physical dysfunction only added to his embarrassment. Sergeant John Ingles wasn’t looking for a sparring partner. He was looking to just lay a good beat down on the poor chump who responded to his inquiries around the local pubs of Boeblingen where his Marine Corp. Base Panzer Kaserne was stationed. So, he posted a flyer stating that he was looking for local sparring partners within his weight class. Gunther was his first victim. Clearly, after the first bell rang it was not to be a competitive spar but an actual bout. Pushing up on his forearms, Gunther sought to see if he could get to his feet but before he was able to try, John moved quickly to plant the flat bottom of his red and gold boxing shoe on the older man’s upper chest, and he shoved him down hard back onto the canvas. “Whoa their kraut, you took a nasty fall. Getting up too fast now might lead to more serious complications.” The two men who were out of view to the side of the ring and who weren’t present during the fight now got into the ring with them.

      Also, Marines, Lance Corporal Thomas Dover was slightly smaller in build but just as strong looking. He was of English descent and his dark brown almost black hair was accented by his stone-grey eyes. Looked more like some magazine cover boy to Gunther then any solider. Beside him, a man of thicker muscles but even shorter stature was Corporal Adam Highwood. A mutt of Irish, Dutch and Scottish background he was a hard looking guy. Someone who knew how to handle themselves. He took out his phone and took a few photos of John pinning Gunther down. “Good, want to have something to remember this chump by.” Leading down now he made eye contact with Gunther and admired the work his fists had done. Swollen left cheek, fat lip and a partially closed right eye made Gunther look like he was a candle at the end of its life. He had a wicked shiner around his left eye and some blood sat on the tips of his nostrils. “Thanks for responding to my flyer buddy. Maybe if you have the balls you will train up and come back to give me a better challenge next time.” John smirked and then looked at both of his buddies nearby. They nodded. He then proceeded to draw back his right fist, the old-style brown glove creased as he balled it up into an oval shaped fist and then he struck Gunther’s chin perfectly dead centre to render the German man fully unconscious again. The three men then proceeded to strip him of all but his jock strap and take him from the gym area out to the yard in front of the small rental building. It was late on a Saturday evening and usually very quiet outside. They were able to get him into the back of John’s jeep along with a black garbage bag containing his clothing and wallet and dropped him off several blocks away just off to the side of the nearby medical clinics front entrance. Wearing only his jock strap and boxing shoes. Laughing they hopped back into the Jeep and took off.

      It wasn’t long before a passerby found him, and he was admitted to the clinic. The remnants of his gym gear were replaced by an open back gown and his other belongings were placed on a chair near his bedside. Although he was conscious fairly soon after being admitted he was stone silent. How he was left and in what condition had emasculated him completely and being a German facility, stoic faces were all he got in response to finding any sympathy for his situation and all he dreaded now was that his elder brother Wolfgang would find out what happened. He was the more experienced boxer in the family with two professional fights in Germany and one in Poland under his belt and he had won all three of those by way of knock out within three rounds time. Gunther always looked up to his brother who had only started boxing in his early thirties and was already showing great potential. That night however no one came, he was given medication for pain and ice for his eye and fell asleep. The nurse in charge of his room was able to find his contact information and left a voice mail at the apartment he and his brother shared. Wolfgang was asleep at the time as he had an early regiment of roadwork and exercise on his ‘non training” days to perform so he got as much rest as possible. Any plans that next day would be knocked out much like his brother had been once he heard the voice mail and rushed to the medical facility to see what had happened. The caller didn’t mention anything about boxing just that Gunther had been badly beaten and left outside of the facility doors. Wolfgang figured it was a mugging and it would have to be several men to have gotten the best of his little brother who he himself had taught to fight from an early age. Hastily getting dressed in his running gear he left the apartment.

