Fight Night by Johnny Murdoc www.johnnymurdoc.com
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
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