The Campus Boxing Tournament
By American Boxer   BoxingFan8ozGloves@yahoo.com
A short, vicious mixed boxing match with a brutal knockout.


When I had signed up for the local toughman contest on campus, I was feeling
pretty good about my chances. Sure, I could be beaten, but I'm a respectable
boxer. I'm small compared to some of the other guys on campus - just barely big
enough to be in the heavier of the two toughman divisions - but I still usually
whup the bigger guys.

The one thing that surprised me was that a woman had signed up this year.
Sure, I knew that some women boxed, I'd even boxed with a few in the past, and
knew well that they could be as good as anyone. I didn't know that there were
any women boxers on campus - this shouldn't have surprised me, though,
considering that they were taking up the sport in large numbers these days.
What did really surprise me was that any woman wanted to enter the school
toughman contest - these guys are really vicious. In addition, by long school
tradition, the boxers dressed like the pros - no headgear, no shirts.

Some of the guys didn't think a woman belonged in the ring at all, and tried
to get her removed from the list. A few others, myself included, thought they
were being unfair - there hadn't been any restrictions listed about who could
enter. I was rather emphatic in my insistence that she should be allowed to
participate - I'd always felt that anyone who wants to fight deserves a chance.
I did remind them that if they kept her out, they'd be wide open for a lawsuit
if someone made a fuss about it - and the campus paper usually did cover the
fights. As it turned out, they covered them far more than usual - and some other
local papers showed up as well for some.

The judges finally did decide that she could enter, but threw in a stipulation
designed to make her decide to withdraw. There would be no rule
changes - including the rules stipulating the attire each boxer would wear:
Boxing shorts, sneakers or boxing shoes, and gloves - no shirt. She surprised a
lot of people by deciding to stay in, her desire to compete apparently greater
than any modesty.

As the brackets were being set up, an irritated organizer told me, "You pushed
so hard for her to be able to fight, you take her on first!" As it happened, I
didn't end up in with her for my first match, but if we both won our first
fights, we'd be meeting in the next round.

I won my first fight in the second round, slugging it out with my opponent,
then catching him with a perfect left hook on his jaw. He got up, but I was
able to knock him out while he was still stunned. Not many people can take
many of my punches when we're wearing the small 8-oz gloves.

My opponent had also won her first fight by knockout - I'd heard with two
punches right at the beginning of the first round. Impressive, but these
fights usually have a lot of quick knockouts - in a toughman contest, there's
such a wide range of experience and skill that a few mismatches occur. I'd
been dressing for my fight, and so didn't see her, but I would have done well
to pay attention to that fight!

I thought that my second fight would also go well - until I saw my opponent.

At 5'8 and 165 lbs., I'm a pretty solid guy, but this girl was huge. The
announcer described her as being 6'2" tall, and 205 pounds - and I believed him.
She had shoulder length blonde hair and icy blue eyes, and was clearly very
strong - her abs were ripped, and her legs looked like trees. She was also very
nicely built - solid, but still nicely curved. The black satin trunks with white
trim made her look like a dangerous boxer while her large firm breasts
glistened in the harsh ring lights, the sheen of sweat from her warm-up
accentuating her nipples, erect in anticipation of the fight. Black Adidas
boxing shoes with white trim and shiny black Everlast gloves completed the
image of a true Amazon.

I got another unpleasant surprise a moment later. Her arms looked strong and
sleek, but when she clenched her gloved fist, her bicep swelled up and up and
up - like there was a baseball in there. Normally, my muscles catch the eye of
the crowd, but not this time. Part of it was the size of her muscles, but I'm
certain that most of the attention was on her bare chest. Still, she looked to
be a lot stronger than I am. I quickly revised my fight plan - I'd have to keep
moving, and hope she was as slow as she was strong.