     John had a reputation among the other Marines stationed here at the Panzer Kaserne as being the best boxer out of the number of active Marines that engaged in sparring. He had taken on all comers for over two years and his speed, accuracy and powerful fists had defeated every single one. Some of these went to the final bell and the victory was mutually agreed upon, those watching playing de facto judges and others ended in the undisputed type, by way of knock out. His signature finisher was his left hook or as it had been dubbed “Leatherneck Kryptonite” by his closes buddies Thomas and Adam. One of his more noted accomplishments was his knockout over his former Drill Sergeant at Paris Island who had been briefly stationed here in Boeblingen. The older man nearing his 40s was a one time internal-corps champion so this defeat at the hands of a lower ranked soldier was humiliating. John bragged that it wasn’t difficult, and he expected a better showing from a Sergeant Major. He spent a lot of time during his daily training admiring himself in the wall mirrors. A mix of Irish, Scottish and Italian on his fathers’ side he had gotten the darker skin tone from him. His thick, rugby like build was from the Scottish and he had gotten his boyish face from the Irish as well as his quick punching.

For all of his experience though he had never had a competitive bout. In his mind, being able to best any of the Marines he was stationed with was pretty much the equivalent of being the “local champion” and now he had access to taking on any of the krauts in the area who might think they were tough enough to best him. Adam and Thomas both had been defeated by him several years earlier and they got him a proper title belt that sat in a glass case in the gym. It was custom made silver plated, adorned with the USMC logo, US and English flags to honour the Marines of both countries with the word “Local on the above the central design and “Champion” on the bottom. There was a photograph on the wall nearby of him wearing it, his red and gold Marines themed boxing gear on like he had just beaten the current Champion. Once a day he would admire it then return to his bag work. He was unaware that his skills were going to be greatly tested very soon.

 *************************

     Wolfgang signed the visitor log and made his way into the elevator and up to the third floor where his brother’s room was. An orderly who was sharing the ride seemed to recognize him but didn’t say anything. Anyone who followed the local professional boxing scene would know who he was. He wasn’t the type to make a spectacle about it though. His trainer for the last three years reinforced humility. Reaching the room, he had to wait for a nurse who was exiting from the doorway before he could enter himself. His brother had just been asleep but was awake the woman told him. Entering the room, he took in the sight of his brother’s battered face. Hot anger welled up inside the pit of his stomach as if it were some types of blacksmiths kiln being fired up to forge weapons. His “wolf-like” piercing grey eyes looked into his brothers’ blue ones and then rage shifted over to concern. Gunther looked at his brother now and felt the strength of his presence. Just about six feet tall and just shy of 195 lbs he was a bull of a man. His oval face, beak like nose and tight lips were framed by a thick, broad jaw and cleft chin. His forehead shaped by the thick skull beneath was accented by a tight buzz cut of medium blond hair. His torso was covered in a flat, wave light pattern of brown chest hair some of which could be seen from the opening of the vinyl jacket he was wearing. He shut the door now and pushed the nearby chair over to talk to his brother. Gunther’s shame was evident. “Who did this?” Wolfgang fixed his brother will a stare that told him he better answer. A minute or so passed and then Gunther motioned to the pair of black cargo pants he had been wearing that were slung over the back of his chair. Wolfgang retrieved them and began to fish through the pockets. It didn’t take long to find the folded-up flyer in the back right pocket. He looked it over. It was in German but clearly written by a non-native writer of the language. “Sparring Partner Wanted at Panzer Keserne” Wolfgang looked down at the floor in disappointment. “You have one right here, your brother. So, you went there and the Marine you fought did this to you?” He pointed to his brother’s face. “Left you on the sidewalk like a bag of garbage.” Wolfgang’s belly refilled itself with the burning sensation of anger. His eyes flared with it. Gunther couldn’t look him in the eyes. Shame had locked his gaze to the ceiling. “I understand why you did this but now I will be the one to handle this American bully.” he clenched his fists. He placed his hand on his brothers’ shoulder and squeezed it. “Your only job dummkopf now is to rest. I will return when I have given this Marine what is coming to him.” Gunther nodded. He relayed to his brother the location of the base gym and the guard house he signed in at. Wolfgang kissed his brother’s forehead and jammed the flyer into his left pants pocket. . The temperature in the room dropped with his departure. Gunther had only seen his brother get truly angry once and it was a scary thing.

