Just a dumb fuck

The gloves come off

I was one of the first at lunch. After we’d done the muster thing and marched back to the dorm it didn’t take me long to change into casuals and get my uniform squared away. The rest of them took way longer, checking their ceremonials, cleaning the mud splashes from the bottom of those white trousers with an old toothbrush before taking them to the laundry, removing all those lanyards and epaulettes from the tunics to be packed away carefully in their boxes. The travails of being a chocolate box trooper. I decided to leave my opinions about their marching until later and besides I was hungry – I can’t live on a couple of cold pancakes for breakfast.

Nathan was still on a buzz from leading our section out - almost at the van of the parade, and the only section not led by a senior - as he kept reminding us, and so let me go when without too much hassle when I explained I was squared off and, “Please Sir, might I be permitted to go to lunch?”  Addressing him as “Sir,” instead of Corporal definitely did no harm. Technically, I wasn’t wrong to do so but he didn’t know that, he probably just thought I was overwhelmed by his sheer excellence. Dumb fuck. When he’s standing in place of Kyle, it’s Kyle I’m addressing no matter who is in front of me giving the order. It’s just like when I was on the drill square with the CCF back home. The Queen wasn’t actually there shouting at us herself, but the orders are considered direct from her. That’s why the Sergeant Major wears that Crown on his wrist. It’s his authority direct from Liz! I chuckled to myself as I slipped out of the room – that had to make Kyle our queen!

As I arrived outside the dining room a group of Cadet Lieutenants were just leaving after their formal lunch with the Commandant and staff. Being Cadet Officers they weren’t marching back to the dorms, just sauntering and chatting amiably about their big day. Kyle was with them and even in their company he still exuded presence. I straightened up and stood smartly to the side of the path to let them pass by unimpeded. Well, I’m not sure how the Americans treat their President but we definitely wouldn’t get in the Queen’s way if she was out for a Sunday stroll down The Mall. The Lieutenants carried on by, ignoring me because a. I’m not in uniform - so I can’t salute them and make them have to return the salute, and, b, freshmen Cadets don’t register for most of them, that’s why they have Sergeants and Corporals to marshal us plebs around the place for them. Kyle was chatting animatedly with the rest of them, but he took the time to acknowledge me. Just a brief moment of eye contact and a quick “Thank you, Cadet,” no need for him even to slow down. That’s something else about good officers: they have manners enough for everyone. They’re the sort that get called “Boss” eventually.

Lunch itself was fast but good. I helped myself to a smallish steak from the buffet and a plateful of salad, scoffed it down pretty quickly and then scooted back to the dorm to change again, this time into sports gear. Sunday afternoon is Activities and I’d finally got approved for my choices: Car Club, Gym and Swimming. I was going to try the gym first. I can do that on my own easily enough whereas all the other guys are already in Car Club and so it made sense to go to that for my first time with them and get introduced around.

The gym is on the far side of College by the playing fields, about a ten-minute walk from the dormitories. And just like every other gym in the world, it smells of sweat and testosterone. By the time I arrived there were a few other guys in there, most of whom I didn’t know really well. Remember that thing about freshmen being almost invisible to the higher forms of life? Anyway, I went and introduced myself to the Supervisor, a wiry guy of about 45 I’d guess, showed him my pass and listened to the mandatory health and safety briefing everyone has to have on their first visit. Well, I made it look as if I was listening. Squawk finally over, he asked me what I wanted to start on. Weights? Cardio? Treadmills?

I obviously hit jackpot when I said “Boxing.” His eyes lit up. “I’ll induct you on that myself.” Suddenly it seemed I wasn’t just another pain-in-the-arse freshman. By the time we’d walked round the corner to where the ring was I’d learned he was a PTI from Fort Benning (no, never heard of it either), had served and been wounded in Iraq and was now doing Reserve service on attachment to the College. And, of course, he was a boxer. At that point I was actually listening again.

