Prizefighter - Part 1

My heart races anxiously as we await the official decision. Blood trickles down the side of my face from a cut I suffered in the seventh round. I dominated the first two rounds, knocking down Sanchez in the first with a sharp left hook that rocked him onto the canvas.

I stood over him, "The only reason Heather likes you is because you take it like a bitch....stay down, she's mine!"

He looked up at me with fully alert eyes and cocky ass smile.

Sanchez was far from being hurt.

The second round I peppered him with a complete onslaught of crosses, jabs, and uppercuts. He wouldn't go down! I would have had better luck knocking down a brick wall.

Sanchez was tough.

"This is going to be harder than I thought," I thought nervously to myself.

I was always a quick finisher in the ring, a true knockout artist.... brute might be more accurate. At any rate, it's why people came to watch. Later in my career my lack of endurance became my Achilles heel. If a fight went past the fourth round my chances (and skills) diminished quickly. I first discovered this at the peak of my fighting career in an undercard bout in Casears Palace. My opponent was Tyson "Bonecrusher" Brown. He did just that! He crushed me. I was finally exposed for what I truly was, a slugger not a boxer. After Brown survived my aggressive attack during the first three rounds, he played me like a fiddle for the next four before knocking me out with a vicious uppercut in the eighth.

The more things change the more they stay the same!

The middle three rounds could've gone either way with the judges as we settled into a boxing match.

In sixth round he cornered me, unloading wicked combinations to the body and head. Hot white flashes of pain ran through me until the bell finally rang.

By the final round I had no legs left, resorting to holding Sanchez.

"You see, this is why Heather likes to fuck me, I have endurance and can go all night, just how she likes it," he continued jawing in my ear, "You're probably fuck just like you fight....you're a two pump chump!"

This is probably what saved any chance of me winning. Infuriated, I pushed Sanchez off of me and caught him with a crushing left hook that sent him flying into the ropes. I continued to punish him, unleashing a fury of hooks and body shots, making him wince in pain. The only thing holding him up was the ropes.

Ding!

"Saved by the bell bitch," I gasped at him.

Now we were at the mercy of the judges.

Dull aching pain coursed through my body as Sanchez and I awaited the judges' decision. Our fate was in their hands. The winner would be Heather's official "boyfriend." The loser would graciously walk away. It was the only way we could think to settle the dispute....it made perfect sense.

Heather was a ring girl at the arena. While it wasn't her primary occupation, it served as a perfect outlet for her obsession. I guess she always had a thing for boxers. Apparently one wasn't enough, and ironically she was wet for two in the same weight class.

Heather was unaware that we knew she was sleeping with both of us. We decided this predicament needed to be handled like men, by men.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the judges have reached their decision."

My heart began to jump. My gut told me that I lost!

"Anderson scores the bout 95 - 94 in favor of Sanchez."

"Fuck," I thought knowingly.

"Williams scores the bout 96 - 94 in favor of Hammerstein."

A mix of cheers and boos echoed through the crowd.

"And judge Michels scores the bout 95 - 95. Ladies and gentlemen the bout is a draw.

My heart sank! My body not numb from punches, but disbelief.

Sanchez and I exchanged an uneasy glance as we both knew simultaneously.

The winner wouldn't be determined in the ring, it would be determined in the bedroom!

To be continued!