      Wolfgang returned home and took the flyer out of his pocket. Punching in the number into his mobile he hit dial and waited. After several rings the call was answered by the voicemail. A brief recorded message instructed him to leave his name and number and expect a text message detailing the time and location. English wasn’t his preferred language, but he was fluent in it and could pass for an American born German. Leaving a message that he was looking to come do some sparring he hung up the phone and waited. Less than an hour later he received a text message, an address only two blocks from the clinic where his brother currently was admitted and the time of nine o'clock that evening was returned. Pulling out a wide footlocker from underneath his bed, he undid the old lock and exposed the contents. Packed right on the top was a black satin boxing robe, with red trim and a yellow belt to tie it closed. In German on the back were the words “Der Sagnagel (the coffin nail)” This footlocker belonged to his late father, a former military boxer who had several post service bouts for money and taught both of his sons how to defend themselves. Below the robe was a pair of high-top black leather boots with yellow and red laces and a pair of 10-ounce black Paffen Sport boxing gloves. The gloves were the only piece of gear that weren’t his fathers. These were the first pair that Wolfgang brought Gunther when they were younger. Taking his gym bag out from under the bed next he fished out his mouth guard and satin trunks made to look like the German flag but there was no writing on these trunks. He was hoping that he would be a complete unknown to American who had beaten Gunther and left him stripped of his clothing and his dignity as a man. He shoved his hands in to the gloves and raised them chin level. He then proceeded to bang them together, hard enough to fill the entire apartment with the sound of thunder to come.

***********************

    John, Adam and Thomas converged at the small rental space building where their “private” ring and gym equipment was kept. It was close to 8 o'clock now and the next victim would be arriving at nine. Concealed throughout the gym were hidden cameras that sent their data wirelessly back to a storage medium hidden in one of the small lockers that were left behind by the previous renter. It was already used as a gym space with a shower and bathroom built in. A side room held benches and several other lockers for changing. John liked to do pad work with Adam but then use the gym solo while his two buddies hung out int he back of the changing area usually playing cards or smoking cigars. Tonight, was no exception, and the adherence to routine would prove to be a big mistake. John geared up for the fight to come and while Adam wrapped his hands, Thomas massaged John’s shoulders and arms to loosen them up. It was an unspoken practice that none of them would ever admit to enjoying. Next the legs and thighs would get a good rubdown while he stood up and did some stationary pad work. John would mouth the punches he was going to throw but not fully out loud, like a mental exercise. Sometimes Adam would imagine that these fights were taking place naked. Both men fully nude in just gloves. He hadn’t ever seen John’s nude, but he wanted to.

While the three of them worked on the per-stretching and bag work to follow, Wolfgang was putting his skills from his early years in private security to good use. The device attached on the roof was transmitting the signal from within the building, instead he put it to be carried over to his laptop which would be set to record. He had a nice long intro planned of the “change room” portion of the night’s events. He didn’t need to be told who he would be fighting, the man with the USMC & American flag tattoo on his arm. A squared jaw brick of a man and soon he would begin his warm up and give Wolfgang a great view of just how he moved, his power and what he would probably open the fight with. A perfect read on this preening peacock that he was about to defeather. Carrying his gym bag and laptop with him, he bypassed the doors lock with a small device a former co-worker had made for him years ago. A small blind spot on the camera system at work where they would go to smoke and take unscheduled breaks. It worked like a charm. Entering the small facility, he moved silently closer to the back door leading to the inner change area. A lone locker stood in the hallway and made a perfect place to place the laptop. Then he got into his gear and pulled a tight, form fitting black nylon mask over his face that hugged just below his chin line. When he entered the change room, the black ten-ounce gloves he had brought to do battle were around his neck, his wrapped fists would suffice in taking care of the first two.