“Get that kink in your nose in the ring?” he asked casually as he filled out my weight and height charts. That’s another thing the Americans do different. Back home under Amateur Olympic rules I’m a super welterweight, here I’m a light middleweight. Maybe Americans get an allowance for the size of the food portions. Anyways, according to the charts, at my weight and height, I should be 17. Maybe I can get a driving licence. That’d be useful. I can drive, I just don’t have a licence.

“Well?”

“No Sir,” I answered truthfully.

He looked straight at me and I knew I wouldn’t have got away with saying otherwise. “Officially, Cadet, I tell you to leave your temper outside. The only aggression allowed in my ring is controlled aggression. Harnessed aggression. Targeted aggression. Got that?”

“Got that, Sir.”

He smiled mischievously. “But a little natural aggression never goes amiss…  Now, go and get changed – there’s a separate changing and gloving up room out the back through that door, but don’t bother with gloves just yet - then come back and do some warm ups. Ten minutes each on the bike, treadmill and skipping. I’ll try you out in the ring after. Got it?”

“Got that, Sir”

“Coach. Not Sir. Coach.”

I smiled. “Got that, Coach.”

* * *

You know those mazes that scientists train rats to run round to find a piece of cheese? Well that’s what the back of the gym was like once I got through the door near the ring. A store room. Plant room. Boiler room. A room with something to do with chemical tanks for the pool by the look of it. More store rooms. Then I found it, another small room with benches and lockers and racks of gloves, cupboard of tapes, a side room with a couple of showers. They should paint lines down the floors and corridors to follow in this place. The IX legion could still be trying to find their way out for all I know. I changed quickly into my vest and shorts, put my bag back on the bench and started to make my way out to the training area again. That’s when I heard the noises, right after turning back out of the door that I thought was the exit into the gym but turned out to be another store room. Definitely needs lines. Or breadcrumbs. I’d got to be nearly in the right place because I could hear grunting, like somebody lifting weights.

Fuck me! Which was probably the wrong choice of words because that was exactly what I seeing. I froze and let go of the door handle I’d just been about to open when I’d looked through the small, wired safety glass pane to make sure it wasn’t another storeroom. There were two blokes in there fucking! One flat on his back on a bench with his legs in the air, the other straddling him, holding his legs up, ramming his dick up the other’s arse. Sheeesh! That’s got to be against the rules. I couldn’t see any faces, well not much of the guy getting bummed at all, but from their build I’d guess they both had to be seniors. I backed off from the door a moment, tried to process what was going on. Well, I know what’s happening of course, I’m not stupid. I’m not a virgin myself anymore, remember? And I know what gay guys do for sex too. I’ve just never seen it.

I cautiously stepped forward again, took another careful look through the tiny glass window, Bloody hell, he was going at it! Pulling his dick almost right out and slamming it back in. That had to hurt! My arse was clenching up at the thought of it. They both seemed to enjoying it though, even if pussy fucking is way better. Wetter. Proper sex. And not getting shit on your dick either. But the way the guy’s balls were slapping against the arse of the other guy too. That was, well…

I stepped back from the door again. I needed to adjust my shorts. My own dick was hard now. That’s not good. I mean. Why? I moved back towards the door, carefully putting my head forward to the edge of the glass again, just began to peer in. The guy underneath looked up, saw past the guy who was nailing him as his body swung slightly sideways to line up for another hard thrust. Saw me. This time I didn’t freeze. I was down that corridor like a greased ferret and thankfully tumbling into the gym at the first door I blundered through. Fortunately, nobody seemed to notice me burst in, most people were down the other end doing weights.

I hadn’t got a good look at him. Not a really good look. Just a quick glimpse of a startled face. Short, dark hair. I probably wouldn’t recognise him in a line up. Not unless he was lined up with his arse out. I might recognise that! Or the other guy’s dick. He was a big lad. Maybe as big as me!

