Shantelle 
by Ringer  
A big female MP beats a disrespectful male soldier in the ring

Hi !  I love the fight stories that IÕve read here and I wanted to share 
one of my own.  My name is Shantelle. I'm a black woman who isn't afraid 
to square off with a man when I have to.  I'm writing to tell you about 
one of my most memorable fights.  Since I was a girl, I've been big for 
my age and that's gotten me into a lot of trouble.  I lived in a rotten 
neighborhoods growing up and the girl gangs would always pick fights 
with me because I wouldn't join them.  Anyway, I decided at an early age 
that I'd better get strong and learn how to fight.  I don't mind telling 
you that over the years my weight training has really paid off.  At age 
22  I'm 5'10"  and 180 pounds of lean, beautiful, black power. 

When I was old enough, I joined the Army so I could get the heck out of 
there.  It was no big surprise when they put me in for training as an 
MP.  That's where the story begins.  A lot of our MP training, is in 
mixed groups and some of the men didn't take too well to a woman being 
as big as I was.  I guess it kind of scared them to think that a woman 
might be stronger than they were.  

There was one guy in particular, Bob, who would make cracks at every 
opportunity.  When we separated the men and women for hand to hand 
training, all I could think about was how much I wanted to beat the pulp 
out of him.  My poor sparring partners usually got the brunt of my 
anger.  

Then came the day that the two groups got together for the mandatory 
three boxing matches.  In every weight class it was possible to match 
women with women and men with men, except for me.  I was much too big 
for any of the other women, so I agreed to fight three men.  After a lot 
of complaining, three men were ordered to box with me.  One of them was 
Bob.  

I went out of my way to make this as uneventful as possible.  My DI even 
had me wear an oversized, floppy T-shirt and trunks to minimize the 
difference in our appearances.  The first two fights went off without a 
hitch.  I made a point of not going all out to make them look bad, but I 
put enough into it that they were good fights.  Then came my fight with 
Bob.  I guess he thought he was going to prove something, he fought like 
we were back on the streets or something.  Head butts, low blows, kidney 
punches, even a rabbit punch. What a jerk!

That was it !!! I'd had enough of his crap.  I decided right then and 
there that I wasn't going rest until I knocked that guy's lights out.  
It didn't take long to arrange.  It seems that he was expecting me and 
quickly accepted my challenge.  We would meet after hours, in the ring 
again, but this time no padded gloves and no rules about where you could 
punch.

We entered the ring wearing calf length robes, black driving gloves and 
black calf high boxing boots.  Bob, who is 6' and 175 wore brief 
swimming trunks similar to those worn by male body builders in contests.  
I wore black string panties that covered nothing but my crotch, and 
decided my 38C breasts would go without the support of a bra (not that 
they needed it).  My attire had the desired effect.  When I took off my 
robe, there was an audible "Whoooahh!!"  from the crowd.  Most of them 
had never before seen a woman body builder as ripped and beefed up as I 
was.  Bob was visibly surprised.

There was a referee, but her job was only to keep us from wrestling, 
kicking or holding while we punched.  Any area of the body "above the 
belt" was legal.  We would fight in standard 3 minute rounds with 1 
minute breaks until one of us either quit or was knocked out.  At that 
moment I was never more ready to destroy  someone.  The best part was 
that, looking into my eyes, Bob realized that he might have made a 
mistake accepting my challenge. 

I had formulated a plan for the fight that morning, but when the bell 
rang all I wanted to do was knock Bob's head off.  I came out swinging 
and found that Bob wasn't such an easy target.  He dodged my haymakers 
and counterpunched with jabs and hooks to my head and breasts.  Though 
his punches didn't have knockout power, they were harder than I 
expected.  Like a jerk, I kept headhunting and that's when he got me 
good!  Ducking under a right cross of mine he drilled an overhand right 
deep into my lower abdomen, about hip high.  My legs suddenly went soft 
and I fell like a stone.  At eight I had just about pulled myself up 
when the bell rang for the end of round one.

