Date: Thu, 26 Feb 2009 11:31:57 -0600
From: Johnny Murdoc <johnnymurdoc@gmail.com>
Subject: After the Fight, by Johnny Murdoc

Fight Night
by Johnny Murdoc

 

Cutter is sitting on the bench, naked, when I step into the locker room.  His eyes are off, focusing on something other than the room he’s in, and  they don’t change when I step in front of him. He gets like this before a  fight. He’s wet, still sweaty from his warmup. Moments before, he would  have been bouncing around, his bare feet hopping on the concrete floor. His  fists making jabs at invisible enemies in the air.

Next to him, on the bench: hand wraps, trunks, jock strap and cup, socks.

I can’t help but look at his penis, limp between his legs. A dark brown  next to his light brown skin. I’m drawn to it, time and time again. I  imagine it pulsing lightly with his heartbeat.

I imagine touching it.

“It’s almost time to go,” I say, and he looks up at me. Not recognizing me,  instantly. His eyes focus. He’s seen me hundreds of times. We’ve worked out  together. Trained together. Shared a beer together.

“Will you help me wrap my hands?” he asks.

“Sure,” I say.

He stands up, reaching for the handwraps on the bench. He hands them to me,  and holds his hand out. I can feel his warmth, the heat rushing out of his  body.

I’ve been the assistant trainer here for a few years now. I’ve done this  dozens, if not hundreds, of times.

Each strap has a loop at the end, and I slip one around his thumb. The  cloth strap goes over the back of his hand, and then under his wrist.  Around the wrist twice, and then over the back of his hand. Under his hand,  over his knuckles, twice. Cross back over his hand, toward his wrist. This  is a ritual.  Repeat the cross over the back of his hand, and then around  his palm to the base of his thumb. Back around the wrist. This is our  ritual. Around the thumb, this time form the opposite direction. Around the  wrist again. Over the back of the hand, and in between the pinky and ring  finger. Crisscross around the base of the hand, and between each finger.  Around the wrist, and crossed over the back of the hand, twice, layering an  X-pattern. Wrap the excess cloth around the wrist.

This is our ritual.

I do the other hand. His breathing is quick and shallow. His body bounces a  little.

After I finish wrapping his second hand, we clap his hands together, mine  wrapped around his. He jumps a little, and I look down. His penis is rigid.  Hard. Standing straight up, toward his stomach. I have never seen it like  this. My breath catches.

Cutter looks down, like he’s surprised by his own erection.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry,” he says.

“Oh, no,” I say, “Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s just that…” he starts.

“No big deal,” I say.

He smiles, embarrassed. I smile back, to show him that I’m fine. In fact,  my smile betrays me, and I’m sure he recognizes that it’s more than fine. I  hope he can’t see my cock through my track pants. I can’t help but stiffen,  myself.

“Better get dressed,” I say, and slap him on his shoulder. His skin is  screaming hot. He bounces again, his body crackling with energy, waiting to  get out. His penis bobs up and down, but not much. It’s so hard. It’s so–

He turns from me, and reaches for his jockstrap. He steps into it, the  thick blue waist strap sliding up and over his ass. With his back still  toward me, he tries to push his erection into his jockstrap. He steps into  his shorts, and sits down to put his shoes on. I make myself turn away from  him, so I can continue helping set the gym up for the fight.

Mel, the gym’s owner, and Cutter’s trainer, slaps me on the back.

“We’re gonna lose another one, Billy,” he says.

“Yeah, yeah,” I say.

This is our ritual.

Fights are hard. Fights are frantic. Hectic. Violent. Three rounds, two  minutes each. One minute breaks between each round.

Jab. Hook. Cross. Uppercut. Hook. Hook.

Cutter knows what he’s doing. He’s good at what he does. He alternates  between quick, short jabs, and powerful thrusts.

We tell Cutter things he already knows: Footwork. Watch your footwork. He’s  sloppy. You’re sloppy. What are you thinking? You’re better than this. God  damn, pay attention. What the fuck are you fighting for?

We say all of this, even though he’s fighting perfectly.

We give him water. Repair his cuts. Slap him on his back, on his arms.  Loosen up his muscles. Slap his skin, his sweat.

I love you, I don’t say.

After the fight, after the congratulations and the cheering, after Cutter  is dragged out by friends, and after I convince Mel to go home, that I have  other stuff to do, that I like working after a fight, I clear the gym floor  of metal folding chairs. I sweep. I wrap up the trash. I turn off the  lights. I sit in the office, catching up on paperwork. Dues, scheduling.  Bills. It’s hot, and a small, metal fan rattles air in my direction.

“Hey, Billy,” someone says.

“Oh, shit,” I said, jumping. Cutter is standing in the doorway, leaning on  the frame. He has a light grey hooded jacket on, his face framed by the  thin cotton material. A red backpack is slung over his shoulder. He’s still  wearing his boxing trunks.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to–” he starts.

“No, you’re okay,” I say, and wipe the sweat from my forehead. “What’s up?”

