Corner Men Boxing Rematch Story

Bumps Murphy again. I told you I'd let you know what happened in my rematch against Phil Martin. Here it is.

Like we expected, Arch and Rusty set up another match between their gyms about three months after the last one. Our turn to host. They decide to go with lighter weights this time: bantam, welter, middle, and nothing above cruiser for the wild card. Soon as Rusty's stable heard about that, lots of the heavys started in on diets. No point, really. Most of 'em don't have much to lose.

Rusty picked the fighters better this time. Andy Jakes wanted the wild card again, but Rusty's been working the basics with him since last time. Andy won his fight on points, trusting the new skills. The guy's got potential. Mix Jeffries moved up to middleweight and knocked his man out in less than a minute--big surprise there. Our welterweight, a college guy name of Bill Tucker, fought o.k. but lost the decision. We gotta get him less afraid of getting his face hit. That said, all three of these guys were solid choices, picked to win. I didn't worry about them.

I worried about the bantamweight, a kid name of Ricky Logan. Scratch that. He's been asking the guys to call him Rick since he turned 15 last month. Like I say, a kid. Almost our only choice--we've only got three other bantams, and they're all growing boys who're gonna move up in less than a year. But not Rick. He works hard to stay small and lean, and he does have some wicked power in those wire-tight arms he's got. For the amateurs, he's golden. For club fights between two gyms that specialize in power shots--he's still a little young for that kinda action. The guys at the gym treat him like a little brother, and I think he took the fight to show 'em he belongs in the family.

The kid did o.k. for the first round. Not great, but o.k. Arch put up this guy in his mid 20s, a guy with puberty way behind him. The guy batted Rick around pretty hard, a lot like a cat playing with a mouse. Rick got frustrated, and he got hit a lot more than I liked, but he didn't get hurt serious. At least the fight didn't hurt him. He gets up for the second round and drops to the floor. Just passes out. His dad's there, so he takes Rick to the emergency room at Mercy General. Turns out the kid trained too hard, tried too hard to make weight this time and dehydrated big time. He'll be o.k. But he forfeits the fight, and the match is a draw.

When my work after the match is done, I put on a pair of black trunks cut high on the hip. I wear a cup this time--once hit, twice shy. I don't bother with shoes. Rusty's there to wrap my hands. I know he has some kinda bet with Arch, so I ask, "So who pays the bet when it's a draw?"

"Nobody. You break even."

He's expecting to stick around, just to be sure I don't get hurt bad this time. We go back to the gym together. Phil's already warming up in the ring. Arch is off to one side. Just then I notice there's an extra guy in the ring. He's a little taller than me, which makes him even taller than Phil. He's got maybe 10 or 15 pounds on me, even more on Phil. He's got muscle, but it's a little puffy--fit, but rounded instead of ripped. He's in gold trunks, the color of Arch's gym. I don't like how this looks.

"Who's he?"

Phil nods in his direction. "TJ. Friend of mine. He's gonna ref. You o.k. with that?"

I nod, but I'm gonna keep my eye on the guy.

"So what about the rules?" I'm not about to find out as we go along, not like last time. "It's a draw. Two to two." Like I need to remind him.

"Four rules. You set two. I set two." Phil smiles. I can tell he's got something ready...I just don't know what yet. Still, I nod. Phil goes to his bag and takes out some gloves. He keeps a pair and tosses the other pair to me. I got a uncle works a farm upstate, and he wears work gloves heavier than these. We're talking mittens here, maybe 5 ounces wet. So that's the first rule. I hold out my hands and Rusty gloves me up. I can tell he hates and likes the idea pretty much the same.

My turn. "We go three rounds by the clock. Standard time, no more. When we're done, we're done."

Phil nods. Then he slips off his trunks. He's not wearing a jock. He tosses the trunks out of the ring and holds his hands out, gesturing for me to do the same. Great. I strip down. I catch him almost laughing when he sees my cup. I can see that TJ's already getting a boner. I also see more on Phil than I expected. After all, I felt him in me last time, but I didn't really look. That could be distracting.

My turn again. "We box. We don't street fight. All the usual rules about low blows, knees, rabbit punches--all of it." It's more than one rule, but Phil nods again. Time to ask the real question. "Winner takes all?"

"Winner goes first, like last time. Plus, winner goes a round with TJ."

"That's my fee for reffing." TJ says. He's got this round head. Large, dull eyes. Stubby hands. Droop to the jaw. Can't figure this guy out, but he looks a little slow. While I'm thinking this, Phil stretches in his corner and waits.


I go to my corner. Rusty sets the clock, and we get ready to go. I can see Rusty don't like this, but I gotta tell you--I don't care at this point. But I ask him, "Any advice?"

"Keep your eyes on his shoulders."

I turn to face Phil just seconds before the bell. I'm no size queen, but this guy was probably 9 inches soft. At this moment, he's gettin' a semi. I force myself to look up to his shoulders. The bell rings for the first round.

I come out pretty good. Popping my jab, keeping a glove in his face, setting up combinations. I trained harder for this fight than the last one, so I'm pretty quick and--I think--strong. Jab-jab-straight right-left hook--all to the head, all of it landing. Jab-jab-right-left-uppercut to the jaw-hook to the body-hook to the head. The money punches keep getting through 'cause he pushes the jabs away. About a minute into the round, his hands go up, so I start working the body. Phil's hard, rock hard, so I dig hooks to the navel, uppercuts to the solar plexus. As I'm doing this, my eyes move from his shoulders to his gut, and I can't ignore his cock anymore. It's straight out like a flagpole, bouncing with the punches. This slows down my attack. WHAM! He socks me a solid one on the chin. WHAM! Another shot sends me back to the ropes. He moves in and presses against me, his rod trying to force its way between my legs. Not exactly a clinch, but I'm not exactly complaining. He whispers in my ear, "That's what you got coming."