Had he recognised me? Maybe I was too fast for him to see. Anyway, I’m a freshman. Arrived late too, weeks after the semester started. Freshmen are invisible to seniors. Except. Yeah, everybody had got a real good look at me this morning. The only guy parading in working dress. That long march all the way up the side of the column to get my place back with our squad. Everybody glaring at me as I stood silently to attention as they sang “The Star Spangled Banner.” Of course they are going to know who I am.

“Boots!” It was Coach, bearing down on me. “Get in the ring, you look warmed up. I’ll be there in a second I’ll just grab you some sparring gloves and the punch pads.” I climbed into the ring. At least he hadn’t spotted my hard on, thank God boxing shorts are baggy. And not short.  Plus he thinks I’m red and flustered from warming up. I had to push things clear of my mind and start concentrating. I need to make a good impression.

Coach put some lightweight gloves on me, then padded up his arms for some practice. He took the centre of the ring and expected me to work round him, jabbing away at his arms. I didn’t come off the banana boat yesterday. I pushed forward, kept pushing, jabbing, pushing, taking the centre for myself. He came back at me, always trying to move me back, guide me to where he wanted me, trying to make me dance, make me work.

I’m fit. I can dance. I can match any lightweight for speed and stamina. But I can also push and dominate. I’ve told you, I’m a big lad for my age. Coach is fit too. Not a skerrick of fat on him. Always coming at me, sidestepping, trying to make me over-balance. He’s only got pads on, not punching, just making me work. Taking the centre of the ring back for himself every time I drive him off it.

I saw him slip the Velcro band on the pad straps. Guessed what he was going to do. Like I said, no banana here. So when he suddenly flicked the pads off and came at me with his fists, bare fists, I was ready for him. Elbows in tight, gloves up. Face and abdomen shielded. Head and shoulder down pushing at him. Yes, I took a few good swingers to my flanks but that’s it, that’s the point, I can take them. I’m not a lightweight anymore. I let him hit me a few times. Resisted the urge to punch back.

“BREAK !”

 The moment he called it, I was off him, fast and clean. He was smiling. I‘d guessed right what he was doing. Goading me. Trying to make me lose my cool. Hurt me and make me lash out at him.

“Temper still at the door, Coach,” I grinned. I’d passed his test.

“Get up here, Connor,” he barked at a cadet with a bag of towels and water bottles, “The boy needs a drink. I need a drink.” As Connor climbed into the ring I realised that we’d attracted quite some interest. Almost everybody in the gym seemed to be looking at us, more than a few of them gathering round the ring to take a closer look. Travis was there, right up by the ropes. Well, he would be wouldn’t he, this is the gym for Christ’s sake, he practically lives here. Shane was there too, and Noah. I hadn’t figured him for a gym rat. I wasn’t sure how long we’d be doing pad-punch but Shane said later that it had been a good two, maybe even three rounds’ worth but without a break. No bloody wonder I needed a wet! I don’t think the first half of the bottle touched the sides on its way down. I was buzzing. Coach was smiling. This was good. I knew I’d made the right choice for Activities. My three dorm mates were there at the ringside, looking at me with pride.

It was as Connor stepped back after draping a towel round my shoulders that I saw that side door open and two guys enter the gym area. Both tall, older than me, wearing boxing shorts but no vests. Dark haired. Both a few classes above my weight, maybe even light heavyweights. Kyle’s kind of build. Toned muscle. They were looking at me. I hadn’t clearly seen their faces in the backroom but there was no doubt about what their faces said. They recognised me.

Coach saw them too. “Hey, Jackson, get over here, I want you to meet Boots, our new pupper.”

Jackson gave his mate a friendly tap on the shoulder, said something to him and then turned and started towards the ring. The second guy turned away and walked over to the weights rack. I was pretty sure he was the guy who’s face I’d got a glimpse of, the guy who had been taking dick. Which meant that Jackson was…

“Boots!” Coach snapped, grabbing my attention back. “How do you fancy a quick round or two sparring with Jackson?”