“Ah, nothing. I just forgot my bag,” he says. He steps into the office,  letting the backpack fall off of his shoulder. He catches it, and swings it  onto the metal folding chair in the corner. He sits on the corner of the  desk and his bare knee brushes my arm.

“How come you’re not out celebrating?” I ask.

“I don’t see the point in trashing my body. Not after I worked so hard to  win.” He brings his right foot up and props it on the desktop. He leans  forward, resting an arm on his raised knee, and his chin on his arm. I  can’t help but look in between his legs, with the smooth green material of  his trunks stretching across his bulge. The satin catches the light, and  the details of his penis are accentuated.

He coughs and I look up quickly to see him staring down at he. He had to  have seen where I was looking. My heart beats a little harder, a little  faster.

“Do you know what I think about, Billy, before a fight?” he asks.

I shake my head.

“When I’m preparing for a fight, when I’m warming up, I think about my  opponents. I don’t think about their fighting style, or how many matches  they’ve won.” He reaches down and tugs at the edge of his trunks. It almost  looks like his bulge has gotten bigger.

“I think about them naked,” he says. “I think about what they must be like  in bed.”

His words hang in the air. I’m unsure what to say to him. How I’m supposed  to respond to that. What I’m supposed to do. He does it for me.

He leans forward, and kisses me. His lips are soft, and moist. His skin,  sweaty and scratchy with stubble. Stunned, I almost don’t respond. The tip  of his tongue slides out and licks my lips, relaxing me, and I let myself  fall into his kiss. He puts one hand on the side of my face, caressing me.

His lips pull away from mine, and still holding my face inches from his, he  says: “That erection in the locker room, earlier?”

I nod.

“That was for you,” he says. He reaches down, and rubs his cock through his  trunks. He’s hard, his cock a thick line running at a diagonal in his  shorts. He leans in, his lips close to my ear. “Do you want it?”

I nod.

“Tell me you want it,” he says.

“I want you,” I say, and he kisses me again. He wraps his hand around my  wrist, and pulls my hand until it’s squared against his crotch, his penis  rising between my thumb and forefinger. He slides down off of the desk and  stands before me. I lean forward and press my face into his green satin  covered penis. Through his trunks, I can smell him. Sweat. Dirt. Exertion.  He has not showered since the fight. I open my mouth and press my tongue  flat against the base of his penis. He slides one hand around the back of  my head and pushes my face harder into his crotch.

“Yeah, that’s right,” he says. He thrusts against my face, his cock sliding  against my mouth, my cheek, and my eye. I hook my fingers into his  waistband, and pull his trunks down. Through his jockstrap, his penis is  even more defined. A small wet spot radiates through the blue cotton at the  tip of his cock. I’ve seen his dick dozens of times and still it’s new to  me. Here, it’s for me. I wrap my lips around the head of his cock and suck  at the wet fabric. I cup one hand around his testicles, and slide the other  around his hip until his tight, bare ass is in my grip. His cock twitches  against my lips.

Cutter slips his hands under my armpits, and pulls me to a stand. He kisses  me hard, pushing my entire body back a step. I stumble against the chair,  and he wraps his arms around me to keep me upright. He holds me close and  presses his hard-on against me. We turn and he pushes me against the desk.  When our lips break, he steps back a little, his hand sliding around to my  sides, and then down, and he pulls my sweatpants and briefs down with one  quick motion. My bare ass falls back against the cold metal desk. My  erection bobs, pointing straight out at Cutter. He falls to his knees and  wraps one rough, calloused hand around the base of my shaft, and slides the  head into his mouth. He flattens his hand against my pubic hair, and my  entire penis disappears into his mouth.

Cutter looks up at my, my cock still lodged in his mouth, and his eyes say  everything.

He wants me.

He’s wanted me.

How could I not have noticed?

How could it have taken this long for one of us to do something?

Cutter pulls back, and his hand slides around my cock again. He starts to  stroke my dick while keeping the head firmly in his mouth. I pull my  t-shirt up and over my head, dropping it on the floor.

His mouth on my cock, it feels so good — I can imagine staying here, like  this forever. I can imagine our entire future together. His mouth on my  cock in the shower. His mouth on my cock on the couch. His mouth on my cock  in the front seat of my car. His mouth on my cock in bed.

Cutter has other thoughts. He wraps hand between my thighs and behind my  leg, hiking it up. I prop myself up onto the desk with my hands, and he  lifts my leg up even higher. He licks at my testicles, his tongue flat and  wide and wet. He nibbles at my flesh, and takes one my balls into his  mouth, sucking on it gently. He pushes my other leg up, and all of my  weight shifts onto the desk.

Cutter holds my legs wide, exposing my asshole. He doesn’t waste time. He  slides his tongue out and presses his entire face into my crack. His nose  brushes against my hole, followed quickly by his tongue. He takes a series  of long, flat licks before, and closes his mouth around my hole like a  kiss. I lay back on the desk and reach down with one free hand to grab my  penis. It’s slick with clear liquid, precum that’s flowing out heavily.  I’ve had my ass licked before, but never quite like this. Cutter rims like  my asshole is something to conquer. Something to overtake. Something to  love.