As these thoughts were going through my mind, my attention was drawn from her
strengths as a fighter to those lovely, firm breasts, the ring lights gleaming
off the slight sheen of sweat covering them, her nipples erect and hard as she
anticipated the fight. She noticed where my gaze was drifting, and smiled,
slamming her gloves together. Hearing that "SMACK" and seeing her bulging
biceps caught my attention nicely - or, to be more accurate, drew my attention
back to where it should be, assessing her strengths and weaknesses - with the
figure she had, being distracted like that was natural - if dangerous. I looked
her in the eyes - she met my gaze directly. She was clearly ready to fight,
ready to try to knock me out in a flurry of black leather - and there was
something more as well, something I couldn't yet place in that steely glare.
The small smile just didn't fit in with her apparent determination to fight,
and fight hard.

When we met in the center of the ring, I realized just how hard this was going
to be. She towered over me, and there wasn't an ounce of excess fat on her 200
odd pounds. Our eyes stayed locked, neither one of us would look away - we were
both here to fight, and we let each other know it. Still, one can't help but
be a bit intimidated looking up at someone 6" taller and almost 50 pounds
heavier if she's going to be trying to punch your lights out in just a
moment - I just didn't let her know that I found her intimidating. On top of all
that, I started to realize what else I was seeing in her expression - an
anticipation almost sexual, a desire to not just win, but dominate.

When we touched gloves, she forced my hands back like nothing I'd encountered
before. My expectation that I'd be faster than she was did give me
confidence - at least enough confidence to expect it to be a close fight, one
way or the other.

When the bell rang, we started to circle, the only sound our boxing shoes on
the canvas as we sized each other up. She looked me over carefully - I could
feel her confidence, see it in her eyes. She knew she had all the
advantages - something I didn't know as yet. We were circling to the right,
still at a distance as I tried to set up to move in closer. I could see her
shoulder twitch as she snapped a fast left jab at my face. I whipped my head
over fast, barely slipping the punch - I could feel the rush of air as her black
glove whipped past my face. This woman was just as fast as I was, as I found
out when her second punch came in. The THUD echoed through the gym, pain
shooting through my left side as the wicked right hook crashed into my ribs. I
had never taken a blow like that in my life, and it had been even more
forceful because I'd been moving into it. The blow stopped me in my tracks,
although I was able to duck the left hook she aimed for my head - a good thing,
or the fight might well have ended right then and there. Now I knew I was in
against a tougher and faster fighter - this was going to hurt, and I knew she
would knock me out unless I could maneuver extremely well tonight.

She bounced back, hoping to avoid getting hit in return, and I flicked a jab
at her face, trying to set her up for a right to the jaw. She saw the fake for
what it was, then smoothly ducked under the right. The blow missed by only an
inch, but that was enough to give her an opening. She pivoted smoothly about
her waist, her bulging muscles rippling as she drove a wicked left hook into
my side. The blow was at least as hard as the last one; I could feel the
bruises already. Before I could react, even to try and back up, she followed
it with a straight right. Her fist slammed into my chest, all her weight
behind the blow. It felt like she'd hit me with a hammer, not a gloved fist.
It hurt like heck, but I'd seen it coming at the last instant, so I didn't get
knocked across the ring. Only a few seconds into the fight, I was already
hurt, and hadn't even landed a single punch.

That blow shook me up - her punches were coming faster than I had believed
possible. Even though I was off balance, I whipped a left hook at her jaw. I
felt it graze her blonde hair as she ducked under it, but this time I was
ready, driving a solid strait right at her jaw. I could feel the impact run up
my arm as the blow landed-but I also felt her fist explode on my nose at
almost the same instant. The small glove did nothing to protect my nose from
her fist, and I could feel it flatten beneath her hard knuckles. As I caught
my balance, I could feel warm blood start to run down my face; I could tell
there was a lot of it. She had also been knocked back - my punch had landed a
split second before hers, and hers still had enough power to flatten my nose.

I caught my balance a split second before she did, moving inside as I tried a
one-two for her quickly moving head. She caught the left with her glove - it was
like hitting a brick wall, then slipped the right, pivoting around me and
trapping me on the ropes. I quickly slid to my left, but her reaction was
faster. Once again, the THUD of black leather pounding my flesh resounded
throughout the room - she'd lashed out with a solid right hook into my side. It
felt like a sledgehammer as it sunk into my side, and worse, kept me from
sliding off the ropes. As I tried to cover and get off the ropes, she was
grinning from ear to ear as she hammered a barrage of wicked hooks into my
sides. She did a masterful job, anticipating each attempt - as I'd slide to one
side, she'd drive home another hook, coming into the side I was moving to,
keeping me on the ropes and in front of her. As the pain shot through my
sides, each punch worse than the last, the smack of leather on flesh echoing
through the gym, her eyes flashed with each blow. I knew the savage pounding
was weakening my abs badly, and I had to do something fast.

