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.