I sat in my corner thinking about how this wasn't working out the way I 
had planned.  That's when I remembered, "Hey, I've got a plan, get with 
it!"  Suddenly things started to look a lot clearer to me and I decided 
to get down to business.

At the bell for round two Bob started to look pretty cocky.  That was 
just fine with me.  I started jabbing like I should and moving around.  
Every chance I got I moved in close, which made him cover up.  That was 
my chance to hammer away at his upper arms as hard as I could.  I 
alternated upper cuts to the body with hooks to both arms.   He hit me 
with a jab or two each time I was open, but it was worth it.  In no time 
his punches got weaker.  By the end of the round he had a hard time 
holding his hands up, which made him easy meat for hooks and jabs to eye 
and jaw. 

When the bell rang I stepped back to assess the damage.  I had a few 
bruises on my breasts, but was otherwise in pretty good shape.  Bob, on 
the other hand didn't look too good.  His right eye was starting to puff 
up and his arms hung loose.  This was getting to be more like it.  

At the bell for round three it was time to open things up.  Bob realized 
that if he didn't get something going this round, I was going walk all 
over him.  He charged out of his corner, swinging away.  I stepped 
inside his inept attack and blasted uppercuts to his abdomen and hooks 
to his unprotected face.  He was like a crazy man, he wouldn't back 
down.  I sidestepped a right cross and drove a straight right into his 
eye followed by a left cross to the jaw.  When he paused to absorb that, 
I stepped inside and drove my right deep into his solar plexus.  He 
doubled up, sending his face directly into my upward thrusting left 
fist, which twisted his head up and to the left as his body continued 
down to the canvas.

I was actually angry that he had gone down, I wasn't done with him.  As 
the ref counted I screamed at him to get up.  I don't know whether he 
was too embarrassed to admit defeat or just plain stupid, but he did get 
up at nine.  He was a mess, bleeding from the left nostril, welts on his 
chest and abdomen, his right jaw swollen and his right eye shut.  Still 
he brought his fists up, ready to do battle again.  The bell rang before 
the fight could continue.

The ref went to Bob's corner to see if he would concede.  I found out 
later that his response was "Don't worry ref, I've got her right where I 
want her".  I think he'd been watching too many movies, or something.  

It was clear to me, the ref and everyone else except Bob, that this was 
going to be the last round.  I guessed, correctly, that the only thing 
keeping Bob up was stubbornness.  For me, it was raging bull time.  At 
the bell I began a barrage that wasn't going to end until Bob was 
finished.  My jackhammer left jabs snapped Bob's head back like a 
speedbag.  My alternating right hooks and left crosses to the head and 
body bloodied his mouth, folded him up and swung his head from side to 
side.  I was outpunching him 2 to 1, then 3 to 1, then 4 to 1.   I hit 
him so hard and fast that I tore holes in the knuckles of my gloves.  

Bob backpeddled until he hit the ropes.  As my big, fists bore in on 
him, he slid along the ropes until he reached the corner.  Under my 
ceaseless attack he crouched, leaned against the ring's corner pad, and 
tried in vain to cover up.  Bent over like that his head was about 
breast high to me, a perfect target.  I stood squarely in front of him 
and unloaded with everything I had.

Left hook to the cheek!  His head whipped to the left.  Right uppercut 
to the jaw!  His head twisted sideways conforming with my fist, his body 
followed upward.  I stepped inside with a left uppercut into his solar 
plexus!   His body shook, his head landing on my left shoulder, his 
hands still chest high in a mock defense.  I stepped back and uncoil an 
upward right cross that explodes on his jaw!  His head twisted to the 
right and his body descended.  He collapsed onto me like a wet sack on a 
brick wall and slid to the canvas, face down at my feet.

I stood there over my fallen prey, ready for more, hoping that he would 
rise again.  Of course, that didn't happen.  The ref held me back as she 
counted over Bob's unconscious body. There are few victories that I have 
had in my life that felt as sweet as when my hand was raised before the 
small, wildly screaming crowd.  Since then, I have had a few more 
fights, mostly with newcomers who thought they would prove something by 
taking me out.  But that's another story.  

Anyway, I hope you can print my story.  I'm glad that I had the chance 
to tell it