Kick Boxing (continued)
Alec and Brent were at it again. Both naked, both focused on the moment – hit or be hit, kick or be kicked. Alec was tired of being the whipping boy and made the first move. He launched a side-kick at Brent, who blocked it, and then went for Brent’s handsome face, leveling punches and jabs to distract him. Brent dodged most of them and came around for a hit to Alec’s chest. It was a score, but not a major one. Alec retaliated with three more kicks to Brent’s torso, which Brent absorbed. The fight continued.
For some reason, noted Brent, Alec didn’t use their situation to his advantage. He never really went for Brent’s naked crotch, instead focusing on regulation moves and classic strikes – Brent’s slapping balls weren’t a tempting target, apparently, but the same couldn’t be said in return. All that Brent could think about was nutting his opponent. Those two huge juicy plums jiggling around were prime real-estate, and being the better boxer, Brent had only to wait for an opening to attack them.
This came a few moments later when Alec half raised his leg to strike. Brent knocked the cocked leg aside and slammed his gloved fist into Alec’s fat package. This drove the wind out of the brunette fighter. He stumbled back a bit. Since his hands had gone to clutch his crotch, Brent punished Alec with several brutal strikes to his temples, stunning Alec. The hands migrated up to hold his head, leaving his groin exposed again. Brent slammed his boot into Alec’s berries once, twice, three times. Alec slumped to the ground, coughing.
“Common’ Alec. It’s just a little love-tap,” grinned Brent. He was circling the downed boxer.
Alec growled. With a few seconds rest he stood up again. This time he was going to make Brent pay. He rushed Brent and head butted him, then pummeled his chest. Once again, though, he neglected Brent’s exposed testicles. ‘Too bad,’ thought Brent and kneed Alec right in the groin, several times. This blunted Alec’s attack, letting Brent dance back and out of the way.
Both of them did side kicks at the same moment (a frequent and awkward occurrence in kick boxing), leaving both of them exposed and off balance. It happened three times, and on the third attempt by Alec to kick Brent, Brent actually ducked beneath the leg, sank to one knee and smashed his fist, full force, into Alec’s cock and balls. SPLAT.
“SHIT!” yelled Alec, his voice echoing in the empty room. He fell over on his side, the boxing ring trembling as his weight dropped. He just lay there for a while, mumbling to himself.
“Shit, man,” he moaned finally, “You’re gonna ruin me.”
“Naw. I’m just keepin’ it real, bro. Let’s go again.”
Alec glared at him, but slowly got up, shook himself to get back into the groove and then circled like Brent was doing, fists ready to block. Brent knew he had Alec on the defensive now, so it would be harder to get at his hanging fruit. Ah well, just another challenge.
Brent threw some experimental jabs, all of which were blocked. Then a kick, which missed. Hmmm. Time for a trap. Brent let his guard drop so that his hands were level with his chest. Alec took the bait and punched Brent’s face. Once, twice. It made Brent’s eyes water, but he kept his posture. Alec became a bit more bold and tried to place some kicks, mostly aimed at Brent’s head, but the young stud ducked each time, seeming to do so at the last moment. So, Alec rushed him, thinking he’d wore down his opponent, but Brent slipped to the side, and lifted his knee so that Alec’s chest went right into is as he went by, knocking the air right out of him.
As Alec stood there, clutching his side, legs spread, Brent brought his hand up between the stud’s legs and blasted his balls, over and over. It was too much to Alec, who collapsed in a heap. ‘Yup. Another victory for me,’ thought Brent.
He helped the wounded fighter back to the showers, and, as usual, helped him wash, sliding his hands over Alec’s tight naked body.
As the water came down like steamed rain, Brent posed a question. “Hey, want to go get a beer or something?”
Alec grumbled. “I don’t drink much. I lose my memory when I drink. Have no idea where I am or what I did.”
‘Interesting,’ thought Brent. “No biggy,” he said out loud. “Just thought you like might like something to take your mind off your nuts.” Brent grinned through the water, gently cleaning off Alec’s genitals for him, and then soaping up himself.
Twenty minutes later they were at Alec’s apartment. They’d stopped to get some beer at a liquor store, and were sitting at Alec’s kitchen table, tossing them back. At first it was just small talk – careers, girls, cars, that sort of thing. Then all of sudden, Alec turned melancholy.
“What’s the matter, man?”
“Ah, it’s my father. I haven’t seen him in, like, four years. He never approved of me going to college. That’s why I started boxing, so he’d stop calling me a sissy.”
“Yeah. Said I was a pussy for going into teaching. Thought I should be a construction working like him. He used to punish me, if he thought I was acting too ‘uppity’.” Alec hung his head. He was on his fifth beer.
“Shit, that sucks, man.”
“Yeah. I guess so. He used to tell me I was a little girl and he’d kick me in the . . . . just to see if I was tough or not. Told me he’d turn me into a little girl if I didn’t do more sports.”
Instinctively, Brent reached out his hand to touch Alec’s shoulder, and as he did so something passed between them. Alec looked up and looked into Brent’s eyes. He saw understanding and empathy. They just sat there, for several long moments, looking into each other eyes, then Alec’s head dropped down again.
“Let’s go watch TV in the bedroom,” he mumbled.
Soon they were laying on Alec’s bed, watching a late night’s sportscast about boxing. Alec was sloppily drinking his next beer and Brent was watching Alec. The match continued on screen, but Brent couldn’t help watching his boxing partner. His perfect body, his perfect face.
“Shit, beer always makes me horney.” Essentially forgetting that Brent was there, Alec flipped the channel to a pay-per-view porn flick. On the screen a man had one girl on his face, one on his dick, and one straddling his chest while he played with her breasts. Brent watched for a moment, and then looked at Alec’s crotch. A lump was forming. Brent saw Alec slide his free hand down into his pants and play with himself. He seemed to be completely smashed. ‘Well hell,’ thought Brent, ‘if he isn’t going to remember this anyways . . .’
“You, uh, need some help with that?” offered Brent.
Alec didn’t reply, but didn’t stop Brent from sliding his own hand down the stud’s pants. He grasped Alec’s rigid pole and did the same to himself, jerking both at the same time.
Alec moaned. His free hand clutched at the bedspread, the other at his listing beer can which was threatening to spill on them both.
Alec watched the screen and Brent watched Alec as he pumped Alec’s cock as hard as he could. The two of them came almost as the same moment, and Brent felt Alec’s spunk shoot all over his hand, making it warm and sticky. The funny thing was the expression on Alec’s face, it was all screwed up and almost in pain. Then it relaxed. Before Brent could say or do anything else, Alec’s head lolled to the side. He was asleep. Brent removed his semen and beer drenched hand and got up. He went to the small bathroom to wash up, and then stood in the doorway, just watching Alec sleep.
“See you next time, stud,” he said softly to the passed out boxer, and left, taking the extra beer with him. After all, he might need it for their next sparring session.