It was sudden, Adam was struck easily six times to the side and front of his face mostly the jaw area before he was knocked out. No amount of bravado or military training helped stop the swift, power filled hits of a professional boxer. Thomas’s knock out was initiated with body shots as the opening. One such uppercut cut off his throats wind in its suddenness barring his ability to signal John they were in trouble. The last thing he saw was the colours of the German flag and then darkness came. Wolfgang used some nylon jump rope to bind the two men’s hands and feet. He could hear the sound of John using the speed bag and his assault had gone undetected by the way the loud tat tat tat sound masked any others. Getting his gloves on now, he used Velcro bands to secure them. His single layer black mouthpiece already being gripped by his teeth, tightened. His speech would be somewhat muddled by it wouldn’t matter. Walking out into the gym area itself, John had his back to him working on the speed bag across the room. Wolfgang couldn’t wait for some proper round-based fight to occur. His brother’s damaged face was flashing before his eyes now. He banged his gloves together and the thundering sound was sufficient enough to be heard over the sound of the other bag work. John stopped hitting it and turned around. He was surprised to find his opponent had a black mask covering his face. His German flag gloves and trunks looked professionally made and his old vintage boots were from a different era of professional boxing. He laughed. “You worried about people finding out a boxer or something?” John proceeded to pick up his own gloves off of a nearby gym mat on the floor. Keeping one hand free to get his own mouth guard in. The masked figure was in top shape, definitely not the usual dough boy that John’s gloves had tenderized like so much prime beef. This was a man who had prepared. “Fuck it, lets forgo the ring and just box here on the mats.” The masked man nodded slowly 'Yes Ami, if you want to dance then start the music.” Between his mouth guard and his thick accent, it sounded a bit strained the words.

     John nodded and smirked. “Good, I like that someone finally answered my flyer who just might box worth a” He couldn’t finish the full sentence because the man had already closed eighty percent of the distance between them. John read the body language as an incoming jab to the face, so he pulled his guard up tight to absorb the shot. Tight till impact was made then on the fly they could be loosened to part for his counter punch. Gross miscalculation saw a right-handed straight punch batter his solar plexus area just at the point where his stomach met his chest area. His diaphragm buckled from the power and his lungs were knocked into a momentary pause. Both of his legs locked up now. Zero time between the first punch landing and the next four that were a digging left hook to his ribs and heel lifting uppercut to the pit of his stomach. His eyes opened almost further than humanly possible when a thick clot of air was forced up from his stomach and out of his parting lips. Locking his back up. Wolfgang’s power turned John into a human punching bag easily. Next his angled right hook met the Marines chin and John’s head smacked into the nearby speed bag from the angle of connection. Somewhat of a metaphor for how the following punches seemed to make his head a lot like a speed bag too. Wolfgang battered him with jabs, two hooks, a big right cross and a left uppercut that tucked under his chin line and levelled his eyelids closed.

     John wasn’t seeing full details now. The room had gone blurred around the edges and both of his ears had popped and then lost sound. His feet instinctively moved him away from Wolfgang toward the ring itself. His mind had absolutely no time to process what was happening. Body punches dug into him hard, and he went down from a left hook near the edge of his rib cage. His right arm and shoulder smashing into the mat before his head tapped it next and bounced. A stringy rivulet of Sylvia dripped past his mouth guard and it was slightly mixed with blood. It touched the black mat below. Wolfgang stood waiting. “Get up, you are weak.” John’s head cleared enough for him to hear each word. “Up Ami, get up, I will even let you strike me first.” the taunt was like a new punch to John’s face. He did get up fast though. His mind reverting to its training on pulling its focus together in a moment when needed. He raised his gloves into a fighting stance. “You got me down your kraut piece of shit, but you didn’t get me out, I’m going to fuck you up now.” Rushing forward, he feigned like he was going to the body and at the last moment switched his posture to connect a right uppercut to the German’s chin. The glove found its target and instead of snapping the masked man’s head back, it deflated upon impact. Like hitting one of those tear shaped uppercut bags in practice gyms. John’s punch had hit what must have been a chin made of steel. Wolfgang’s jawline, his skull dispersed the power of the shot. It was unpleasant but nothing that would prove a problem. He grinned and shook his head. Moving with the speed of a cobra, he struck John below his squared jawline with his own right uppercut, then a left millisecond afterwards. The force of both shots reeled John’s neck and head backward and he flew with it hard into the side of the boxing ring.