The bell rings. End of the round.

Soon as I'm back in the corner, Rusty tells me, "You looked."

"Of course I looked. Did you see him? This guy gets his rocks off getting hit."

"Then make him come. Get it over with."

We both look to Phil's corner. TJ's over there, checking to see if Phil's o.k. He tries to cover it, but we can see him stroking Phil's cock. Great. The bell rings for the second round.

I go back to the basics, but Phil doesn't buy it this time. First jab I throw, he's under it, belting my ribs with rights and lefts. I pull in my elbows, and he starts launching the bombs to my head. I know the first one is an uppercut, 'cause all I see is the ceiling. I can remember about five hits, but Rusty told me later that Phil got ten shots in before TJ pulled him off me and let me fall to the canvas. When I come to, Arch and Rusty are both checking me out. The Doc is there, and he won't let me up right away. It takes a couple of minutes, but soon I'm out of the ring and trying to decide whether I should put my trunks back on.

The timer thumps its 10 second warning. Phil's still got a round with TJ. Arch and Rusty are already staring at Phil and TJ. Phil's got TJ stripped down to those gloves, and they're both working their psyche from opposite corners. They've both got hard-ons already.

The bell rings.

Phil launches himself across the ring--no attempt at feeling out TJ, just a full-out assault. TJ meets him in the middle of the ring, but the idiot leads with his hips so his gut is exposed. Phil aims for the navel and forces TJ back into a corner with a series of shots to the abs. When he gets him there, he smacks TJ's face a few times before returning to the bigger man's gut. I finally get what TJ's "fee" is. He wants his gut worked over. Every now and then, though, Phil throws a punch or two to TJ's chin. This breaks the guy's concentration, so his abs release the flex, and Phil goes to work again. I never seen anybody hit somebody so hard and fast. I count 30 shots to the gut before I lose track. Phil's gloves are a blur to me. Can't believe it, but TJ might make it to the end of the round. The timer thumps its warning. TJ starts to shudder a little, more than the punches would cause. In fact, Phil's actually slowing down and throwing harder shots. TJ's cock starts its spasm. Just as the bell rings, TJ shoots his load. When he's spent, the guy falls to his knees. Phil nails him with a left uppercut to the chin and a right cross to the jaw. TJ hits the canvas fast and hard, his cum still pulsing out.

I have no idea what happens to Arch, Rusty or TJ, 'cause it's time for "winner goes first."

Phil pulls off the gloves and throws them at TJ. He leaves the ring. He guides me by the shoulders back through the locker room to the massage table. He pushes me back against it, so I sit on the edge of the table. He unwraps his hands. He pushes me back, open palms against my chest. I put my hands on his, but he shakes them off, so I lower them to the table. He puts his hands against my chest again. Then, in one quick movement, he pulls both fists back and slams them into my pecs with enough force to land me flat on my back. The shock of it knocks the wind out of me for a minute. By the time I recover, he's lubed up and ramming my ass. He slams it into me like he's beating me up again. When I start to move with his rhythm, he pummels my gut with his bare fists until I stop. Then he goes back to work on my ass, punching his shaft in harder and harder until his rhythm slows to a few final strokes. He pulls out, but he doesn't come.

"Your turn."

I take him back into the showers. I turn them all on so that the room gets steamy fast. I grab a bar of soap and start lathering him up and rinsing him off, over and over.

"Come on, come on," he says. Obviously getting impatient, his hard-on starting to droop a little.

I toss the bar of soap away and slap him hard across the face. His footing slips, and his arms shoot out to help him balance. I grab his right arm, twist it behind his back, and push him up against the wall. When I get him there, I snag his left arm, force both arms behind his back, and hold him against the tiles. He's got the left side of his face against the wall, and he's breathing hard, his face red, his eyes huge with anger. I shove my cock up his ass and start plugging away. He starts growling out his pain with each thrust. He gets his right hand free and tries to push himself away from the wall. I keep hold of his left arm, and I pound his lower back with my right fist. I get into a rhythm of thrusting and punching. His knees buckle under, and we both slide to the floor. I keep working his ass until we both shoot.

I get up from the floor and rinse myself off. Then I turn off the showers one by one. Finally, there's just the drip of condensation falling from the ceiling and the shower heads. Phil's still sprawled out on the floor, and he's not moving. I decide to go for the Doc. I get past him and into the locker area before I hear a voice behind me.


I turn to face him. He's on his feet now. He turns on the shower nearest to him and stares at me while the water flows over that ripped body of his. Don't know why he thinks I'm so hot, but the man is more than fine.

I lay it on the line. "You know what they're doing, right? It's the amateur record all over again. Rusty took one, Arch took the next, tonight's a draw. Next one's gonna be a draw."

Phil don't seem to care. He repeats the question. "Rematch?" He leans back so that the water cascades over his face and runs in a river between his pecs and abs, down to that cock that's only now going soft. I get chills.

"Hell, yeah."

What else was I gonna say?

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