Jackson was climbing into the ring, a look on his face that I couldn’t quite make out. Not exactly friendly, but then he is a senior. He was definitely taller than me. Way more muscled too. Definitely a light heavyweight. Great pecs and abs, biceps too. Just a light fuzz of chest hair. Some hair just above his waistband, a little triangle of it. I smile inwardly as my glance continues down past his shorts to his thighs – I’ve already seen his dick remember. Legs pretty solid. He’s definitely got the build to be a good boxer. Not that his dick size has anything to do with his boxing ability of course. Why am I even thinking about that?  

A poke in the face from his gloved left hand startles me.

“Like what you see, pup?”

There’s a ripple of laughter around the ring. He’s seen me weighing him up. They’ve all seen me. I wasn’t looking there guys! I can feel my face burning. Boxers always check potential opponents out. This is a military college! You should all know the maxim! “Time spent on reconnaissance is never wasted.”

“Boots,” I spluttered back at him, “Boots. I’m not your pup.”

I get another tap in the face for my trouble. Not hard, but sending a message. “Sounds like fighting talk, doesn’t it Coach? Where did you get him from? Hard to believe he’s from the Reservation. Not pretty enough.” There are a few sniggers from the group still gathered around the ring but I see Shane, Travis and Noah looking discomforted.

“Oh, he’s feisty enough Jackson,” laughed Coach. “Maybe you’d better go real easy on him in case he makes your weight one day. Wouldn’t want him whooping your ass would you?” Now there’s another ripple of laughter round the ring. “Connor, get some headgear on these two. Jackson, Boots, you’ll do two rounds, 3 minutes each, of light sparring. And I mean light. Got that?”

Got that, Coach,” I said. Jackson just smiled and tapped me again. No force behind it, just reminding me who he is. How much he outweighs me. Outreaches me.

“Jackson, light sparring. Clear? Boots has just done quite a work out and he’s way below your weight class. Just a couple of rounds to give him a taste of what we do here. I’ll be back to check on you both.” 

“Clear Coach. Just a lesson for the pup on what we do here.”

Connor was pulling a couple of sets of headguards out of the bag before Coach had even left the ring and then putting one set on Jackson. Mine was just thrown over to me. Obviously I caught it, but I can’t put it on, not with gloves on. In an instant Travis was bounding up into the ring, taking the headguard from me, placing it over my head, lacing it up. I have a second. A bloody good one. Like I said, I need a friend like him. Shane and Noah are working their way round the ring to my corner too.

“Travis, what was that dig about the Reservation? What did he mean by it?” I asked as he finished lacing me up. Travis averted his eyes and said nothing, tore the wrapper off a fresh mouth guard from Connor’s bag and jammed it in my mouth. Well that shuts me up pretty effectively.

“Just shut up and fight.” With that Travis is sliding out under the rope leaving just me, Connor and Jackson in the ring. There’s nobody working out anywhere in the gym, they’re all clustered round the ring now. Coach is gone. I walked over to the centre where Jackson is waiting for me, hold out a gloved hand for a bump. He ignores it and moves to tap me in the face again. Not, hard, not fast. Just trying to needle me even more. My head is out of there long before his glove is anywhere near it and I step back to my corner waiting for the nod from Connor. Jackson has no intention of moving from the centre. Connor looks at his watch and waves me in, “Spar on.”

Okay, so Jackson is going to take the centre is he? I know I am going to struggle to drive him from it. He’s got a longer reach, he’s heavier. I’m going to have to work way harder than he needs to. That’s okay, I’m fit, I can dance round him for two rounds. Zap him with a few jabs, back off, go in again. I’ll need to be careful though. Not get complacent. He’s fit too. He’ll be fast. It’s not like I’m dealing with a lumbering Goliath where all I have to do is avoid getting hit. He won’t hesitate to come at me. He’s going to be used to mixed weights too: most heavyweights train against fast, lighter guys exactly so they build their speed up. Keeps them on their toes.