As her fists were smashing my obliques to jelly, I whipped my left upwards,
aiming for her washboard abs, my hardest punch so far. She pulled back, and
the blow felt strange as it landed. Instead of slamming into her rock hard
abdomen, my fist connected with her right breast. She gasped in shock, her
eyes big as my fist drove her firm breast upwards. It clearly surprised her
more than it actually hurt her, since she never even slowed her attack,
smiling all the more as she shifted her weight, her right flying at my face
even as her breast snapped back into place. I managed to avoid taking it in
the eye, but it crashed into my cheek, slamming my head around hard. It
disoriented me as the shock drove me back, leaving me open for her next punch.
I couldn't react fast enough to block it, but I could see the shiny black
glove glistening in the harsh ring lights as she drove the overhand right into
the bridge of my nose. I had just enough time in my dazed condition to think,
"This is gonna HURT!" Pain lanced through my face as her hard knuckles crushed
my nose again - I knew in an instant that it was broken this time. The pain was
incredible, and stopped me for a split second. Her left hook caught me
squarely on the side of my jaw.

The next thing I was aware of was thinking, "What am I doing down here?" I was
flat on my back, confused, hurting all over - my jaw felt like it had almost
been torn off by her hook. Someone was counting, and had reached six. I was
moving on instinct as I gripped the rope with my sweaty glove, and slowly
pulled myself to my feet. My head was clearing a little; I wasn't going to
give up, but I was painfully aware of the blood filling my nose, some running
down my face, even worse than before she put me down.

As the referee moved in to check me out, I looked across the ring at my
opponent. She met my cloudy eyes directly - obviously assessing my condition,
even as I was checking her out. The ring lights glistened off her sweaty body,
probably more sweat from her warm-up than from the few moments of fighting so
far. Her firm breasts stood out, nipples erect, the only mark on her being a
slight reddening where my left had smacked into her right breast, and a few
flecks of blood - all of it mine. She smiled at me, an anticipation almost
sexual in her bright blue eyes as she slammed her gloves together, waiting for
the ref to move off -  or to stop the fight.

Somehow, I managed to raise my gloves when he asked me to, and respond clearly
to his question, "Do you want to continue?"

He looked a bit dubious at my reply, "Yea, hell yea," but withdrew, allowing
the fight to continue. As the referee moved out from between us, Lisa and my
eyes met again - what she could see, I don't know, but I was trying to hide just
how badly I was hurt. I could see her anticipation - she didn't just want to
win, she wanted to hurt me, bust me up and only then, knock me out.

I was still shaky, but I knew that I had to hurt her right away, or I'd be at
her mercy in seconds. As the referee was finishing wiping my gloves off, she
looked at me and flexed her massive right arm, grinning as she did; she wanted
me to know thast she planned to make a vicious end to the fight, and would
enjoy it. As the referee moved aside, she tossed her head playfully, then
slammed her gloves together with all her might, the deep thud resounding
clearly. As soon as the referee was out of the way, I moved towards her,
waving her forwards with my left glove, wanting to show her that I was neither
hurt nor intimidated. The reality was only half that - once I'm fighting, I
don't intimidate - but I was hurt, my head still ringing. My nose was broken,
blood pouring down my face, I was still shaky from the knockdown combination,
and my ribs HURT from the repeated impact of her rock hard fists.

I started to move to my right, ready to move back again - I didn't want her to
meet my movement with another hook into my ribs!