He stands, and pulls his shirt over his head. The head of his cock has  jutted out over the thick waistband of his jockstrap. After tossing his  shirt to the side, he slides his jock down and pulls his legs out of it  quickly. He erection is so hard that it never bobs, never points anywhere  but up.

Cutter steps up close to me, and leans over me. He kisses me, his thick  lips covered in his own saliva. His face is covered in the smell of my ass,  a sweet funk that manages to be both unpleasant and arousing at the same  time.

“Can I fuck you?,” he asks.

“Yeah,” I say, “but you need a…”

“I’ve got a condom in my bag,” he says, and turns back to his bag on the  folding chair. He hunches over to dig through it, and I take the  opportunity to look at his muscular back, shiny with sweat, and his tight  ass. His body is impossibly hard. He turns back around before I have a  chance to look long enough, to see enough, to remember enough. He’s holding  up the condom, a black foil package that he tears open. He pulls the rolled  condom out, and drops the wrapper to the floor. Carefully, he places the  condom on the tip of his penis, and starts stroking it down. The tan latex  is lighter than his skin. He steps between my legs again, and raises them  up. He reaches down with one hand to force his erection down, and I feel  the head of his cock push against my asshole. Are you ready, he asks with  his eyes. I nod at him, wondering if the condom is at least pre-lubricated.

Cutter thrusts a little and the head of his cock slides inside of me. I let  my head fall back and try hard to relax. Cutter keeps his eyes on mine,  looking for any sign that I’m uncomfortable. Another push, and he slides in  deeper. The condom must be lubricated, I think. It doesn’t hurt at all. I  lick my lips and moan. He takes it as a sign of encouragement, and still  more of his erection slides into my asshole. He pulls out a little, before  pushing back in. My cock jumps in my hand. A string of precum drips down  onto my stomach. Cutter pumps, short strokes forward and back, never  sinking entirely inside of me. I reach forward, and place one hand on his  side, right above his pelvis. I pull him forward. I want to feel him  entirely inside of me. He obliges, and takes one small step forward, and  his entire cock disappears entirely inside of me. He holds it there, and  leans in to kiss me. I meet him halfway. He groans into my mouth.

Finally he straightens up, pulling his entire body back, his cock nearly  pulling free. Before it does, though, he thrusts forward, and I feel what  it’s like to take his entire cock in one smooth motion. Again, I fantasize  about the life we could have together. Together, the two of us, fucking  each other. In the shower. On the couch. In bed.

Cutter knows what he’s doing. He’s good at this like he’s good in the  ring. He alternates between quick, short jabs, and powerful thrusts. I  stroke my own cock, timing each stroke with one of his thrusts. Beneath me,  on the desk, paperwork slides around. Cutter stares down, his eyes focusing  on where our bodies meet. His breathing is short, and the sweat is dripping  off of him. Sliding down his torso. Rolling down his muscles. His eyes dart  back, to meet mine. He smiles at me, and I cum.

I don’t expect it, but I can’t stand not to. My cum arcs over my chest in  one, two, three powerful shots. A line slices against my face. Another  misses my shoulder, and splats down on paperwork beside me. Another on my  nipple. Four, five, six. The last shots pool on my stomach, rising and  falling with my quick breaths. My show seems to leave Cutter with little  choice.

“Oh, god,” he says. “Oh, god.” His face tightens as he pumps in and out of  my ass until finally he slams it in, and holds it there. I can feel his  cock jerking inside of me, pulsing, filling the condom up with cum.  Suddenly he relaxes, slumping toward me. He leans in to kiss me, I think,  but instead he takes one long lick across my face, cleaning up my cum. He  rests his forehead against my chest, his face inches from another streak of  cum.

Finally, he pushes himself off of me, and slides his softening penis out of  me. I sit up, and look at him. He’s still breathing hard, and his skin  shines with sweat. The condom hangs on his limp penis, the end of it filled  with a heavy load of ejaculate. He wraps his hand around his penis and  slowly pulls it off, careful not to spill anything. He ties a knot in the  condom, and holds it up like he’s admiring it. He tosses it into the trash  can.

Next to his bag there’s a shelf of clean towels. He grabs one, and wipes  his face on it before tossing it at me. I use it to wipe the cum off of my  chest, my stomach, and out of my pubic hair. Cutter stretches, reaching his  arms into the air and thrusting his chest out. I smile at him, and he  smiles back. He relaxes, and his body looks softer than I’ve ever seen it  before.

“That was,” I start to say.

“Fucking great,” he finishes.

“Yeah,” I say.

“So, were you almost finished here,” he says, indicating the mess of paper  on the desk, “before I stopped by?”

“What? Oh, yeah.” I look down at the desk. “Nothing I can’t finish on  Monday.”

“You want to come over for a beer? I don’t live too far away.”

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

The End