His first few blows come at me the moment I get within reach. Fast, well aimed, up at my head. No problem, I’ve got my gloves up to fend them off, no real force behind them. He’s just measuring me up. We’re only sparring after all. He goes for a body punch when I don’t back off. I deflect it off and keep pushing forward, letting him know I’m not intimidated, feint a quick blow to his head and follow up with jabs to his abdomen. His gloves are there way before I’m anywhere near his ribs. I knew this wasn’t going to be easy.

I’m dancing round him, circling, looking for an opening as he stands resolutely in the ring centre, conserving his energy, letting me come at him. Several times I dart in, try and hit him with a flurry of feints and jabs but he parries, deflects, counter-attacks. I know I have to be careful, not forget that at any moment he might shift from defence to attack, come at me hard. He’s the one in control of this fight, dictating the terms. The guys down ringside are enjoying this. I’m not looking at them, I’m not that dumb, but I can hear them, picking sides, encouraging, predicting the next move. Then he comes at me, right as I’m committed to go forward to him. He read that well. We clash, a flurry of jabs and then I start to shift the weight on my feet to bound back, to get out of the way before he can brush my gloves aside and score a couple of points on me. As I’m moving back he’s brushing my gloves aside but too late, I’m going to be off out of range before he can get his hand back up for a jab at my head.

Wham! His left hand ploughs into my ribs. Wham! The right goes in from the other side. He’s still coming at me. That bloody hurt! We’re only meant to be sparring, you twat! I’m staggering back and he’s still coming at me, a couple of jabs to my head now. I get my gloves up fast and block but there was real force in his blows. I can’t afford to let any of those through to my head. I’m twisting sideways, and he’s still coming at me, going to try and back me onto the ropes, get in some more of those body blows. I need to move. Reverse the twist. Step aside and get out of range. I see Connor glance at his watch. We’re definitely over time but he’s not ending the round.

Done it! I was just that bit too fast on the twist for him and I manage to disengage, get a yard beyond him. It’s enough. Jackson can’t follow through with the couple more body blows he was intending. I’m right back in there, pushing at him, jabbing for his head, making him defend momentarily. Show I’m not cowed. That I’m not hurt. I can’t afford to get caught like that again. He’s good.

I am hurt though. Those punches were meant to hurt. He’s way heavier and stronger than I am. He knew what he was doing. I’m bouncing back round him, looking to take the ring centre for myself. Like there’s much chance of that! I duck in under a high jab, land a couple of my own on his abdomen, move back out at light speed before he can reply. I catch a brief sight of Shane and Noah smile at each other when I land the jabs and get out unscathed. That was too easy. He let me do that. He wants me in close again, he’s waiting, biding his time. He steps back, just a half step, drawing me forward. I go with him, push a couple of jabs up at his face. He parries, jabs back, no real force, just sparring. I go for his abdomen and he blocks again, comes back at me with more jabs, drives me off and then steps aside, drops his arm a little. In a flash I’m on him, pushing up to his head with my right hand, ducking, putting a jab in at his chest with my left and then WHAM ! He’s driving his right into my ribs, hard. I knew that was coming. I took the bait he offered with that raised arm, let him throw the rib punch he was suckering me into because now he knows he’s beating me, he’s pushing me back again, shifting his weight for a follow up, aiming to get me on the ropes once more.

CRUNCH! His follow up punch was hard. Way harder than I had expected. I can feel the breath being smashed out of me as it lands. And then my hand connects. Smack square in his face. Takes the initiative from him. Not a knock out blow by any means, I’m only wearing lightweight sparring gloves. But it stings him. It lets him know I read him. That I can play tricks too. That I was prepared to take a few of his punches if necessary, that I will land one back. I will go for him. I will hurt him.

“BREAK !”

