Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

When I moved to KC about four years ago, the first thing I did was join a gym. I’m a boxer by profession, fighting since I was five. Champions have trained at the gym I joined; that’s why I went there. I expected to be a champion. I was on fire.

I learned huge amounts in my first six months at the gym. My first few matches were sloppy and I took some pretty bad beatings. But I learned from my mistakes and with every bout I improved. It wasn’t long before I was winning regularly at the gym. I started getting fights. I was doing really well.

There were girls at the gym. Some were fighters, as ferocious as any of the guys, but some were groupies. I don’t know what else to call them. Boxer’s girlfriends. Sometimes they dated one boxer after another. I don’t judge.

I liked one of the girls a bit, a tight blonde with a penchant for short skirts. She, on the other hand, could barely be bothered to notice my existence. What interaction I managed to force was met with scorn and derision. I got over her.

When I started fighting on the local circuit, the guys at the gym initiated me into their club.  The initiation was a kind of gang bang with the tight blonde. She kissed some of the guys, did a little dance and then screwed some of the guys while we drank and told fight stories. I didn’t have sex with her. She kissed me and grabbed my crotch. I watched her fuck some of the guys. It was pretty hot.

Being a winning boxer made me attractive to the groupies, so I made friends with the ladies once I knocked a few guys down. Another girl, a redhead, had caught my attention by that time. She fucked me in the locker room after I beat one of the big guys. Called me a champ. She was on fire, ready to go before I even understood what was happening. She knows a bunch about boxing, more than most guys, so we’ve been friends ever since.

Then I started losing. It started with this kid from Omaha. I took one look at his scrawny build and thought I was golden. Then he blasted me. I still don’t know how he did it. I went down like a bag of wet sand.

I won some more but then I lost and then I was losing more often than I was winning. Now I’m just losing. I don’t know how much longer I can go on getting beat. I don’t know where I’ll go next.

The blonde doesn’t even look at me any more. Red still talks to me but she’s not hot about it.

Promise mumbles.

About David Cain

David Cain, literary author, bon vivant, rogue romantic poet - author of Witch, Song of Songs, Journals of Lord Malinov, Erotic Romances and others ...
This entry was posted in books, erotica, fiction, literature, literotica, personal, reading, short stories, writing and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.