As she moved towards me, ring lights gleaming off her sweaty black leather
gloves and firm breasts, I shifted back to my left just a hair, while dropping
my left glove a bit. I was using my head as bait, and she took it, driving a
right strait at my head just as I bent at the knees. I felt her fist just
brush my sweaty hair as I stepped forwards, risking everything as I slammed a
wicked right hook into her side. The shock traveling up my arm told me that I
had hit her solidly. Even as I heard a slight grunt along with the smack of
leather on flesh, I was shifting my weight, hooking my left at her ribs - just
maybe, I could slow her down enough with some body shots to give me a chance.
I felt a thrill of pleasure as my fists slammed into her sides - I was finally
hitting her - and hard. She grunted slightly as the blow landed, her firm
breasts shaking a bit from the blow.

She anticipated my next shot, a left hook at her temple. As my fist came
around, her glove was up. My punch slammed into her glove, rather than the
side of her head, simultaneously with her counter. She was rolling away from
my left as she brought her own left around. After the pounding I'd already
taken, I was far too dazed to avoid the blow completely, but I tried to roll
with the wicked hook, and probably succeeded to some extent, or I would have
been back on the canvas right then. Even so, it caught me hard, knocking me
across the ring and preventing me from hitting her again.

I was regaining my balance, trying to stay back long enough to clear my head
enough to fight back. Unfortunately, she knew as well as I did just how much
trouble I was in. She nodded briefly at me, a nod of respect, acknowledging
the punches I'd landed, then came at me hard. She didn't look at all hurt - her
strong face had a determined look behind her gleaming black gloves, and the
ring lights gleaming off her sweaty body emphasized the muscles she was about
to pound on me with as she moved in.

Despite her size, she was also very graceful, her head moving smoothly from
side to side, denying me an easy shot, had I been in a condition to try one. I
wasn't - her hard fists had shaken me up badly, and I desperately needed to
recover. For a few seconds, I managed to keep out of her reach, but only by
running like a rabbit, while my grinning opponent continuously cut down the
space I had to move in. I slowly managed to shake out some of the cobwebs, but
I was also running out of room fast, despite a lot of sidestepping. As she
herded me towards the ropes, I abruptly rushed at her - I knew that I had to
nail her good, get some room to move, or she'd be able to corner me and finish
me off.

Unfortunately for me, she anticipated my move, and timed her reaction
perfectly. She smashed a solid right into my face as I moved in, and the punch
stopped me in my tracks, staggering me yet again. As I reeled back, trying to
catch my balance, she came around with a left hook at my exposed jaw. The
small black glove did nothing to cushion the blow as her hard knuckles
distorted my face. I could see two of her after that combo, both eager to hit
me more, hurt me. What I couldn't do was keep my balance, and I fell into the
ropes.

I could barely stand, let alone trade with her blow for blow, and she was
clearly ready to finish me. As she came in, I tried to clinch, reaching for
her to try and tie her up. I wrapped my arms around hers, and pulled her in
tight. She must not have been expecting this, as she fell forwards, and our
sweaty bodies pressed together as I tried to clear my head. I only had a
moment's rest that way, as her firm breasts pressed against my chest, my head
on her shoulder. Her voice was a husky whisper as she said, "You ready for
some pain?!" as I held tight and she worked to free herself. Our muscles
strained as I tried to hold us in close, but she was far stronger, especially
after the work her fists had already done on me - my weakened arms were no match
for her massive muscles.

She wrenched her right arm free - a split second later, my ribs exploded in
agony as her right crashed into my side. The pain and shock allowed her to
free her left, and she sunk her left deep into my side as well. I couldn't get
clear, and she kept up the assault on my body, muscles rippling with power,
each punch leaving nasty bruises on my sides or sinking deep into my
demolished abs as I writhed under the onslaught. Helpless to escape, I did my
best to fight back, punching at her face, but the blows were weak and
ineffectual. Even so, at least I was landing a few blows on her pretty face.
She told me later that my face really showed the pain as she drove the punches
home. I was vaguely aware of the look on her face - a look of raw pleasure as
she both took and gave blows, her eyes sparking with each grunt of pain, truly
enjoying the feel of her leather on my tenderized body.

After she'd pounded my body with at least a half-dozen of those devastating
blows, doubling me over and bringing my ineffectual blows to a stop, she
brought her left fist up under my jaw - the hardest uppercut it's ever been my
misfortune to take.