His vision fully blurred over after the bright, white lighting-like flash had filled both of his blue-Gray eyes. His fallen arms from the impact of the punches and his body hitting the side of the ring began to rise as he recovered, and they were at about chest height when several big uppercut pairs collided with his gym hardened abs and ignored them as the leather sank in deep, he was forced to grunt from each and every punch. The German flag filled his field of vision like he was being made to understand its dominance. A big left straight shot pounded in his nose and mouth area. A right-handed power shot hit and left the centre of his partially hairy chest so quickly it seemed almost like a hummingbird had been there. Another grunt came out. Hooks from both sides started colliding with the side of his face, twisting up the cheek area and pouting his now swelling lips. Wolfgang’s punches ping-ponged his head now and he was too dazed to react. His head rocked like a boat on rough waters and Wolfgang began to connect exclusively to his right eye now working it from a lump to a shiner to a proper overcast, a swelling mass that would close it. It took very little time to produce the desired result. More punches struck John’s face now. Splitting his lip, swelling his left cheek, adding a thick black clot under his good eye. From his side, it was a soundless, jarring, German flag filled haze of impacts and disorientation and from Wolfgang’s side it was a complete rush of adrenaline.

      The biochemical raced through his German body now. He felt like he could knock John’s head completely off his shoulders. However bad John had beaten Gunther, it was a minor inconvenience in comparison to the damage being dealt now. John’s battered, swollen, blackened and for all intense and purposes broken looks hung there against the lower rope. Wolfgang’s final punches could be thrown without any rush. The Marine was already so out of it from the pummelling he wasn’t able to defend. His limp arms hung at his sides now. Wolfgang almost thought he saw the tattoos seem to droop to. The American flag sure had in his imagination. The eagle had a small ring of stars around its head like it had taken some of the punches too. Wolfgang began to rock from side to side building up momentum. A technique called “The Dempsey Roll” seemed fitting to use a famous American boxers’ technique to finish off this Ami here. Then like two bolts of lighting striking the same target, he lashed out with a quick but compressed left-handed straight shot that connected dead on with John’s cleft mark. Then his whip-like right-handed punch struck the same spot with even more power and without the ability to fall backward, John’s body twitched violently against its confines and his head jarred up then down and before he toppled forward, his mouth guard fell from his mouth in a small river of reddish coloured spit as the plastic white mouth guard with the American flag in the centre had split fully into two pieces. The mess and two parts struck the mat below and tumbled into directions. At the same time this was happening, both of John’s eyes rolled back in the sockets and Wolfgang watched the light of consciousness flicker out of them. A perfect knockout. Stepping back, he let the limp body of his opponent fall and watched as John’s cheek skid slightly along the mat and his chest met with the spit puddle waiting.

     John’s arms were tight now to his slightly sweaty body and his gloved hands were turned inward and limp like his gloves had lost their mojo. His swollen shut eye was facing up toward the sky. A sudden and rhythmic jerking filled his body as his brain had been met with a sudden power surge. Wolfgang walked to the middle of the room and looked up at the camera. He removed his right-handed glove and dropped it to the mat below. He used his German flag wrapped hand to pull down the front of his waistband and proceeded to begin jerking off his fully erect penis. Minutes passed before he turned around and walked back to where John was still lying. He proceeded to ejaculate all over John’s hair and along the man’s neck and back. He then took out his guard and spat down onto the man’s cheek and walked out of the gym area, the door slowly closing behind him.

The video would run for another ten minutes before suddenly cutting out, but the final minute of the feed was a split screen view of John knocked out by the ring and Adam and Thomas tied and gagged in the change room area, now awake and clearly shaken by their ordeal.