Coach is back. The crowd at the ringside are parting like the Red Sea before Moses to let him through. By the time he’s in the ring, so are Travis and Shane, helping me to my corner. I’m gasping for oxygen like a fish in the Gobi. Jackson is still standing there in the middle, hardly out of breath though there’s a trickle of blood just beginning to appear at his nose. He’s hardly hurt at all, except for his pride. Sometimes that can hurt more.

Coach is jabbing at his watch. “What do you two think you’re doing ? I said two rounds! What’s this? Well into a fourth? You trying to prove you’re Superman or something Boots? Launching into Jackson’s face like that? Light sparring I said! Jackson, go get that tidied up.”

Travis and Shane were looking at me, at Coach. They knew who had started a fight. Travis was bristling to speak up but Shane just put a hand on his shoulder, shook his head.

Coach damn well knew too. He’s in charge in this gym. Nothing happens here he doesn’t know about. Nothing. He’s way too good for that. If Jackson roughs me up, it’s because Coach lets him rough me up. He was watching that fight from somewhere. He’d sanctioned it. Stepped in right away when it even hinted at not going the way he’d ordained it.

Travis and Shane were pulling me forward, Shane taking my head gear off, putting a towel over my shoulders, Travis getting the gumshield out of my mouth. Coach dropped his voice a little.

“You good, Boots? You look wrecked.”

I’d got enough breath back to speak, to draw myself up tall. To glare back.

“I’m good Coach. Left my temper outside the door.”

Coach scowled. “That’s what worries me, Boots. There’s rumours that you have a thing with doors. It leads to trouble. Now get outta here, get showered and get back to your dorm. We’re done until next week.”

* * *

We climbed down out of the ring. The crowd had dispersed the moment Coach had launched into his tirade, eager to ensure they didn’t catch any collateral. The story would be spreading all over College by now.

“We’ll get you your gloves off,” said Travis, steering me to the side door where the boxers’ changing room was located. Shane turned to Noah who was also there now, about to follow us. “Noah, head off back to the dorm, go by the cookhouse, get us some ice. We’ll see you there.” Noah didn’t hesitate, he was straight out of there.

I found my way to the changing room without problems this time, Shane and Travis tagging along at my heels and then shoving me down onto the bench moment we got there, starting to unlace my gloves. I realised the showers were running, that the place was full of steam. We weren’t alone.

Jackson stepped out of the showers, startling both Travis and Shane as he took a few steps towards us before stopping menacingly at the end of the bench. I think I was feeling too weary to be startled by anything. The other guy stepped out from the showers too, the guy I had seen him fuck, stood right by Jackson’s side. Neither of them reached for a towel, just stood there, totally naked, staring us down. Almost like they were flaunting themselves. Seniors. Older than us. Stronger than us. Outranking us.

Why the fuck am I looking at their dicks?

“You two, out !” snarled Jackson. “Boxers only in here.”

Travis had my first glove off, squaring up just a yard from Jackson, saying nothing but with defiance written on his face. Jackson towered over him by a good six inches: 180 pounds of warmed up, sleek, wet, fighting perfection. He could swat Travis down with a single punch and he knew it. Travis must have known it too. Shane had my second glove almost off.

Jackson was glowering. “I said, OUT! We’ll look after our own. He’s good here, aren’t you pup?”

I stood up as Shane pulled my second glove off, and started to take a step forward to get between Travis and Jackson. This wasn’t his fight, I couldn’t let him get involved.

Shane was faster, smarter too. He knew even three of us would make poor odds against the two of them. We’d get put through the grinder then get kicked out of the College too for disobeying an order. Seniors get believed. He grabbed my sports bag off the bench and shoved me past Travis and towards the door. Not fast, but purposefully.

“It’s okay Jackson, we’ve got this. We still have warm down exercises to do. Come on Travis.” Shane fights with his head. There’s definitely smart under those blond curls.

Travis backed out with us, still facing down Jackson, watching our backs until the door was safely shut behind us. I’ll say this, Jackson and his bum chum might have had their balls on display, but so did Travis too.