As I flew back, I wasn't able to react to anything - I was dazed, dizzy from the
pounding, barely able to stand - then the really devastating blow landed. As I
bounced off the ropes, I couldn't even see the right coming - the gleaming black
glove slammed right into my jaw again. I was badly hurt by the combination of
blows, driven back into the ropes again, my hands dropping for a moment.

That split second was all she needed. As I stood there, dazed and hurt, she
pulled back her left, and walloped me in the jaw with a thunderous hook.
Friends told me later that the sweat and blood that flew from my head
spattered them at ringside, so hard was the blow.

Exactly what happened after that is a blur - I know she caught me with a right
hook right afterwards. I was trying to get my gloves back up - I still knew
where I was, but couldn't make my arms obey as I say her gleaming black fists
coming at me, her massive muscles rippling as her fists busted me up. Within
seconds, the flurry of leather left me so dazed, I didn't even know where I
was - just a continual awareness of pain. She smashed my eyes several times, my
head whipping side to side as she hammered my jaw; more punches crashing into
my bruised ribs. I heard later that she hit me at least 15 times before she
finally let me slide down the ropes.

When I came to, staring up at the ring lights, I hurt from waist to head. My
opponent was standing over me, her strong arms raised in victory, with barely
a mark on her. The gloved fist she reached down with to help me up was blurry,
but I took it almost instinctively. She smiled down at me as she hauled me to
my feet, lifting me effortlessly, with just one hand - and she wasn't even
breathing hard after demolishing me. Even in my dazed condition, the look of
triumph was clear on her face, the sheer pleasure of not just knocking me cold
, but working me over as well, apparent.

A moment later, I stood next to her, blood still running down my face, barely
able to see through my swollen eyes, waiting only to find out just how fast
she'd administered my beating. "The winner, in the red corner, by knockout at
one minute and thirty four seconds of the very first round, Lisa ‘The Amazon
Destroyer' Anderson!" How humiliating - she's destroyed me completely in less
than two minutes. I congratulated her as the ref raised her gloved fist in
victory, resolving to do better next time - but also determined that there would
be a next time.

Once the decision was announced, she gave me a traditional boxer's hug. Her
nipples digging into my chest made all the pain worthwhile as I felt her
strong arms around me, and she whispered, "Good try-you actually hit hard
enough to hurt..."

I was still too dazed to say much more as I was helped from the ring, while
she stayed to accept the congratulations of the crowd. A few minutes later, I
looked I the mirror in the locker room, wondering what sort of job she'd done
on me. I shouldn't have looked. My left eye was swollen shut, my right eye
half closed, some blood was still running down my face. Her fists had left my
stomach and ribs covered in welts - everywhere that was a legal target was
bruised and battered. I felt even worse. I had the worst headache I've felt,
my jaw felt like it had almost been torn off, and every breath was agony. No
doubt about it - I had been whupped bad; in fact, this was the worst beating I'd
ever taken.

Epilogue

There is a photo in my album that was taken right after the fight. The
photographer caught us as the ring announcer was holding her hand up in
victory. She looked magnificent - the light really shone off her clenched fists,
still encased in the sweaty black gloves that I'd become so familiar with in
those 94 seconds, her skin was shiny with sweat, and her firm breasts were a
real eye catcher. Her nipples stuck straight out, a slight redness where my
errant uppercut had smacked into her right one. The only other sign of the
fight on her was a few spots of blood - all of it mine - and the look of triumph
on her face. I was a completely different case, and the photo reminds me that
I was every bit as battered as I remember - I was clearly still confused, my
left eye was an ugly mass of swollen flesh, closed completely, my stomach was
black and blue, and my entire face was swollen. I keep the photo to remind
myself that no matter how good you think you are; there's someone better. (I
also kept it because she's extremely good looking, especially at that moment.)
It also makes a great contrast to the photo taken after our rematch six months
later - but that is a different story.

I do intend to firther revise this tale again, and would appreciate any
feedback on how to improve it. There are also two other tales of Lisa in the
works - the tournament final, and also her rematch with the narrator the
following spring